The Birthday Present
by excessivelyperky
Summary: COMPLETE. AU to HBP and DH. Snape and his apprentices form a bond which may never be broken, not even in death. And at the end of it, Severus Snape is able to perform a spell that he has never been able to do before. Ok, it's not a million words. I tried.
1. Chapter 1

The Birthday Present

By excessivelyperky.

This is not a sequel to "Midnight by the Weasley Watch", unfortunately. My muse was rather brutal, and told me I was going to write a sequel to Order of the Phoenix, to which this story is as compliant as possible. So in a way, it's all Dolores Umbridge's fault.

This is also going to be an _extremely_ long story. The first draft is over 800 pages, single-spaced, and I almost always expand when I retype and rewrite. This story becomes AU at approximately 12:01 Greenwich time on July 16, 2005. Oh, well. Note: this story is rated M, mainly for later chapters. You will be notified of adult content chapter by chapter.

I regret disappointing fans of "Midnight". I think, however, that when I'm done that you'll be thoroughly mollified.

Er yes, it all belongs to J.K. Rowling, her assigns, etc. etc. etc.

Chapter 1

Albus Dumbledore

The Headmaster of Hogwarts wearily surveyed the wreckage of his office from his chair. Harry Potter had a right to be angry. Sirius Black was dead, partly through his own errors. The one person that the boy trusted was gone, never to return. Perhaps it was just as well that Black would not come back as a ghost. Albus could see all sorts of problems arising from that. Harry hadn't paid much attention to anyone else for most of the year with Sirius living. It would be far too easy for Harry to ignore the living altogether if his godfather were a ghost in residence here. _I have failed him so badly. I wanted him to have a childhood, and I failed him._

Now he had to deal with someone else. "Professor Snape," Dumbledore said sternly to the man coming through the door. "Please sit down."

The Potions Master did so without argument. His black eyes glittered as he looked about at the shattered pieces of once-beautiful things on the floor. "What happened?"

"Harry…was upset. Rightly so. I do not want to hear one word out of you about the boy. I have heard enough about how you feel about him. I do not want to hear more."

Snape sat straighter. "But—"

"No. Not one word. I have listened to your complaints and your requests to have him expelled for years now. You are supposed to be an adult, professor. I have indulged you in your juvenile attitudes towards Harry for far too long. He is just a _boy_! I know you had problems with his father, but it's time to get over it."

"What do you propose I do, Headmaster?" The Head of Slytherin's face was blank.

"Find some way to improve his situation, I suppose. I must admit, you were quick enough to complain about the Dursleys as soon as you found out the truth about them."

"Muggles!"

Albus sighed. "As you undoubtedly know, the home life of wizards is often not the best either." He really shouldn't bring up that part of Snape's past, but right now he didn't care. He forced himself to use a softer tone of voice. "You have resolved many problems with your Slytherins when they have family trouble. Use some of that expertise for Mr. Potter."

Severus Snape set his jaw. "And what am I to do when he comes back next year and refuses to learn the way he did this one?"

"We'll fly that broom when it's out of the shed. It's your conduct this last year that I'm looking at now." Dumbledore hated it when Snape got his back up like this. It was like talking to a wall. _I'll have to get through to him somehow_, he thought. Unfortunately, Severus had a point. Some of the other teachers were also unhappy with Harry's progress this year. Even McGonagall had sounded disappointed.

"I have done the best I could." His voice was quiet, with no venom in it.

Something had to be done about Snape, too. "I fear you are right. When he complained about you, I tried to get him to see that Black's death wasn't your fault. I told him I had hoped you would be able to overcome your prejudice I made excuses for you, Severus, that you apparently had some wounds too deep for healing. I have coddled you for far too long because of them. You must find some way to work out your feelings about Harry's father. You have to let the past go. Above all, you cannot let whatever pranks the Marauders pulled affect your future conduct towards someone who had no part of them. I will not let that happen."

"I would hardly call them pranks, Headmaster."

"Opinions differ, professor. However you feel about what happened, I cannot allow your ill-temper to affect Harry any more."

"It is easier said than done." Spots of color now appeared on Snape's face.

"Do it anyway. You may recall the conditions under which you were allowed to teach at Hogwarts. If you cannot behave in a professional manner to any student, I may have to reconsider your presence here." Albus hated using this threat. Yet something had to be done to focus the Potion Master's attention on the problem. All members of the Order of the Phoenix had to sacrifice for the greater good.

The younger wizard turned deathly pale. "I understand, Headmaster," he said in a hoarse whisper. "May I have leave to go?"

Dumbledore noticed then how exhausted Snape looked. It had been hard year for all of them. No doubt his Potions Master had been as busy as everyone else in his absence. "Yes, of course. Severus, you can ask me for help. Get some rest before working on this. You wouldn't start a complicated potion when you're already tired. This will likely be much harder." It had been a long time since they had the sort of talks that Albus knew had helped resolve old problems. Ever since…well, since Harry's first year, really. No doubt Severus had gotten into some old thought patterns over time and didn't even realize it.

"Whatever you say, Headmaster." With that, Snape slowly stood, turned on his heel, and walked out of the office.

His cloak hadn't billowed the way it usually did. Albus didn't know if that was a sign of humility or if the man was just too tired.

_Was I too harsh? Should I have shown the naked blade of my power to him the way I did?_ Dumbledore had never regretted taking Snape out of Azkaban just before he was due to be Kissed by a Dementor. Moody's warning had come barely in time. He also had not minded offering his personal guaranty for Snape's good behavior to the Ministry. No doubt any man the age of the Potion Master found legal dependency on anyone else annoying, but the Ministry had planned much worse for the former Death-Eater. Albus had pointed out to the officials that the Aurors would find few spies if they destroyed someone like Snape who had helped them so much the first time Voldemort rose, but only a few like Mad-Eye had listened.

He sat, nibbled on a lemon drop, and thought. After all, the Ministry had to prove that they were making up for their earlier neglect. Snape was an easy target. Never mind that he'd risked worse than death by showing the Dark Mark to Fudge in order to warn the idiot Hufflepuff that Voldemort was back. Throwing him in prison again would gain headlines assuring the public that their leaders were properly vigilant, and that the headmaster of Hogwarts was a fool for harboring the fellow in the first place.

Dumbledore looked around the office, still in ruins. Harry Potter's anger could become a terrible handicap in the years to come. If he himself did not survive the war, it might be up to Harry to protect Severus from the Ministry. How ironic that Snape was the one teacher with the most experience with that kind of student. His own talk with Petunia Dursley had been temporarily effective last year, but neither that nor Moody's threats would last the entire summer. Perhaps he overestimated how much control she had over the household, but it seemed odd that she hadn't gotten over resenting her sister's powers for so long. No wonder so many Muggleborn students gradually withdrew from their families into the Wizarding World.

Perhaps his own heavy-handedness with her and with Severus had only made things worse.

Oh, Merlin, what else could he do? He'd closed his eyes to the boy's situation for far too long. _I thought he would heal here. I thought it would be enough._ Before last year he thought he had succeeded. Even after the horror of facing a resurrected Dark Lord, Harry hadn't shown the kind of anger he had just a little while ago.

It was really Umbridge's fault. She had ruined everything. Stunning Minerva, threatening Harry with both Veritaserum and the Cruciatus spell, and even putting Snape on probation in a fit of pique! Miss Granger had nearly gotten herself killed trying to do something about the woman when it was obvious no one else was going to. And then, the Ministry raid.

The only bright spot had been the glory of the Weasley twin's departure. Albus let himself smile thinking about that. Minerva had admitted _helping_ Peeves. If only he had been there to see it when she'd muttered "It unscrews the other way."

_I should have done something about the Dursleys years ago,_ Dumbledore admitted to himself. The boy had always been too thin and stunted for his age, given his parentage. It was galling to realize that Snape dealt with much worse home situations all the time in Slytherin. Clearly, it was time to turn the problem over to someone who knew what to do.

Dumbledore began waving his wand to clean up his office and repair the items that could be fixed. Hogwarts itself could face similar ruin if he weren't careful. It was worth any sacrifice to keep the school, and the Wizarding World, in better shape.


	2. Chapter 2: Big and Little Whinging

The Birthday Present

By excessivelyperky

All your base belong to—oops. No, it doesn't. Belongs to Rowling.

Chapter 2: Big and Little Whinging

Severus Snape

Severus Snape walked down the hallway in a daze. So it had come. The Headmaster had once more chosen the fate of a Gryffindor over that of a Slytherin. He shouldn't have been surprised. In the years before Potter and his cohorts had been Sorted, it had seemed as if the Snakes were truly part of the school, and not just tolerated for the tuitions they paid. Ever since the boy had shown up, though, Dumbledore's true colors had shown.

Snape knew he was expendable. He knew every moment here and not in Azkaban was borrowed, since the day he'd shown up in the Headmaster's office ready to be turned over to a Dementor. But it hurt to have his face rubbed in it so briskly.

He turned a corner, leaned against a wall, and shook with rage. Everything he'd done for the Order last year was ignored, and only his one failure held up to him. Even Albus hadn't wanted to teach Potter Occlumency because he didn't like seeing the Dark Lord's evil glow from the boy's face. _Well, I wasn't especially amused by it either_, he thought. _I had far more to lose if I didn't play the game well enough._ Tortured to death by his horrible master, or sent to Azkaban by his good one. What a choice!

Finding his pensieve wasn't safe was the final blow. It didn't really matter what memory the boy had gotten into. He'd had to take a Calming Potion before every lesson and hope he could actually teach Potter something before revealing Order secrets directly to the Serpent. _How was I to succeed at something the Headmaster was afraid to do?_ How ironic that today he'd been told to work with the Dursleys. _Isn't that_ your _job, Albus? Haven't you made it clear over the years that no Slytherin could possibly understand what the Boy-Who-Lived could be suffering? If you love Harry so dearly, why inflict the Evil Potions Master on his relatives? But that's typical. I'm supposed to make things all better for a boy who hates me. What else is new?_

He felt fury wash over him. Snape knew he must hurry out of here before things started breaking. It had been a long time since his frustration was so great that his wandless magic began to manifest, but he had never forgotten the feeling.

Snape noticed a door that usually wasn't there. _Ah, the Room of Requirement. What does it have that I need right now?_

He entered it, then tried to back away as snakes from the Forbidden Forest slithered towards him, ready to strike. They were almost the size of Nagini. He looked for the door, but it was gone.

He barely got his wand out in time to defend himself. Spell after spell shot out of it as he desperately fought against the wretched beasts. He bit back pain as he gathered several bites. This was obvious some sort of trap, not the actual Room.

At last he killed them all. Their bodies faded away, as the bites on his arms and face. The door out of the room reappeared. _What kind of a sick joke is this? How could I possibly_ require _a fight?_

He slid down to the floor, his back against the wall, and trembled. He dare not leave until he regained his strength. Hogwarts was supposed to be a sanctuary—wasn't that a laugh! But he knew better. It was a prison that others got to leave, but never him, until the day he was taken to the island again and left to rot. He almost wished that the Dark Lord would discover he was a traitor and dispose of him that way. Even Voldemort could only keep him alive so long.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to be Kissed by a Dementor. His soulless body would soon wither and die in a relatively painless way, while his role in the war would be over. Nobody appeared to think his information mattered that much, or bothered to thank him for it. Oh, they'd listened to it last year, and discussed his news intently, but he was only the messenger. What happened to him was obviously not important. Moody would find other spies. The war would go on. Almost no one would miss him.

Molly Weasley might. But that wouldn't last long. One of her children or Potter would need her help, and she would move on with few regrets. It was clear to Snape now that Dumbledore was only using him, and his expiry date, to use a Muggle term, was almost here.

But till then he still had duties. Snape wiped his eyes, struggled to his feet, and walked with slow steps out of the room and down to the dungeons. He drank some strong tea and sat in his private room. At least now he could think clearly, instead of being consumed with rage.

Perhaps that was what the Room of Requirement had been for. The snakes had certainly smelled and felt real before they disappeared. At least with them he had been allowed to strike, instead of letting himself be attacked and berated whenever he defended himself.

He took a deep breath after he finished the cup. Very well. He had to find a way to work with Potter. No doubt the Occlumency lessons would begin again next fall. He would take the Headmaster up on his offer of help, and have him sit in for the first few lessons. Even if the boy pretended to cooperate when Dumbledore was there, it would be patently obvious how little the Gryffindor had learned the year before.

It was probably too much to ask for an apology for the pensieve incident. Snape had long learned that when a Gryff offended, a Slytherin had to extend forgiveness, or accept the punishment for that matter. Gryffindors, after all, _never_ meant any real harm despite all evidence to the contrary. Besides, there was always a way that the Slytherin was somehow to blame for the situation, if only by existing.

However, unless Potter learned patience over the summer, it would become clear even to Dumbledore that his perfect boy was not holding up his end of the bargain. If the Boy-Who-Lived was still a conduit for the Dark Lord, his old master would be far too vain to keep from showing off.

That could wait till fall, though. As for the Dursleys, Snape was all too familiar with those family dynamics. Too many of his Slytherins were as well. He may as well do something about that, though of course Albus would receive all the credit.

From the little he'd seen in Potter's memories, everyone took their cue from Vernon Dursley. The fat brat obviously courted his father's favor by beating on the boy, while the wife was too weak to exercise proper control over the household. Snape's lip curled. He knew how _that_ worked.

He began a letter that he'd written too often to other families. First, one had to acknowledge the difficulty of the situation, and then to offer a solution within the person's capabilities. He thought about that for a few minutes. The uncle didn't appear to be an alcoholic, but judging from Harry's memories, often got angry after a glass or two of whiskey and much more so on weekends after a whole bottle was consumed. Petunia Dursley allowed the boy to be the scapegoat for most of that ill-temper, thus sparing herself and her son. This was all too common in many families that Snape had dealt with before. _At least the mother doesn't drink as well, at least not in the boy's sight. She's never passed out and left the children to their own devices, and she he does try to keep the peace when her husband is angry. Harry goes into that wretched cupboard after the first blow or two. _That was cruel, but it could be worse. Beatings could go on longer than that.

Severus pulled himself away from such speculation. He had to concentrate on the Dursleys now. How skilled was the aunt? Was she truly Muggleborn or Squib? Potter had never seen Petunia Dursley do any magic, but she might hide it from everyone. No doubt he would have to make up the first batch of herbs, and all the rest as well.

He began the letter.

"Dear Mrs. Dursley. I am one of your nephew's teachers at his school, and I must commend you for how you have dealt with a difficult situation. Few women would have exerted themselves to raise a sister's child despite all the problems that usually entails. I have found the boy a handful myself. I also sympathize with anyone who must deal with other members of the family who react badly to your generosity. Trust me, I am truly concerned for your welfare, and that of your family."

It never really worked to tell someone to stop abusing another family member, unless one was there to back it up. One had to offer alternatives.

"You are probably struggling this summer with having to deal with the boy and his impact on your family. He lost someone dear to him just recently, and may act out in ways you find inppropriate. I suggest enrolling him in some sort of class in the evenings to reduce his interaction with your husband. Boys of that age often find themselves in conflict with the grown men in their life for no reason at all in many households without your family's past history. This will not improve the situation. Reducing the time when they are both in the same house will be all to the good.

I also suggest making an herbal tea. The one I have in mind is quite harmless, and you will find it pleasant to drink together. Men of your husband's age sometimes find that whiskey affects their health. Having a cup along with him might help him reduce how much alcohol he consumes. If necessary, offer him a glass of whiskey first, and then the tea. You may find that he comes to prefer the tea alone, which will certainly help matters.

I must say how much we all appreciate the efforts you have made with young Mr. Potter to teach him proper discipline. We are endeavoring to do the same at this school. A calmer home atmosphere would be all to the good. I suspect you look forward to this as well. I hope this tea, and reducing the time Mr. Potter is at home the same time as your husband, will help.

I have included the first set of herbs and the recipe. These wholesome ingredients can be found in any Muggle"—he erased that part—"in any normal health store. The tea itself is easy to prepared and tasty with a bit of sugar or honey added.

You will be happy to know that Mr. Potter did better on his tests than expected and will be coming back to Hogwarts in the fall. It's hard to believe that he has only two short years left before he's done and on his own, isn't it?"

He thought Mrs. Dursley would appreciate the reminder that she only had two more summers to deal with the boy. Snape smirked. Best not to mention that Potter would be able to do magic there in Little Whinging after his seventeenth birthday a year and a month or so from now. The family might pamper the boy out of fear, or they might do him in. One could not tell with the Dursleys. And what an interesting surprise awaited them on that happy day!

He scribbled the final paragraph.

"Do realize that we appreciate everything you have gone through. Your position is a difficult one. The herb tea may well ease the situation. If you have any problems with it, please let me know. Feel free to drop a note to the address on the envelope if you have any further questions.

Severus Snape

Potions Master, Hogwarts"

He made sure that the letter would be delivered using the Muggle post system, which operated in Hogsmeade out of the left-hand drawer of the village owlery, but somehow managed a London postmark. Snape had gathered more than he wished about the Muggles' obsession with normalcy, or at least the appearance thereof. Given the sort of wandless magic Potter must have gotten up to as a child, not to mention several incidents after that, one certainly couldn't blame them. Snape stifled a smile when he remembered hearing from Dumbledore about the boy's Aunt Marge, never mind the pig's tail.

It seemed odd that Potter was his responsibility now. One would think the Boy-Who-Lived was well guarded enough with the Headmaster, Minerva McGonagall, and half the Order keeping tabs on things. Nobody seemed able to cope, or had lifted a finger as far as he knew till now to help matters any. One could only hope that Moody and the others had investigated the Dursleys, given all the hints he'd dropped at Grimmauld Place that the Boy-Who-Lived did not receive the best of treatment at home.

No, it still didn't make any sense to have this dropped into his lap after so many years of antagonism on both sides. Of course, any time he'd felt protective of the wretched brat, the boy managed to say or do something so like his father Severus felt like strangling him.

Well, he'd done what he could for now. He wrote the rest of the end-of-year letters for his Slytherins, though he saved Draco's for last. With Lucius in Azkaban, he was terribly afraid that the boy would be forced to take the Mark a year early. Narcissa had never taken it, and so far had been adamant in her refusal. That had worked out well, given Fudge's most recent attempt to confiscate the Malfoy estate. Lucius hadn't even come to trial yet, but since when did that bother the Ministry these days?

The Dark Lord had lost several of his strongest followers in the Ministry Raid. Severus knew he would be expected to lead many of his Slytherins to take the Mark like lambs to the slaughter in order to replenish those numbers. He had already told the Headmaster, but all he'd gotten was a gentle command to "do as you think best." No doubt his students had already been written off due to being sorted into the wrong house.

He stood for a moment, then realized he'd done it too fast when a dizzy spell forced him to grab the edge of the desk for balance. He'd been having them more often lately, though he'd increased the frequency of venting spells to the dungeons. Snape sat down once his head cleared. He had no time to indulge such weakness. His whining in the Room of Requirement now seemed foolish. If he were kissed by a Dementor, who would protect his Slytherins? How was he going to keep Draco from being sacrificed, along with many of his classmates?

Severus held his face in his hands a moment. Then he wrote.

"My dear Lady Malfoy", he began. "I hope you are well. Your son Draco performed admirably this last year even when the most recent administration of the school acted in such an unusual matter. He and his friends cooperated with Minister Umbridge and did all that she asked of them. I fear there may be repercussions next year, since she is clearly not coming back."

He wondered what the boy and his friends were planning to do on the train. He hoped it wasn't too foolish, though he had his doubts. Draco tended to make assumptions instead of plans, which might yet prove fatal.

So did the Potter boy, if truth be known. The Ministry Raid proved that, though planning had been scant on either side. That reminded him—Miss Granger should have some follow-up potions to drink over the summer. He'd better start brewing them soon. That insufferable know-it-all should have known better than to risk herself the way she had. A mind like hers came once in a generation, and he could strangle the Boy-Who-Jumped-To-Conclusions with his bare hands for hazarding her life so.

He continued the letter.

"Draco should be prepared to replace his father in certain matters if Lucius is not released soon, even though he is not of age and will not be till a year from now. I do not think he is really ready for this, but circumstances may force my hand. I think it's a pity our current Minister of Magic has forbidden any Malfoy to leave the country till the trials take place (if they ever do). I hope he is not currently motivated by an urge to avenge his father."

Snape knew he had to talk to his godson about the Potter situation. Draco could become jealous if he saw his favorite professor paying too much attention to anyone else. Of course, many of his Slytherin students would write interesting letters home if their Head of House were too easy on any Gryffindor.

Naturally Dumbledore either had no idea or didn't care about his own precarious position, or how helping the Potter boy would affect it. It was up to him, as ever, to manage to save himself. But of course any Gryffindor life was worth more than all the Slytherins put together!

He sighed, and wrote on.

"We shall have to meet this summer to discuss all these matters. I hope you do not believe I am taking advantage of your hospitality by this request. I apologize if I have contributed in any way to the awkwardness of your current situation."

He was certain she knew all about his renewed relationship with Lucius this last year. But if it hadn't been him, it would have been someone else, and Narcissa knew it. Severus concluded with one more paragraph.

"I shall, as always, do my best to look out for your family's interests. You know I will do my best to protect your son no matter what might happen.

Severus Snape

Hogwarts"

If only Lucius had stayed away from that stupid Ministry Raid! The Dark Lord had been an idiot to give two Knuts about that silly Prophecy, let alone obsess for most of a year over. Voldemort could have spent that time to consolidate his position and grow in power. Malfoy was so beloved of the Ministry last spring that he could have gotten a guided tour to the place merely by asking. The only reason he could think of for the raid was to force Death Eaters long away from the leash to prove their loyalty to the Dark Lord.

Severus smirked. He liked to think he'd helped with that by telling Lucius how bothered the Headmaster was about it. It had been hard on Potter to have the Dark Lord use his eyes to see through, but it wasn't as if the Gryffindor had tried very hard to keep Voldemort out, either.

As usual, it was up to him to save everyone's bacon even when they despised him.

He should be used to it by now. He really should. Snape got up and unlocked the cupboard that had the pensieve in it. He may as well look through his own memories and get it over with. If he could show the Headmaster that he really hadn't been that terrible to the boy, perhaps the old man would be satisfied.

As he set the pensieve down on his desk, another owl fluttered in. _What on earth do the Weasleys want from me?_ He read the note.

"Dear Professor Snape," it began in Molly Weasley's handwriting. "As you probably know by now, my son Ronald didn't do so well on his Potions owl." Now that was an understatement. "But I've had a little talk with him, and he's willing to study all summer if you're willing to have him retake the test in the fall. In fact, I plan to make sure he does."

Severus let a crooked smile emerge. He could almost find it in his heart to pity the youngest Weasley boy.

"Are there lessons he can do over the summer? I didn't do so badly in Potions myself when I was a girl, and I'll make sure Ronald works at this. He wants to be in the same classes as his friends, but I told him he would have to earn it.

Yours,

Molly Weasley"

Snape's first impulse was to toss the note into the fire. He couldn't. Last year, when Black had given him only door-right to 12 Grimmauld Place, and full hospitality to the other members of the Order, Molly Weasley had been the only one to figure it out. She'd even tricked her cousin into handing him the teapot halfway through the year, which meant he didn't have to ask specific permission for a simple cup of tea.

With only door-right to the place, anything he ate or drank there without such permission would curdle in his stomach. There were other strictures which kept him from sleeping or using the Floo without Black's word each and every time, but hearing everyone speculate why he was either rude or too self-righteous to eat there had not been pleasant. But Molly had known and had stopped asking him to stay. Why, she'd even brought him sandwiches made in her own kitchen that he could eat on the doorstep a few times once she'd realized what was going on. There had been nights he would have come close to begging Sirius Black for a crust of bread without that food. She had spared his pride that much, at least.

He carefully folded her letter, then wrote his reply.

"Dear Mrs. Weasley,

I will owl you the standard remedial summer lessons in a couple of days. I have no doubt your son will work hard under your supervision. I will also arrange a new test at the Ministry this fall if he makes adequate progress. Send the sample potions and completed essays back, and I will grade them accordingly. Please let me know if you have any problems. The stricture against underage magic will be suspended for Potions work only for your son.."

As if that meant anything in the Weasley household, or ever had, but he needed to cover his end as well. He sighed. So much for a peaceful summer. He wasn't expecting one anyway.

"I wish the twins had not decided to leave school, though under the circumstances I am not much surprised. Some of what they will miss for their seventh year (Individual Project) may be helpful to their new business. If they feel the need to return, I will raise no objections. I also recommend that they purchase the seventh-year text (Arcanum and Alchemy) for their own use and edification."

He signed the note and sent it off. Putting a book like that in the hands of Fred and George Weasley was like putting Ashwinder eggs in the hands of a first-year, but they would have been using it this fall anyway. Given that neither one had actually severely harmed anyone thus far spoke well for their lab technique and sense of self-preservation.

Thinking of the twins reminded him of someone else who might benefit from summer work. He began another letter.

'Dear Mr. Lovegood,

You may want some explanation of your daughter's somewhat unusual grades this year. Under normal circumstances I would prefer to hold her back and have her repeat the year. However, I believe Miss Lovegood is so distractible from first, natural temperament, and second, because she is bored, rather than neglectful. I also wish she would pay more attention to standard safety measures while brewing.

I would like to propose to the Headmaster and her Head of House that Miss Lovegood skip a year in Potions and begin the sixth-year class in the fall. However, in order to meet my rather stringent requirements, she will need to study for the Potions OWL and pass it at the beginning of this coming school year. I am therefore sending the standard remedial summer Potions lessons for her to work on. Please make sure she is supervised when actual brewing is taking place. It would also be wise to reinforce the wards where she works. I realize you are a busy man, but you have always shown a strong interest in your daughter's studies. If she completes the set properly, she should have little trouble passing. I shall also include a permission slip for Potions work only, and send a copy to the Ministry.'

He signed that as well, and sent it off. It amused Snape to speculate what Mr. Lovegood would have to go through to keep the girl's attention on the task at hand. If nothing else, Miss Granger would be slightly miffed at someone younger working so close to her own level. At best, Miss Lovegood and Miss Granger would combine their distinctly different ways of looking at things and strike mental sparks off each other.

Severus looked at the pensieve. Even writing letters was better than taking a look in there. Perhaps he ought to take the Headmaster's advice and get some sleep first. But that was just an excuse to avoid the past.

Snape slowly opened the ceramic dish and chanted the spell that brought a set of related memories closer to the surface to make them easier to find and examine. The goo changed color slightly, with the threads he needed to see a brighter silver than the rest. His wand pulled out a small rats-nest of memories, and he picked out one at random.

It was the first day Harry Potter was in his classroom. He saw himself make his usual speech to the first years, and then sneering at the new _celebrity_. But this time he really looked at the boy. Potter didn't snicker the way his father always had, but shrank in his seat instead. He was just another child and didn't understand why he'd been singled out. Potter also showed real bewilderment when asked a perfectly simple question. However, his blankness was reflected in the eyes of the rest of the class, save the bushy-haired girl next to him.

_Now I know that he'd never heard of the Wizarding World before getting his owl. Now I know the Dursleys had hidden his textbooks and wand before grudgingly letting him have them back just before going on the train. _The other children had been allowed to read all the way through their texts if they had chosen to do so, though rather obviously only one had.

He didn't like seeing that at all. Snape put the memory back and chose another. This one was from just last year. Potter had, at last, decided to pay attention and had made his potion perfectly. One could even read the handwriting on the label. He watched himself deliberately drop it on the floor, watching it shatter, knowing Miss Granger had already cleaned the cauldron.

Severus put that one back as well. The next one showed him throwing a jar in a fit of rage, a rage he knew too well from the other side from a man who had looked a great deal like he did now. He had worn that frightened face once. He had sworn that he would never lose control like that.

He put that memory back and stared down at the other silvery threads. Snape was fairly certain what they would show him. He closed the pensieve and locked it away. Surely some of what he'd done could be excused as part of his cover as a spy. Yet part of him was already preparing the necessary rationale to give the Dark Lord for his upcoming change in attitude towards the boy. A nasty voice whispered to him that Voldemort had been back for only a little more than one year, not five. He could have justified neutrality even then. Snape knew he had not chosen to. He remembered how good it had felt to squash this image of James Potter whenever he had the chance.

Those damned green eyes! Something about them surrounded by a body clearly the fruit of that wretched family stabbed into him like a thorn into soft flesh. _I have been weak all these years to let it bother me so. What I thought was strength and determination was only hurt feelings. That's what they saw when the Marauders attacked me. I thought I had grown out of it._ He knew he could find plenty of memories to justify what he'd done. But that first day—Harry Potter had known nothing of his parents but the little he'd been told, and most of that inaccurate.

Yes, the boy _was_ a glory-seeking brat with no regard for the rules. But he'd coped with that kind before without savage fury coming to the forefront the way it did with Potter. He had had no excuse last year, after seeing the boy's memories of his life with the Dursleys. Severus moved stiffly, as if he'd aged a hundred years in the last five minutes. _At last I am seeing things clearly_, he thought. _Albus has been right all along._ It was his feelings, his weak, stupid feelings that caused all the trouble, and always had. It was time he did something about them. They had given him nothing but pain, and obviously had made him act stupidly for years.

It was getting dark. At this time of year, that meant he'd missed dinner in the Great Hall. That was just as well. He'd likely spew anything up, if he could get it down in the first place. Another case of his _feelings_ getting in the way of what he needed to do. Poppy had told him all last year that he needed to eat and sleep properly to keep up his strength. It had been the way he _felt_ about what he'd done for the Order's sake that made it impossible to keep food down. Only when Molly Weasley had given the warmth of her concern along with her sandwiches had he been able to show any appetite.

It shouldn't matter. The Dark Lord must fall, whatever the cost. His survival was a minor matter in comparison. Besides, he'd seen the look in Moody's eye at 12 Grimmauld Place, the one that told him he and Mad-Eye would have another little chat like so many they'd had in Azkaban. This time there would be no rescue. The old Auror would just wait till Dumbledore was no longer around. _Go ahead and wait, Moody. The Dark Lord may decide to kill me first._

Severus didn't know which one would be worse at this point. Tonight, though, there was little he could do about either beckoning future. _If I tell anyone, they'll say I'm getting overly morbid again. _However, the facts appeared to justify the state this time. He lit his wand to guide him to bed, where he might even sleep.

Albus Dumbledore

The Headmaster wasn't surprised to see that the Potions Master had skipped supper, but he was concerned when he discovered the kitchen hadn't received an order for a tray. Perhaps this wasn't really the best night for the dream-sending.

Or perhaps it was the best night of all. When Severus couldn't eat, it was often because he was bothered by something. No doubt the younger wizard had ignored his advice and already looked through some memories. If the effort had confirmed what Snape would like to believe, he would have come up here and stuffed himself.

Albus knew if he waited till tomorrow night, Severus might convince himself that his doubts were only a passing mood. No, the sending should be tonight after all. He hated hurting the man even more than he did already, but the situation between him and Harry could not wait much longer. Too much was at stake, and time was getting short.

Dumbledore told one of the house-elves that he wanted to be alone for the rest of the night, but would want a large breakfast in the morning. _Severus, this is for your own good. If you can't learn in any other way, you will in this one._

Severus Snape

Snape sat up to read. He was surprised to find himself nodding over the book. He hadn't expected to sleep much tonight, so lay down with a mild sense of relief. He was tired of forcing his body to rest with potions, and found the possibility of natural slumber a welcome respite.

At first his mind was mercifully blank. It didn't last. He found himself trapped in a small, dark space, almost like a cupboard. He couldn't get out. The door was locked on the outside, and he couldn't find his wand. He had to be quiet. If they heard him, he'd be in bigger trouble than he was. He shook with terror at everything--the closed-in room, the darkness, and the tickly feel of insects, probably spiders, walking across his skin.

Severus breathed deeply till he calmed down. He still couldn't see anything, though he'd given it enough time for his eyes to adjust. Wait! A glimmer of light trickled into the place from a crack in the bottom of the door. He closed his eyes and counted to sixty. After that, he could make out vague shadowy outlines inside this place, the way he had when he used to hide in the cubbyhole in his attic room in Knockturn Alley.

That didn't help much when he heard two people shouting outside the door. He made himself as small as possible against the wall away from the entrance. Maybe they would forget him for a little while. The bare mattress smelled rank, as did the pillow, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Something thumped against the door. He wept with fear. Mother would start screaming soon, and he would be stuck in here, unable to help her. Then he realized he needed the loo. What was he going to do? He knew he would be punished if he made a mess, though a stale odor in one corner of the cramped space told him that he'd done it before. "Please," he called out weakly. "Please let me use the bathroom."

The voices stopped. Heavy steps came towards his hiding place. It opened briefly, and he blinked at the dazzling light. A man's hand thrust in a pot. "Use that, you little bugger. It's more than you deserve."

Severus realized, seeing his hand in the light as he reached for the pot, that he was smaller than he remembered. He had a boy's body, too, as he desperately contorted himself so he could use the pot while not daring to spill a drop. Everything seemed blurry, too, as if he needed to rub his eyes after the light had bothered them, but nothing he did made anything past a short distance come clear.

The scene changed. He ran in a Muggle playground, wearing clothes much too big for him. The shirt had holes that let in the breeze. Severus was used to that. Hand-me-downs were cheaper where he'd grown up, and Mother often too ill for even basic mending spells. A fat boy, accompanied by two others, were heading his way. He kept running, but it was no use. They caught him. The two other boys held him while the fat one slugged him for merely existing. _I don't understand,_ he thought. _James was never fat, and the two others aren't Black or Pettigrew._

The scene changed again. He was in the Potions Classroom, only as a student again, next to other children he barely knew, while a tall, dark man cut him into pieces with words like knives.

Snape finally understood whose nightmares he was trapped in. _Why am I in Potter's life? I knew he wasn't spoiled at home last spring when I saw his memories. Why do I need this lesson again?_

But it didn't stop with this realization. Again and again the Potions Master tormented him, even though his friends tried to help. _At least you_ have _friends,_ Snape thought morosely, though he knew no one would hear him.

Then he heard other thoughts. _Why does he hate me so much? I've never done anything to him. They say he hated my father, but why? Everyone says Dad and Mum were the greatest people in the world. They say my dad saved his life, even! It's not fair! Every time Draco and his friends do something to me, he acts like it was nothing, or it was my fault. Why?_

_I could ask the same questions of the Headmaster myself, boy_, Severus snarled, though he knew he was only talking to himself.

And then he saw the scene in office again, with the jar of cockroaches flying, breaking and scattering the bugs all over…

Snape finally awoke, gasping for breath. All this time…all this time he'd been the thing that he had sworn never to be.

He had become his father.

It must stop now. For a moment he sat up and held the dagger that he kept in a box beside the bed. But that solution was too easy. He didn't deserve it. He had a duty to the Order. He put the blade back with shaking hands.

He'd done his best last year to control himself around the boy. Even with Calming potions the Occlumency lessons had been hellish, especially when Potter had gone into the Pensieve. No doubt the boy had had a good laugh with Moony and Padfoot over _that_!

Yet even with most of the bad memories locked away, he had still let the boy's green-eyed gaze stir up anger.

Why? Snape got up from the edge of the bed and opened a box with so many wards on it Merlin himself might have trouble finding it, let alone lift the lid. He had no privacy in this school, and never had, thanks to Dumbledore's _loving concern_. A year or so ago, it had been even worse while "Moody" was teaching. Of course his suspicions had been dismissed back then. Why should anyone listen to him?

A few pictures lay inside, so tattered with handling that the images were blurry and hardly moved.

As soon as he saw her, he finally understood. _Lily._ With Lucius gone from school and married, he'd let himself dream of someone who didn't demand as much for love as Malfoy did. Oh, he'd paid for his temporary infidelity later on, but it hadn't mattered so much then. He had looked at the Gryffindor girl entirely without hope. Hope always hurt too much, because it was always disappointed. Better to do without it.

Once or twice he'd been able to pretend to himself that she didn't hate him. He'd apologized for that horrible remark he'd made, and she had appeared to accept it. But she'd married James Potter instead. _She couldn't have known that he was only more careful when he and his friends tormented me. I still can't believe she would have loved him if she had known how cruel he still was, only not in public any more._ Admittedly, being safe in a crowd gave him some respite. He'd tried to let her know the truth, only to have her reject it as the whining of a jealous boy. That was when he'd given up trying to tell anyone the truth at all. By that time he had worn the Mark, and knew that would condemn him to anyone outside the same group.

He ripped his last picture of her in half. He was a fool to believe in anything or anybody. Yes. That was it. Seeing her eyes in Harry Potter's face was the key. That explained why it hurt to look at the boy even when he'd thought he'd disciplined the past. He simply hadn't been thorough. He must rip Lily from his soul as well.

It wasn't going to be enough just to put her in the pensieve. He'd tried to do that with his memories of the Marauders, but that hadn't worked either. He remembered a Muggle saying. _If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out._

Snape knew he needed isolation to do memory work this extensive. He must do it inside Hogwarts' wards, or he'd leave himself too vulnerable to the Dark Lord. The Headmaster would also be curious, and meddle, probably just at the wrong moment.

He must arrange some time alone here. Till then, he needed to put on a show of complying with Dumbledore's wishes. The old wizard tended to come down and interrupt things if he didn't see members of his staff at dinner for over a day or so.

However, the Headmaster might be persuaded to take a vacation. A word to Madam Pomfrey about how tired the older man looked would probably get her to lean on Dumbledore to leave for a couple of weeks. The others wouldn't bother him if he let them know ahead of time that he would be busy. After all, they had lives of their own.

For now he'd follow a simple routine to lull the Headmaster's vigilance. He'd eat in the Great Hall each day, usually at noon, spend an hour outside getting fresh air and sunshine, and otherwise appear calm. Once Dumbledore had left, he would find the necessary isolation and proceed with this corrective surgery. It was obvious he was far too weak to manage his memories and his emotions the way they were presently. It was time to do something about them.

Author's note: Thanks, reviewers!


	3. Chapter 3

The Birthday Present

By excessivelyperky

Thank you, Tag0, for correcting me about Fred and George being in seventh year. For some reason I thought they were only one year ahead of Ron, instead of just one year behind Percy.

Comments on HBP. Have read. Will ignore for this story and any sequels. Think Snape ought to tell his creator that he is moving to Brazil and not coming back.

Rowling: It all belongs to her.

Chapter 3: No Thanks for the Memories

Albus Dumbledore

Albus Dumbledore was pleased and rather surprised that Snape had taken things so well the past few days. He had been dreading the tantrum he was certain he'd face from the dream-sending. _But I meant what I said about giving him help. All he needs to do is ask. _

However, instead of burying himself in the dungeons or flying into ill-temper at everyone, Severus seemed calm, appeared to be eating on a regular basis, and even spent some time each day in the summer sun. He would have worried that his efforts had had no effect at all until Poppy had fretted that the Potions Master was having nightmares again. The Headmaster had no idea why she was so certain, but knew better than to question her. _I hope he is asking for help from her, even if he can't trust me just yet._

He gazed out his window. Everything looked so beautiful and serene. He could almost imagine that he was back in a more peaceful era, before the horrors of the 20th century had wreaked so much havoc on both the Wizarding and the Muggle worlds.

Then he sat down at his desk again, desperate to clear it off, though with owls bringing him more every day he didn't see how. Dumbledore really wanted to spend some time at his cottage by the sea this summer, but he wouldn't have a chance at this rate.

He looked at the latest surveillance report from the Aurors. No owls had gone to the Dursleys' recently, but it was early days yet. Snape often said he had to study a family's situation before he could intervene in a bad situation. Albus was impatient for change, but he also knew that charging in the way he had was not likely to work for more than a few weeks. Snape's manipulations generally took a bit longer, but usually had more permanent effects. _Besides, this is the Muggle world. Snape may have to investigate some aspects of it that he's unfamiliar with before understanding how to deal with that pair. I shouldn't expect instant results._

Dumbledore uncovered another layer of paper on his desk, and blinked. What had Madame Pomfrey been doing with a Time-Turner for most of last year? How had she gotten it from the Ministry? He sent a note by Fawkes for her to come speak with him about it.

Albus shook his head. It had been fun keeping his office closed against the unforgettable Madam Umbridge, but allowing her free rein over the school had almost caused disaster. He wished he hadn't missed everything done by the students and staff in retaliation, though.

Poppy came in and sat down. For a moment she just looked at him. "Well," she said, "I'm glad you're going to the cottage soon. All this," she said, gesturing towards the papers on his desk, "has been wearing you down."

"I'm not going to argue about that," he said. "But I found something in this chaos that I wanted to see you about. When did you get a Time-Turner and why?"

"I knew you'd find the register eventually," she said as she took a seat.

"Why did you need it?" Had things really gotten that bad while he'd been out of things?

"I didn't, but Professor Snape did. A full teaching load, making potions for anyone who ran out, including me, and being Head of Slytherin is more than enough. Add in his extra duties and reports to Black's house and see how many hours are left in the day. Oh, yes, and he had to see to the beasts over at Hagrid's. Professor Grubbly-Plank is certainly a competent teacher, but the professor still had to dose the animals whenever they came down with something."

"Surely he got some rest at 12 Grimmauld Place?" The Headmaster's brow wrinkled.

"With Sirius Black and Lupin there? And Moody?" Poppy made a face. "Molly says he was given little welcome there. No doubt people were civil enough in front of you, but they were worse in your absence. Besides, even if he could nap there, he just wouldn't have the _time_. He fell asleep in several staff meetings last year, and that's not like him. You can tell he's lost weight, though I haven't gotten him on the scale yet. With Hagrid's hut empty last year, he was able to get some rest there without having to worry about running into himself."

Dumbledore thought that problems at the Black house could easily have been brought on by Snape's own refusal to be civil to its owner, but had to grant the odds certainly looked stacked against the Potions Master. He hadn't considered the matter before assigning the extra Occlumency lessons, either. "You have a point," he conceded.

"And I don't like those nightmares he's having," she said.

"He's had them before, Poppy, and probably always will," Albus said, though he rather hoped Snape was having the right kind. If the mention of his legal status and the dream sending hadn't gotten the younger wizard's attention, Dumbledore wasn't sure what else to do. "What else do you have for me? I see a threatening sheaf of papers in your hand."

"Oh, yes. It's a preview of things to come from the Ministry. Now that a certain someone is regaining her health, she's paying more attention to that of others. There's a study on the long-term effects of brewing on potions-makers and teachers out. The Ministry is considering setting up health and welfare regulations to avoid future problems. They're going to institute a trial set among their own brewers, but if they work, will probably extend them to St. Mungo's and us. Her personal assistant thought I should have a quick look at both the study and the proposed regulations." She handed him the papers.

Albus smiled, knowing who the assistant was. The boy was more loyal than everybody thought. He turned more sober as he scanned through the longwinded boilerplate. "This would limit how many hours a week Severus could teach or brew, unless he passes the blood tests."

"He won't. Read the study attached to it when you get time." Poppy looked troubled. "I think he lived on Pepper-Up and tea last year."

"I wish I had known," the Headmaster said, beginning to realize how difficult last year could have been for Snape. "I wish he had said something."

"You weren't here for a lot of it. We all lean on him the most because he's the youngest member of the staff by twenty to thirty years. Even the strongest can break if too much weight is loaded on him, though. When was the last time you listened to any of his complaints, Albus? I see your eyes glaze over even when he's right. In certain matters he can't say no to you, and you've taken advantage of it for a long time."

He remembered the last real conversation he'd had with Severus. The mediwitch was right. _Snape has probably never forgotten that he must obey if he wants to stay a free man. I reminded him of it only a few days ago. He hasn't really talked to me since then, though he's been civil enough at meals. But isn't that very courtesy a way to keep me at arm's length?_

"I'll read this and get back to you," Dumbledore said.

"As soon as possible, please. We'll have to send out permission slips to all the students so they can take Potions at all. Just imagine the fit the Ministry will have when they learn Professor Lupin will be back next year!" Poppy shook her head.

"I fear I am beginning to care less each year what the Ministry thinks about anything," he grumbled. "As for Potions, as long as they're required on the OWLS, the students will have to take the class or forfeit that OWL entirely. I have to admit that many schools have made that class an elective, but that's one of the things that sets Hogwarts apart from them." He watched Fawkes preening himself a bit, and understood exactly how the phoenix felt.

"A pity we may lose it, if Professor Snape's health doesn't improve," the mediwitch snapped. "Having Lupin coming back won't help. Wolfsbane takes a long time to brew."

The Headmaster hadn't considered that to be a problem before, but he hadn't imagined that Severus would end up being forced to use a Time-Turner just to keep up. What else was he missing? However, he had to read this study before deciding what, if anything, needed to be done. "So, how did you get the Time-Turner in the first place?" he asked, trying to lighten the conversation.

"Somehow when it left Hogwarts the last time, _someone_ wrote "M. Artifacts" on the envelope, and it was mistakenly delivered to Muggle Artifacts instead of to Magical. Isn't that amazing?" Poppy said with a slight smile. "It was actually Molly who brought it to me, saying she'd given her husband an earful about the situation, and that he didn't mind lending it out."

"It's not my fault if the Ministry can't keep track of things," Albus said, trying to look innocent.

"Of course not. But I'm not giving it back till we find out what the professor's schedule is like this year, all of it. He can't go on like this. If the Ministry passes this, he won't be allowed to anyway."

He riffled through the papers, silently groaning at the prospect of so much small print. "I can't believe she went to so much trouble."

"She couldn't run the place when she was here, so she tries to hobble us from her office," Pomfrey said.

"Why this attack on Snape, though? As far I know, he cooperated with her more than the other teachers did."

"He ended up on probation along with most of the others by the end of the year. Apparently he'd run out of Veritaserum after she'd tried to use up a whole bottle on Mr. Potter," she said, her eyes flashing. "Fortunately for everyone, there was nothing but sugar-water in it, and I hope she never finds that out. But as far as Snape goes, Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban. Our Potions Master may have lost a powerful protector." She stopped for a minute, obviously furious about something. "If Severus has to leave Hogwarts or take a sabbatical, _others_ may have plans for his talents. Also, if that study has any validity, she might actually be concerned about his health."

_No wonder he's having nightmares,_ Dumbledore thought. "Well, Poppy, you'd better purchase a lot more potions this year. Let me know if you have trouble with your budget. I can find more funds if necessary."

"Thank you. I'll get my order in now. Also, I need to get a blood sample from Professor Snape and have it tested using the criteria in the study. I know someone in St. Mungo's who will run the profile for me without saying anything. But I'm afraid I can guess how it's going to turn out already."

"We'll do what we need to do," Albus said as he put the pile of papers to one side.

"I know," Madam Pomfrey said. She rose and stretched. "You always do." Then she left the room.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair. He'd take the papers with him when he went to his cottage. It wouldn't do much good to look at them till Poppy got the results back from St. Mungo's anyway. Besides, if he dropped what he was doing with each new development, he'd never get out of here. Severus could keep till he got back.

Severus Snape

Snape calmly watched the Headmaster depart. At last he'd have some quiet away from the others and do the memory work he needed in order to obey Dumbledore's commands.

Instead, he was called up for a chat with Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. Severus knew he'd fooled Albus thus far, but wasn't sure if he could escape Minerva's sharp eyes and wit. He always felt like a schoolboy when talking to either one.

"I'm worried," she began once he'd sat down in her office, a far cozier place than the airy domain of the Headmaster. "Things have been so quiet after the Ministry raid, but I don't think they'll stay that way. You haven't been summoned since then, have you?"

"No. My connection was largely through Lucius Malfoy, who is in Azkaban. How long he'll stay there, of course, is not up to us." No doubt Draco's father would buy himself out in less than a month.

McGonagall looked anxious, and older than she used to before taking four stunners in the chest. "Albus has told me a great deal, though I know there's much that's private between the two of you. If anything happens while he's on vacation, though, I will need to know exactly what you would tell him."

"I will." _Provided I can still talk, of course._ He thought about that. "If I can't tell you, for whatever reason, then the Headmaster will have to be called back. Flitwick is quite good at Memory Charms, though, so he should be tried first."

Her eyes went wide. "Of course. I do hope that won't be necessary. I already know how to detect an Imperius, though I hate subjecting you to that...that humiliation."

"Necessity, Minerva, necessity," he said wearily. Snape looked at her again. She was thinner and had less color in her face than she normally did in summer. "You haven't been taking your potions, have you? I should tell on you to Poppy."

She made a face. "_That_ swill!"

"Floo Lupin about it, I'm sure he'll sympathize," He said. Then he dropped his usual sarcasm. "You need them, Minerva. If I could make them taste better, I would." She had never pretended to care about him personally, then shown a different face later on. He hoped that she never would.

"You look like you could use a physic or two yourself," she said.

"A long year. Next one will likely be worse, though I don't know how yet."

"You need to go on vacation, too," she said, looking down at her tea.

His lips curled. "We all do. Just find me a place where _he_ can't call me, and I'll go." Well, there was one, but he'd decided against that already.

She took a deep breath. "I wish had more pleasant news to give you. The Ministry has asked me to watch you along with Albus. Madam Umbridge is being asked uncomfortable questions about her association with Lucius Malfoy, and is protecting herself by denouncing him and demanding that any of his other connections prove themselves above suspicion. She hates Dumbledore, though I don't really understand why you're a target now as well. For some idiotic reason she thinks I'd gladly earn myself promotion by shopping my dearest friends. I suppose you weren't cooperative enough when she wanted to question young Mr. Potter. Of course, your long friendship with Malfoy, whom she thought so highly of last year, now puts you under the spotlight."

He grimaced. "I'm used to it." Sirius Black and Moody had been thrilled to inform everyone just why they believed any Slytherin was unreliable. At least Molly Weasley had put an end to Black's cruder speculations about his relationship with Malfoy, in public anyway. Snape just wished the dog hadn't been so accurate.

"You shouldn't have to face this every year," McGonagall said indignantly. "Just let me know what you want me to report, and that'll save us a lot of trouble. I wish I had listened to you more about Moody."

"I appreciate that," he said with a rare smile.

"Unfortunately, it doesn't get any better. I know that Mr. Potter only got an E in both theory and practical on his Potions Owl, but I would really like to see him in Advanced Potions anyway. I know he can do the work, and he's going to need to know everything he can. Not only did I make a promise to him on Career Day, but...well, I'd like to see him live long enough for his Leaving Feast."

For a moment Severus admired Minerva immensely. She had let him know how willing she was to help him with the Ministry, and then followed that up with a request she had to know was repellent to him. _She should have been sorted into Slytherin,_ he thought cynically. Yet he knew that with her, the juxtaposition was accidental, not deliberate.

What was the use of complaining? If he refused McGonagall's request, it would come back as an order from the Headmaster. He may as well get something out of this transaction. If the youngest Weasley boy made it through the summer, he'd be stuck with the Trio again. However, that could have its positive side.

He shrugged. "I can't promise what kind of grades he'll get. The work will be much harder than he's used to. Even Mr. Weasley is studying Potions under his mother's wooden spoon, and is likely to do better if he remembers any of it."

"Oh, good!" Minerva said with a cat-like smile. "Harry is used to having Miss Granger leaving him behind, but if Mr. Weasley is better, too--oh, he won't like that!"

Snape hadn't expected that reaction, but on second thought, perhaps he should have. The Transfigurations Professor was almost as strict academically as he or Flitwick. "Then perhaps you would entertain an idea of mine in exchange. I would like to move Miss Lovegood up a year in Potions if she does well on her own summer lessons, but I know that will affect the rest of her schedule. I have yet to speak to Flitwick about it, though."

"I thought she drove almost as crazy as the Weasley twins did."

"Oh, yes. However, I believe she's more bored than anything else. I think it has been a very good thing that Miss Granger is more rule-bound than her friends, but there is a downside to that as well. If Miss Lovegood had a class with her that it would be good for both of them. The know-it-all has a hard time seeing the forest for the trees. Miss Lovegood, on the other, must be forcibly reminded at times that there _are_ such things as trees. I believe the two of them will work well together, and perhaps learn from each other."

"I knew you gave in on Mr. Potter too early," Minerva said with a smirk. "I was expecting a half hour of drama, and then the rest of the afternoon for serious negotiating."

"Unfortunately, I can no longer do so from a position of strength," he said tonelessly. "It was brought to my attention that my legal status could be reconsidered unless I revise my thinking about Mr. Potter."

The Head of Gryffindor chewed her lip a moment, clearly thinking about what he'd said. _I should have kept my mouth shut about that,_ he thought. _Now she'll be able to dump even more privileges on the boy._

"Oh, dear," she finally said after a long pause. "I have trouble believing that Albus would go that far."

"Believe what you like," he said, trying to keep self-pity out of his voice. "Do what you wish with the boy."

"Well, since the day is ruined for you anyway, I might as well let you know the rest of the bad news." She had the grace not to look as if she were enjoying it. "First of all, Remus Lupin is returning as the new Dark Arts professor. I am a bit surprised the Headmaster hasn't told you yet, since I know you have preparations to make. Considering the most recent inhabitants of this post, I fear he is the best of the lot."

"I fear you are right," he said morosely. "I'm not certain that having students in danger by accident is much better than deliberate malice, but at least he won't _try_ to kill anyone."

"Did you apply again this year?"

"What would be the point?" Severus replied. "I can see that you have more wonderful news. What is it?"

She took a deep breath. "Neville Longbottom received an O on his Potions Owl. Trust me, you have my deepest sympathies. You're not the only teacher who's had an exciting time with the boy. Perhaps with a wand better suited to him things will be different."

He bowed his head. "I knew the boy was going keep plaguing me. I had my hopes up when I saw him march off to his OWLS. I was surprised when I didn't hear any explosions, to be honest. Somehow I knew I wasn't to be rid of him yet. As for Lupin…I have some orders to place. I, I don't know when I'll find the time to brew the Wolfsbane. I really, really don't." He hated hearing his voice shake the way it did just now.

Last year had been bad enough with Umbridge here. Snape had hoped this one would be better, with Dumbledore back, Sirius Black gone forever, and Malfoy where he belonged. He hoped Madam Pomfrey would lend him the Time-Turner again. Without it, he hadn't been getting any sleep at all save a few hours snatched here and there. Why, a couple of times he'd even dropped off at Malfoy Manor, and he hadn't dared to do that for years.

"That is a problem. I'm just surprised that you took some of my classes when I was in St. Mungo's. I do appreciate it," McGonagall said. "I don't see how you were able to brew all those potions so quickly after the raid, either. Some of those children owe you their lives."

"Don't worry, they'll still call me the greasy git anyway," he snapped.

"It's still not right." She reached forward a moment, probably to brush the hair out of his eyes as she used to when he'd been a student, then withdrew.

He looked out the window a moment. He'd better enjoy the sight of the sun—he wasn't going to see much of it this summer, not with this going on. "I'd best get started," Snape said, standing up. "Besides, it'll take me a little while to repair the dungeons after I've gotten through destroying them." He needed some outlet for the anger growing inside, and which he dare not show any longer while in the presence of others.

"I am sorry, Severus," Minerva said, her lean face looking sad. "I'll check the budget and see if there's anything left over for an assistant. I know you've been reluctant to have one before, but you should really consider it. If nothing else, one of the better students might wish to earn extra credit. I suspect you have good reason to keep young Mr. Malfoy under your eye more than usual this coming year."

He was surprised to hear that. Most of the other professors ignored the problems of any Slytherins in his care. "I will think about it. A lot depends on what happens this summer, and what he may be forced to do. I will deny it, under Veritaserum if necessary, but Draco does bear watching. I don't know if he's responsible enough not to abuse the opportunities that would fall in his path, though. Also, he'll probably be Seeker again this year. He may not have the time."

"I would offer Miss Granger, though I know how she irritates you, but I'm still worried about her health."

"Understandably so. Some of the potions she had to take may have an unfortunate effect on her immune system. If she catches anything from her Muggle friends and family, she may have trouble fighting it off."

"I'd better write a letter to her parents, then," Minerva said briskly. "Oh, I don't blame you for getting upset sometimes! I could boil Harry in _oil_ for almost getting his friends killed like this!"

"But it would not be politic for either one of us to say so," Severus said. "Now I really need to go. I may not be at meals for a few days, but you don't need to worry. I simply want to have my snit in peace." Telling people the literal truth sometimes disarmed them.

"I don't blame you," McGonagall said. "Have a nice one."

"And don't forget to take _your_ potions," he said as he escaped the room. He had to go before he lost control of his temper. Minerva deserved better of him than that. _Oh, if only I can keep my anger from destroying everything around me!_ Occlumency had shown him a way to manage his excessive emotions as well as protect knowledge for the Order. Obviously, it was not working nearly well enough. The dreams he had each night reminded him how badly he had failed over the years.

Snape hastened to the dungeons where he could express himself behind thick walls and thick wards. As soon as he was in his private lab, fortunately with nothing brewing, he reinforced the protections there even more than they already were. Not even the house elves would witness this particular tantrum.

It was a good one, too. He wrecked thing physically rather than with spells. It was more satisfying that way. Once he was done even the furniture was in pieces, let alone the equipment or the glass.

He collapsed in the middle of the mess and wept his heart out. _I never thought Dumbledore would ever yank the leash this way. He promised he never would. He promised. Why did I believe him? Why does it hurt so much? I should have known it would happen. I should have remembered the way he always favors the Gryffindors. Look at what happened after the Shrieking Shack. It didn't matter what happened to me, Lupin had to be protected. And now that damned werewolf is going to be here again! The only good thing is that Black is finally gone. _Lucius in Azkaban and Black behind the Veil, never to return. He wouldn't have minded it being the other way around, either.

He remembered when Lupin had taught here before. Dementors everywhere outside the halls, and even the Ministry medallion not that much protection. Poppy had finally gotten one of the house elves to deliver him a cup of hot chocolate every dinner, even in warm weather. Brewing the Wolfsbane potion every month. Well, it wasn't like he had been sleeping anyway with Lupin here. Black roaming the grounds, apparently at will, despite the guardians forced upon them by the Ministry. Draco and his friends nearly getting themselves expelled by their stupidity. The ridicule he'd faced when word of his image in a vulture hat and fur-collared coat had gone around the school.

Fortunately Lupin had dropped his experiments with the Boggart. Snape had heard about it, and then had listed in a quiet, vicious tone the sort of images the Dark Arts classes could expect to see if some of his Slytherins were ever exposed to it. He'd never seen the werewolf go so pale before.

By spring, though, he was beginning to trust Lupin a little. For two months in a row he'd left the potion for the Dark Arts professor and it had been drunk without his personal supervision. Unfortunately, the third time really had been the charm. Severus remembered leaving the infirmary against Poppy's orders to find the children, caught between Dementors and a werewolf. Oh, yes, and what a lot of credit he'd gotten for bringing them in safely! He had long suspected how Black had managed to escape. Last year, when Madam Pomfrey had brought him the Time-Turner, he'd known. He wished that she hadn't found out everything he'd been doing for the Order, but Lucius was careless with his toys sometimes, and he'd been too weak to cover up everything that Malfoy had done.

He grudgingly admitted that Black had been telling the truth all along about not killing the Potters. But letting Wormtail go was a mistake they were still paying for.

_Why did I trust Dumbledore so much? I should be used to him showing his true colors. He always has before. What a fool I am. I keep telling myself that I'm on my own, but I keep reaching out for others anyway. _

_He knew what I was going back to when he asked me if I were prepared. He had to have known. Touching Lucius makes me sick, but I had to pretend I liked it. It was the only way I could think of to get the information the Order needs. Now the bastard is in Azkaban, and I'm so glad! But what do I do now? Malfoy was my only contact._ He breathed rapidly, knowing what would probably happen to him if he couldn't find another source, another Death Eater with more influence. Most of the Order already suspected him of being a traitor anyway. If he didn't supply what they needed, Moody would certainly condemn him out of hand.

_Last year it wasn't so bad when Dumbledore was actually there. But what about this one? If he stops protecting me because of Potter, I'm doomed. I wish Albus had been wrong! Those wretched dreams…I would rather not sleep at all than see what I do at night. He was right all along. I have become my father. I swore I would rather die than do that._

_What am I going to do?_

He sighed and slowly picked himself off the floor. He would be less than a fading memory by now if a Dementor had sucked his soul away so many years ago. _No matter how I feel, I owe the old wizard too much to fail him now. I must do what I can to fulfill whatever he asks of me._

And he had to do it soon. Dumbledore would be back next week, and then he would have to return to the masquerade required of him.

Was there any place where he could be what he truly was?

Snape left the wrecked lab, brushing bits of glass and wood off of him. He would repair that later. He'd already delayed long enough.

Severus went into the bedroom and took the pensieve out of a warded drawer. He had been a fool to leave it where Potter could get at it. He was a fool to trust people at all.

Then he smiled wickedly to himself. Wouldn't it serve the boy right to learn what it was like to have his own memories rummaged through? After all, using a pensieve properly was part of learning Occlumency. The Headmaster should be pleased to learn Potter was to receive such a valuable item. The brat's birthday was coming up, after all.

When he broached the subject, though, he should be careful. Albus would certainly find some way to punish him if he expressed his true feelings. And...he kept forgetting how much he deserved it, too. His nightmares would remind him. Once he was done here, he should visit Gringott's and order the thing. It would take nearly that long for it to be crafted.

Severus opened the innocent-looking ceramic dish. He began gathering all his memories of Lily and placing them in the pensieve, though it nearly broke his heart to lose some of them. After he'd called her that horrible name, he'd found her and apologized. He'd done it badly, but she had seemed to accept. It had been enough to look at her, knowing he had no chance for anything else. Of course he'd wanted more. She was so beautiful, who wouldn't? Naturally she hadn't listened to him when he'd try to tell her that James was still having fun with him out of her sight. It was reasonable for her to believe that he was only jealous.

Yet James had clearly loved her. Snape had never been able to blame him for that. Lucius had brought him as a guest on his invitation to the wedding, undoubtedly hoping to rub his nose into the fact that Lily could never be his. It had worked.

He was shaking by the time he was done pulling out so many memories. In a strange way, it felt good, as if he'd finally lost a rotten tooth. Severus tested himself by looking at his memories of young Potter.

Yes, he had done the right thing. The boy's green eyes no longer bothered him as much. Now he was able to see Potter's behavior as quite normal for his age. The Gryffindor was still a disturbing mirror of his father. _A mirror of his father,_ Snape thought morosely,_ the way I am of mine._

He could see the differences now, though. The Trio weren't the Marauders. Harry never picked out someone to harass just for the fun of it, and far as he knew, never had. The youngest Weasley boy had all the impulsiveness and occasional bad temper of Sirius Black, but didn't appear to enjoy hurting people—well, except for Draco, but Snape had to admit that his godson generally went first.

The know-it-all clearly put up with a lot from her friends. Her being Muggle-born set her aside almost as much as being a werewolf had Lupin. Yet she wasn't afraid to hector the two boys or shield Longbottom from the consequences of his incompetence. She was far more outspoken than Remus had ever been. Longbottom, of course, could easily have been the Wormtail of the group. However, even in the first year he had stood up for himself, and had his own friends outside the Golden Three, which had never been true of Pettigrew.

Why hadn't he seen this before? Why had it taken a threat from Dumbledore for him to look at the situation more clearly?

_I suppose it doesn't matter,_ he thought. _I just wish that I could say that I was different, too.In fact, I've done far worse._ He couldn't change the past, though. All he had to work with was the future.

He looked up at the clock in the dimming light. It was past dinner time already. Perhaps he ought to eat something. If he could keep it down, he might sleep better.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Snape waved it open with his wand. Dobby stood there with a small tray. "Mistress Green-Eyes says to bring you this, Master Severus."

It did no good to shoo Dobby away. For one thing, it had never worked. The little house elf knew far too much. "Thank you," he said, and took the tray. He didn't have to eat it all if the food didn't sit well.

The house elf stood around instead of vanished as he usually did. Snape knew he had to listen to what the small creature had to say. "What's wrong, Dobby?"

"Dobby wants to say sorry," the elf said, pulling on his ears. "Dobby had to work so hard in Gryffindor, he didn't try to help."

"Help with what?" Snape already knew.

"Dobby remembers when Master Lucius was hurting Master Serverus before. Dobby knows what it means when Master Severus won't let anyone touch him. Dobby saw last year, but didn't do anything. Missy Book-Girl knitted so many clothes and left them in her Tower, none of the other elves worked there. It was hard to get it all done. But it's all clean now. Dobby can help more now."

Severus bowed his head. Dobby had been Lucius's house elf since Malfoy's birth, including when he himself had lived for a time at the Manor. Dobby had always been loyal to the blond boy he'd been given to, till Draco's second year. Years ago, he had still comforted Malfoy's latest amusment when misery had threatened to swallow him up altogether. "Master Lucius is in prison and can't hurt me any more."

"Oh, Master Severus, don't be trying to fool old Dobby. He won't stay there long. Master Lucius too rich and like to hurt people too much. He wants to hurt the wonderful Harry Potter, too, the boy who made sure Dobby got clothes."

Well, His little exercise had worked after all. He could listen to the elf burble about the glorious Boy-Who-Lived without wanting to throw up now. "I'm quite all right, Dobby. In fact, you will be delighted to know that I've been told to make things better between me and young Mr. Potter."

"Oh, Dobby is so happy!" The house elf squealed and gave Snape a hug.

Snape went quite still under the embrace. It wouldn't do to shudder. But Dobby wasn't as easy to fool as Lucius had been last year.

"Oh, I's so sorry!" The house elf let go, and looked stricken. "Stupid, stupid elf to forget how Master Severus gets when he's hurt! Must go find a stove and slap my ears in it!"

"Not yet, Dobby. I have some work for you. There's a mess in my private lab. If you can fix everything you can and clean the rest, that will be more than enough." It wasn't Dobby's fault that even his smell reminded him of Malfoy Manor, and Lucius.

"Oh, good Master Severus! Dobby will clean, Dobby will fix broken things. Then Dobby will watch, and help. Hot bath, maybe? And thick, thick wrapping after? That used to be good when you couldn't touch."

"Perhaps later," Snape said. He needed to be alone, not overwhelmed by memories he couldn't bear any more. Dobby was so much a part of them that just seeing the elf brought them back. Oh, if only he could pull them all out the way he had those of Lily!

"Dobby go now. But bath and thick robes ready later. Not have to see anyone," the elf said, then disappeared.

Severus wanted to curl up in his blankets and pretend he was actually protected by the layers of cloth, the way he'd used to when a boy. He should be used to this. Growing up in Knockturn Alley had taught him to use whatever he could. It had been two months, at least, since his last encounter with Malfoy. _I should be able to shove it aside the way I have before. Further proof of how pathetic I am, as if I needed it._

He forced himself to eat the food on the tray. Everything smelled and tasted like sawdust, but it didn't matter. _Lucius is in Azkaban,_ he repeated to himself with each bite. _Lucius is in Azkaban. Lucius is in Azkaban._

But he knew Dobby was right. Malfoy wouldn't be in there long.

Albus Dumbledore

The old wizard gazed at the waves as he sat on the beach near the cottage. Hogwarts gave him strength and focus, but asked him to balance its protections. They had been out of kilter for years, and when there, he had to exert himself each day to maintain them. It wasn't really Snape's fault. He'd tried his first years as Head of Slytherin to first perform the Patronus spell, as well as the more complicated Patronus Slytherin spell. Each House head could bring forth the patron beast of their House at need—unless one could not do a Patronus at all. Dumbledore had hoped that time would Snape enough happy memories so he could bring the light within his soul out in a specific form.

That hope was gone now. Severus had come close the year before Harry's arrival. One would have thought young Malfoy's presence would have counterbalanced that, but it hadn't worked. Albus had seen the twisted relationship between Snape and the older Malfoy in more detail than he'd cared to when Severus had turned himself in and dropped all his barriers. He was quite certain that Snape's pleasure in his godson was mixed with annoyance the more the boy grew like his father.

_I haven't helped the situation much,_ Albus admitted to himself. Potter was the key to Voldemort's fall, and must be trained and protected. It hurt him deeply to know the Dursleys had treated the boy so foully. It hurt even more to realize that Snape had a better record of protecting his Slytherins than either he or Minerva had done for their Gryffindors.

He let himself drift in memory as he dare not normally do. Oh, how the Wizarding World had changed! Why, he had been close to seventy when the Great Plague had devasted Muggles and wizards alike. Hogwarts had been more choosy then. Only a few from Knockturn Alley or from the lower classes had gotten letters during that time, as Hogwarts had been forced to choose between three or four applicants for each seat. Diagon Alley had been a much larger, invisible part of London rather than the one or two lanes it was now. He'd been involved in his own researches in dragon's blood and just beginning his work in alchemy when the terrible influenza struck both worlds.

Of course, the disease had taken a huge toll from a world already disrupted by war. Grindelwald had only been the assistant for the Dark Lord of that time. Defeating him had nearly ended the Exclusion in all of Europe.

In some ways the changes afterward had been necessary. Social class or purity of blood was obviously no guide to strength of magic. The numbers of muggles born with magic had increased, no doubt to make up for the drastic losses suffered by wizarding families decimated, or in some cases, entirely eliminated by war and plague. More scholarships had been offered to denizens from the lower classes. Albus knew that the Weasleys with their current economic status would have been shunted to other, less choosy wizarding schools a century ago. Snape might have been considered because of his family history, but he would have had to find a sponsor to finance his schooling. Only those who had known James Potter would have argued that his half-blood son Harry should be allowed in the prestigious academy that Hogwarts was then. Seamus Finnegan would have gone to Trinity, unless his family was Catholic, and then he would have been sent to France, or gone without formal training.

Miss Granger would not have gotten a letter at all.

Neither would have Tom Riddle, now that he thought about it. Bastards used to be shunned altogether by Wizarding society unless the family made their own arrangements. Unofficial ones on Muggles were ignored as much as possible in his day.

But by the time of the Grindelwald War, Hogwarts was the only Wizarding school. Lean times and small Wizarding families had let the others wither on the vine. It was only now that the absolute numbers of the Wizarding world had grown to those before the Great Plague, while the Muggles had multiplied many times over. In the States, there were a few enclaves belonging only to wizards and witches, while the rest circulated freely in Muggle society there. Some boldly advertised themselves as charlatans—hiding in plain sight, as it were—while others simply went about their business, confident that nobody would believe what was really happening. Salem, New Orleans, Santa Fe, and some town called Redmond were the major centers of wizarding activity.

It was only a matter of time till the Exclusion in Britain was over. Even Tom could not turn back that tide. Dumbledore allowed himself to grieve over the passing of this world. It had been glorious in his youth, splendid in his maturity, and noble even in its decay. Too many Muggles had been chosen to learn magic. Every one brought to Hogwarts was a time bomb waiting to go off.

But without them, Hogwarts would dwindle a little more every year till it was gone. The Headmaster knew the Wizarding World's only hope was to take every Granger, every Harry Potter, and make them such a part of _this_ world they would not bring too much of their own into Hogwarts. But he knew that even if that succeeded, that the complexion of this world would change with every Muggle-born holding a compewter in his hand, and wondering out loud why they didn't work at Hogwarts.

Someday there would be too many Muggle-born, and a critical mass would be reached. Voldemort was terribly right about that. Albus wondered if that moment had come and gone already and nobody noticing it. Tom might be too late.

He mourned a world already gone, and the remnants that were fading away. Dumbledore glanced down at the papers beside him. It was difficult to force himself back into the here and now. It was especially difficult to contemplate the thorny problem that was Severus Snape. _Oh, I wish I hadn't threatened him the way I did. After this nap I'll look these papers over. He wouldn't be the first potions master to fall sick from his work. I wonder if the Swiss have anything new to say on the subject? It would be dreadful if Snape had to be banned from potions for a few years, though. We need him so desperately._

He closed his eyes and slept, hoping for peaceful dreams.


	4. Chapter 4: You Are Cordially Invited

The Birthday Present

By excessivelyperky

Still holding fingers in ears and going LA LA LA LA etc. over Half Blood Prince.

Rowling: All characters, locations, and what not belong to J.K. Rowling, heirs and assigns, and assorted Corporate People. Well, except for the few original characters. There aren't any in this chapter, though.

Chapter Four: You Are Cordially Invited

Severus Snape

Severus continued to work with the Pensieve that entire week. It was a relief to get rid of so many angry memories, as well as the ones of Lily he'd kept for so long. He decided to take the opportunity to dispose of the worst ones of Lucius from last year as well. Unfortunately he couldn't remove them all, as the Dark Lord would be surprised by their absence.

He wished the nightmares would stop. Just when he thought he was done with his past or Potter's, things he'd thought long forgotten would show up in his sleep. That old man who lived across the street from Nora's now showed his face, along with the interesting way he had of getting paid for the bottles Mother needed. He supposed he couldn't have survived Lucius without that early training, but he would rather not be reminded of it. The disconcerting part was that the horrible little man was showing up in his dreams of the Dursley residence. Some of his old Death Eater raids were beginning to mix in as well. It was all very confusing.

Brewing wasn't the refuge that it usually was, either. The fumes bothered him more than usual, which made longer-term potions more difficult. Venting the dungeons each day helped.

Towards the end of the week he appeared at the mid-day meal again, both to assure McGonagall that he was all right and to test his newfound emotional control. To his guarded delight, it held under provocation through a couple of arguments at the table. Since he now knew that Hogwarts was no longer a true refuge, the concerns of the others affected him less. There was no point to his usual sarcasm. No doubt any ill-temper would find its way to Dumbledore's ears. Minerva could usually be trusted, but she left him alone.

Though he had been told to mend fences only with the Potter boy, Snape could see which way the wind was blowing. A neutral tone was best with all, he supposed. It helped that Trelawney with her ridiculous predictions was gone. She swore that her astrological charts worked with everyone but him, but somehow he doubted that. It was just as well that she was taking a course of study overseas. Firenze spent most of each day outside in such fine weather, and rarely appeared at all. Pity. The centaur rarely spoke, and was civil when he did.

The evening before Dumbledore's return he received an invitation from Malfoy Manor for a formal dinner to be held the next night. Lucius's invitations were commands, but Severus was surprised Narcissa wanted to see him at all. No doubt she tried to conduct her own intrigues with her husband gone to keep the Ministry from confiscating everything. He wished her well, and decided to attend. He would even do his best to be courteous. The poor woman needed all the help she could get, though he was amazed she thought his presence would be an asset. It helped that he didn't drink, of course, save when pressed to by Lucius. Narcissa wouldn't insist.

This would be another test of his current relative calm. He'd better let Minerva know about the event. One never knew when a dinner turned into something else. After supper, which he went to for once, he casually showed her the invitation. "I'll tell the Headmaster when he returns tomorrow at lunch, of course, since it's not till tomorrow night. I just thought you ought to know as well."

"Only if you promise not to strangle Umbridge if she happens to be there," McGonagall said tartly.

"Of course. You drew number 1 from the pool. Far be it from me to jump my place in the queue." He couldn't remain emotionless around Minerva, though he knew the risk.

"I'm glad you remember," she said with a wry smile. "However, Fudge is fair game."

"No, I think the Headmaster gets first go with our dear Cornelius. Unless young Mr. Weasley discovers he has his mother's temper after all. Both would be in peril then." Snape had his suspicions about Percy Weasley. He sometimes wondered if the Sorting Hat had done the right thing by putting the boy in Gryffindor with his brothers.

"Molly Weasley would put both heads by the fireplace just like the house elves at Black's house," McGonagall said with a smile.

"And dust them every day." It felt good to make the Transfigurations Professor laugh. He must be careful. Showing any feelings could be dangerous, even ones he liked.

"Ah, Severus! So true. I hope you have a good time, or at least not a horrible one."

"We both know better," he said patiently. He fingered the envelope. He needed to strengthen his mental walls. Even with so many unpleasant memories packed away, he knew how fragile they were sometimes.

Snape sat up and read that night, rather than try to sleep. Sometimes if it overtook him while he was in the chair, the dreams weren't quite as bad.

The next day Dumbledore returned. Severus reported to him in his office about the invitation that afternoon. He'd finally given in close to dawn and take a double dose of Dreamless Sleep, and hadn't woken up till nearly noon.

The Headmaster appeared concerned. Snape knew better, but acknowledged it anyway. It was just part of the game now. He'd learned those who said they were worried about him liked it better if he seemed to be grateful, rather than being confronted with the truth.

Albus fidgeted as they both sat. "I understand that Professor McGonagall has already told you, but I wanted to confirm that Remus Lupin will be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this fall."

"Yes. I've already made preparations for making the Wolfsbane Potion. I wish to point out, however, that if I am…disabled, other arrangements should be made for Lupin for the full moon." There was no point in protesting the decision. It had been made clear he had no rights.

The Headmaster looked troubled. Obviously, he hadn't considered that possibility. "There's something else I need to talk to you about," the old wizard said. "Once you return from the dinner I want you to read this study and some regulations the Ministry is considering regarding the hours per week spent in teaching and making potions."

That sounded reasonable. "Certainly. I think I've heard of the study. The Swiss Institut has some bee in its bonnet about potions-making and health. A few members of the team there have written letters to Potions Monthly about their theories. I'm not sure why it would affect my work here at Hogwarts, though."

"The Ministry may decide to limit how long each week you can either teach or brew based on that study, Severus."

"Not necessarily. I will have to read what they're proposing, of course, but if they act with their usual speed and competence, we should have a couple of years yet."

"I still want you to look at them when you get back. Tomorrow morning, anyway."

"Of course, Headmaster. But you've shown that you can ignore the Ministry. We had to learn that for ourselves for most of last year. If you don't mind, sir, I need to get ready for the dinner." Good. That shot had gone home.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, who looked troubled. "I hope it turns out well.

_You can't be hoping that any harder than I am, Headmaster,_ Snape thought as he went to his private quarters. The invitation had included the phrase "formal dress" underlined. Narcissa meant it. He picked out his best robes, dark green embroidered in silver at the sleeves, and a pale silvery vest over a white silk shirt. Dark green knee-breeches which had matching embroidery around the cuffs and white stockings completed the garb. He really thought the silver buckles on the shoes were too much, but sighed and put them on anyway. He deserved it for letting Lucius pick out clothing for him in the first place.

After a moment's thought, he put on his Potions Master emblem, a small silver cauldron on a green ribbon. He shortened the ribbon just a bit with his wand so the cauldron would lie against the shirt and not blend into the vest. His hair wasn't too bad tonight. Once he started his summer brewing in earnest, of course, it would revert to its usual horror. He also put some vials of various potions in his pockets. He might accidentally drink something alcoholic. Tonight he would need his wits as sharp as possible.

Fortunately he met no one in the hallways or on the grounds to make fun of his finery. Once past Hagrid's hut and into the Forest, he Apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor.

He was let in immediately and escorted to the door by the gate elf. That was unusual. Normally he was allowed to make his own way. His suspicions flared higher. What sort of games were being played tonight? Narcissa had no taste for the things that amused her husband, but she might not have as much power over the house as she ought to in her husband's absence.

Snape entered the hallway. Nobody was there to meet him, and from the sounds he heard, some of the guests were already there. He checked his invitation. He was right on time, neither early nor late.

Kreacher appeared and bowed to him before he entered the main dining-room. "Enter, honored guest," the scurfy house elf announced joyously.

Severus almost turned and left right then. What tales had the wretched elf told Narcissa about last year? What had he told Bellatrix, or the Dark Lord, for that matter? He was undoubtedly walking to his death. For a moment he hesitated.

"Come with me, Master Professor Snape. Everyone is waiting."

He sighed, and stepped forward. He didn't think that Narcissa knew of his mixed loyalties, or would betray him, but Kreacher might not have left her any choice. If it meant saving Draco, she would do anything. As he entered the room, he made sure he had quick access to his wand.

Severus Snape looked around the main dining room. The table was full, except for one seat left open at its head. Pettigrew was below the salt, while Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort were near Narcissa's seat just down from the empty chair. Draco was his mother's escort for the evening. _Oh, surely, they aren't going to make the boy watch it!_ he thought in anguish.

Then they all stood and bowed towards him. What mockery was this? He made sure his face was blank as he bowed back and quietly let his wand slip into his right hand. The formalities must be observed.

"What is it that you would have of me tonight?" he asked in a neutral tone of voice as he straightened up, his right hand behind a fold of his robes.

"Why, to honor you, my boy," said the Dark Lord, his red eyes gleaming. "Your service last year to our cause was exemplary. At first I was angry because of the disaster at the Ministry. My plan to goad that wretched brat into facing me again worked perfectly. If you hadn't sabotaged those lessons the silly boy might have actually learned how to put me out of his mind, and that wouldn't have done at all. But at first I wondered if you had warned the Aurors to come. That, by the way, was my dear Pettigrew's theory. Then I realized that Black didn't show up till later, and that it was undoubtedly he that contacted them. Even if they didn't believe him, they would show up just to try to capture him again. Narcissa pointed out that whatever the dog's flaws, he was devoted to Potter and probably thought he could escape them again."

Snape nodded. A reasonable theory, provided one believed that Black had enough mental ability to come up with such a plan. He could not believe how long it had taken him to get it through Moody's head, as wooden as his second leg, that he was bloody serious and that it wasn't a deep plan to divert Aurors from the real threat. His only consolation was that Moody had had just as much fun convincing the others that he hadn't gone off the deep end himself. "My lord," he said, and went to one knee. "I am glad you do not suspect me of treachery."

"Not now. When this house elf told us of the long hours you spent deceiving the others and how you were treated by those you were supposed to be helping, I decided Wormtail was wrong. Because you were not at the raid, you have survived and stayed out of Azkaban, and may continue to spy on the old fool for us. Now stand, Severus Snape. Take your seat in the position of honor," the Dark Lord commanded.

"Enjoy the hospitality of this place as it was denied to you by the Order all last year," Narcissa added.

Snape did as he was told, and quickly put his wand back as he sat. He felt hideously awkward and exposed in Lucius's chair. Kreacher began serving. His plate was filled first, as was his goblet. He knew he would have to pretend to enjoy his food and drink. Narcissa must have told the kitchen what his favorites were, and he was certain this was the only time such plebian food would grace a Malfoy table. Granted, the pot pie was exquisitely prepared and tasted wonderful, while the plain hot bread and butter anchored it in his stomach. It still put him off a little to have everyone watching to see how much he enjoyed it. He sipped the cranberry juice, and mentally congratulated Narcissa on her tact, since the deep red color mimicked that of many fine wines. He drank wine or brandy only when with Lucius. His patron would insist. Severus had to admit that alcohol was the only thing that made being with the man bearable.

The others were served as well, though the Dark Lord had little on his plate. Everyone else enjoyed the French cuisine that the Malfoy house elves were famous for. Well, everyone except for Pettigrew, who looked at Snape's plate with envy, then applied himself to his own with grim determination. Severus was utterly certain that Kreacher hadn't been allowed within six feet of the kitchen save to carry out the food. Even Sirius Black had had the intelligence to prefer Molly Weasley's cooking.

After a bit he'd made a respectable dent in his dinner, though he rather hoped multiple courses weren't going to be involved. Severus wasn't sure how he'd last through those.

"In deference to the guest of honor, I've chosen dessert." Narcissa's silvery voice rang into the room. Kreacher came in with a plate of baklava with little pots of cream. Snape decided he had room for a small slice. He didn't know how much longer this farce would last, but he might as well enjoy it while it did.

Draco leaned forward. "I heard what Kreacher said about how you were treated by those rotten Gryffindors calling themselves the Order of the Phoenix all last year. I'm surprised you didn't hex them all."

_So am I,_ Snape thought wryly. Was there a way to explain his continued loyalty to Dumbledore to Draco? He must find one soon, or lose another of his children to the Dark Lord's follies. "It was a temptation," he was forced to admit. "However, Madam Umbridge was such an interesting person that I was constantly distracted. Too many targets, not enough wands, you know how it goes. The Headmaster looks like Merlin beside her."

The boy made a face. "It was fun playing up to her, and so easy, too! But you know, even though they were Gryffs, everyone admired what the Weasley twins did. And when I heard how the Mudblood lured Umbridge to the centaurs like that—I wish I'd thought of it myself."

"You will need to be careful next year," Snape said. "The students will remember how you and the others conducted yourselves. That's why I tried to talk you idiots out of joining that Enforcer Squad. Thinking that Potter was easy meat on the train after he'd trained his friends to fight and established firm loyalties was also not very bright."

Draco grimaced. His mother patted his hand. "That's all right, dear," Narcissa said. "It took hardly any time at all to turn you and the other two back. And nobody at the Prophet would dare run those photos."

Snape hid a smirk and decided he wanted a set of pictures himself of "We Three Slugs of Slytherin Are". Just to remind the boy he wasn't invulnerable, of course. If only Draco wasn't so determined to be like his father!

Once everyone was finished, they adjourned to the magnificent sitting room. He was placed in Lucius's own chair. Again he felt exposed and awkward. No Knockturn Alley brat deserved this, as he had often been reminded in this very house.

The Dark Lord smiled with his thin reptilian lips. "I can tell that most of you have no idea what Severus endured last year in our service," he said, hefting a balloon of brandy in his left hand. Many wizards developed the habit of eating and drinking with only their left hand to keep their wand hand free, and Voldemort was no exception. Snape had deliberately eaten with his right at this table to show that he trusted the company around him. Somehow he had failed to mention through the years that there were some effective hexes he could cast with either hand.

He sat back and forced himself to endure Kreacher's prattle as the house elf told of all the miseries inflicted on the Potions Master over the last year. Many of this company rather enjoyed themselves hearing all this, he noticed. The elf also mentioned Moody's little jokes. "Master One-Eye, he thinks it funny to say Master Snape should be in prison. Not even Master Sirius laughs, so he stops. But everyone smiles."

"Tell us what kind of hospitality Professor Snape received there," Narcissa said.

"Nothing, nothing, only the right to enter the door," Kreacher said. "Nobody cares when Master Snape can't eat or drink, except the red-headed witch who yells so much. She offers him everything, but he can't have any because Master Sirius hasn't said he could. She gets Master Sirius to pass him the teapot, then he can drink, but no food, no rest. They ask him questions, he tells them the truth but they won't believe him. Master Snape uses his voice to say things so they think he is lying."

Bellatrix laughed then. "I can just see it! But why did you bother with the truth? You're one of the best liars I've ever known."

He answered her, but knew who else was listening. "Madam Umbridge was free in her use of Veritaserum. At certain doses, even I would succumb. Besides, they'll have to trust me even more once they realized I did tell them the truth. Then, of course…" He let them draw their own conclusions. Even Pettigrew smiled then.

"No wonder you're so thin," Narcissa said. "You must be worn to death with all your duties."

"Others have given their lives or their freedom to the cause, Lady Malfoy. Your sister has suffered a great deal more than I. Even now her husband is locked up with your own. My trials are minor compared to that."

"It's not like you to be so modest, Severus," Bella interrupted.

"It has been fourteen years since we last met and talked," Snape said. He quickly glanced at the Dark Lord, to see how he was taking this.

"And to think I almost had you killed when I first came back," Voldemort said casually. "What a waste that would have been." He swirled the brandy in his glass. "Lucius offered his life as a guarantee that you were loyal to us. Of course it would have been forfeit if he were wrong. I'm glad I listened to him now."

The room fell silent. Then Pettigrew spoke up. "I saw some of it, too. Kreacher let me in every once in a while to have a look. Gryffindors as far as the eye can see, well, except for Moody, of course, and then you. The Headmaster hasn't changed a bit. I'm surprised you're still at Hogwarts."

"I am useful," Snape said coldly, and stared down at more cranberry juice. That summed things up. "He makes a pretense of caring for even a lowly Slytherin or two, but when the crunch comes, we all know where _his_ loyalties lie."

"Ah," said the Dark Lord. "Of course you understand. You always have. Don't worry, when our victory is final you may do as you like with the place except for the Potter boy. I was afraid last year that being around those others for so long had changed you. It is good to see that it hasn't."

"You certainly got an eyeful last year when Mr. Potter had his Occlumency lessons." How odd. He didn't feel the normal surge of fury when thinking of them now.

Voldemort smirked. "I could almost feel sorry for you, Severus, having him irritate you like that. I cannot understand how he's been able to thwart me for so long."

"As for that, my lord, do not underestimate Dumbledore," Snape said. They would believe him here as well as those as 12 Grimmauld Place. "Potter and his friends have been carefully protected even when their rashness should have gotten them killed years ago. Oh, it _appears_ they have been in deadly peril. I am certain the three of them believe their own abilities have brought them through. But allow me to elucidate."

He warmed to his subject, confidence that no one here would learn the lesson he was trying to teach. "During Mr. Potter's first year, he required Mr. Weasley's chess playing ability to get near the chamber that held the Stone. One wonders if Professor McGonagall could have left a charm to make the game easier if the right player wandered on the field. Frankly, the only room on the way that absolutely required Mr. Potter was the one with the keys, and I've heard gossip that it was actually Miss Granger who caught the key. Now, isn't that absurd?"

"What about your own trap? How they'd get past that?" Pettigrew interrupted.

"Do you really expect to find logic in a first year? Remember, the Headmaster had the keys to all the traps, in case he required access to the Stone himself. No doubt the group acquired a crib of some sort, possibly through Hagrid. The giant is astoundingly careless at times. Frankly, I wasn't surprised to learn that Quirrell managed either the game or the other obstacles. He likely received assistance as well," he said, nodding towards Voldemort.

"Then why did Quirrell fail to get the Stone out from the Mirror? And why didn't you help him?" The Dark Lord glowered a bit.

"First of all, Quirrell must have wanted the Stone for himself, while I understand Mr. Potter only wanted to give it back to the Headmaster. Why the old fool didn't just keep it off the grounds somewhere, I have no idea. Secondly, I had no idea you were there, my lord. You gave me no word of your own." He decided to allow a little self-pity in his voice. "I realize you had no way of realizing I was still loyal to you, of course, but it was a long time. I had to make my position at Hogwarts secure. Even now, the old fool can throw me back into Azkaban with a word. But as you see, Mr. Potter certainly does not appear to possess any special power or essence. The next year, of course, he was given the Sword of Gryffindor and then rescued by Fawkes. The year after that, there were so many Dementors surrounding the castle…" He took a deep breath, and hoped his hands weren't shaking. "The only reason I can look back at it now is because Black is dead. I had to be circumspect in my rejoicing, of course, but rejoice I have." That was one honest emotion he could express here and nowhere else.

Bella grinned outright. "You're not the only one! Fortunately we haven't been constrained the way you have."

Snape noticed, though, that Pettigrew was quiet as the animagus eased himself off into a corner and looked down at his silver hand. There were two Marauders left, and one day they would meet in battle.

"And the fourth year?" the Dark Lord asked coldly.

"No one knew about Barty Crouch or the brother wands. You will notice how much you gained from that confrontation, my lord. Perhaps he should not have been able to escape, but as I have often pointed out, he is often aided beyond his own merits. As for last year, you know what I did and how I served you all. Black might have been able to think straight and listen to reason if it had come from anyone but me. However, it was absurdly easy to make sure he was always angry whenever I had something to say. Kreacher will tell you how often I stung his courage. That made him furious with his captivity. Our conflict also made it more difficult for the others to believe me, even when I told them the truth. Especially Potter," he added smugly. "It wasn't very hard to sabotage his lessons. Fortunately your occasional presence kept him upset, and the truthful visions you sent him lured the brat into seeking more. I left my pensieve out on purpose, knowing he would snoop. This gave me the perfect excuse to throw a tantrum and refuse to give him any more lessons. You will notice that only the arrival of the Aurors from the Ministry and Dumbledore himself kept you from obliterating all those idiotic students."

Voldemort looked pleased. Then he frowned. "Yet the Prophecy has been lost. What did it say? How can I recover it?"

Snape was glad the Dark Lord was _still_ obsessing over it. Riddle could have spent last year building up his strength rather than chasing a phantom. Perhaps he ought to find a false one to content his master. "I shall try to find out, my lord. Trelawney is currently gone, but will return. It was obvious a memory charm was used on her so she would forget it. I tried to give her a potion last year to help her recover the prophecy, but alcohol negated the effects. Madam Umbridge drove her to overindulge, and I can't say I blame her."

Everyone in earshot rolled their eyes. "If our enemies don't destroy us, then our families will," Narcissa said with a sigh.

Snape nodded. "One last thing. Mr. Potter now lacks a Wizarding guardian with the death of Sirius Black. His aunt is barely a Squib, if that much. The only natural candidate to replace the dogfather is Remus Lupin, the werewolf. Imagine the fate of _that_ application!"

Narcissa Malfoy smiled gently. "It would be a pity to leave the poor boy unprotected, don't you think?"

Bella laughed. The Dark Lord looked thoughtful. "You aren't speaking of Potter with your usual venom."

"How can I serve you unless I have mastery over myself?" Snape said sincerely. "In addition, the old fool threatened me with Azkaban unless I mend fences, at least in public. It distresses me when Dumbledore is correct, but even a stopped clock is right twice a day. Besides, I don't actually have to stop hating the boy. I merely have to behave correctly to him and his wretched friends. However, I wanted you to know the reason for this change before you found it out second-hand. I am tired of being suspected all the time."

"As you found out last year, no doubt," Voldemort said. "The rest of you, please go. I wish to speak to Severus in private."

The others left. Snape knew the real interrogation was beginning now. Fortunately he had furnished his mind with the proper attitudes. It had not been terribly difficult to fill it this time with resentment towards almost everyone at Hogwarts, including the Headmaster. The leash was tighter than usual just now, but it had always been there.

He winced in pain as the Dark Lord's _Legilimens_ crashed into his mind. This master had never been subtle, unlike his other one. The impact of Voldemort's magic nearly crushed him this time. _Sometimes I wish the old fool could feel this for himself! He'd realize then just how easy I went on his damned precious Potter!_

Severus was forced to relive all the nasty bits from last year he'd left out for show—every humiliation by Sirius Black, the utter weariness from his dreadful schedule, and his loathing of Umbridge. He hoped he'd buried most of the memories of Lucius too deep for anyone to see. He would never leave this place if anyone knew his real reason for going back to Malfoy this last year.

At last it was over. Snape slumped in the chair, too shaky to lift a finger. "I hope you are satisfied, my lord," he whispered.

"Oh, Severus," Voldemort hissed. "It was worse than Kreacher told us. Hogwarts isn't much better than Azkaban for you, is it?"

"We had Dementors there only one year," Snape said. "There are children there all the time." He supposed that was a joke."

"And how you love your Slytherins. Only you could have protected them so well after what you went through at Gryffindor hands. Those years of service have not been wasted, Severus. I am sorry I ever doubted you. You shall be honored second only to those who went to prison for my sake."

Snape slid out of his chair and went to his knees, head bowed. The Dark Lord adored that kind of thing. "I beg you to forgive me my doubts, my lord. No one believed you were coming back."

"How terribly lonely you have been, my Shadow," Voldemort said, his scaly hand ruffling Snape's hair. "Once we have come into our kingdom, you shall have the choice of any woman you please. Oh, don't tense up like that. I know your preferences when Lucius isn't around. A line as old as yours ought to be continued. I shall heap enough honor and wealth on you to make it easier for you to find a worthy mate. And have regard for your health, Severus. You do not look well. Take time to indulge yourself when you can. You don't always have to return right away after a meeting, you know. I shall be pleased to arrange a diversion for you some night and call it business. I know you don't like blood or pain, the way some of the others do. Lucius will understand, or if he does not, I will explain it to him."

The Potions Master began to tremble. "I don't know what I've done to deserve such grace, my lord. Whatever you ask of me will be done."

"Of course. But I won't deliver you back to the other guests in such a state. _Ennervate!_"

Snape felt strong enough to get to his feet, strong enough to keep from vomiting up his fine dinner. _Why does it have to be the Dark Lord who treats me so well? Why can't I have this back at Hogwarts or with the Order? Of course this isn't real. I know what he's really like. But what I had with the Headmaster wasn't real, either._

He spent another hour being told how much he meant to them by the rest of the guests. Even Pettigrew sought him out, though Severus would rather have declined the honor. Both of them had betrayed their friends—Pettigrew, the Potters, and he, most of the people here.

Then again, the Death Eaters only pretended to friendship. He was used to that. As far as he could tell, Potter had really liked Wormtail. Yet, had he? His own memories of the four showed that Pettigrew had always seemed nervous, as if he felt the others were ready to abandon him at any time.

"I'm no good at this kind of party," Peter said quietly, glancing at the others. He nervously flexed his silver hand. "I hate walking around a place this fancy. I always feel like I'm going to knock something expensive off a table and break it."

Snape suppressed a smile as he thought of Tonks, who could destroy thousands of Galleons worth of art just by walking through this room. He understood Wormtail, though. "The first Christmas I stayed here I did just that," he said. "Nobody said anything, but you can imagine the looks." If the Dark Lord thought he could cement loyalty with a bit of false kindness, it couldn't hurt to try the same with Pettigrew.

The animagus looked into the shadows outside his window. "I never thought you'd bother with me after everything. I mean, the Marauders and all."

"Padfoot and Moony tried to kill you, too. I've been in that spot before! Besides, you proved yourself worthy with the sacrifice you made to bring our Lord back to his body," Snape said smoothly. "You should be honored for that," he added, and raised his glass. A little flattery might go a long way with someone who likely got little of it. It had certainly worked with him.

"You're in a good mood tonight," Wormtail observed.

"You're not a student or a Marauder any more." Yes, he was glad he'd removed most of his memories of Lily, or he would surely want to strangle this man. "And we're both servants of our Lord. We should work together."

Pettigrew nodded, and looked slightly less glum. "Well, I'm just glad not be a pet any more. Try being owned by the twins. I barely survived that."

Severus bit his lip to keep from laughing. He could just imagine how interesting that had been. "My condolences. I only had to teach them." Then he told Wormtail about their truly magnificent departure. Even the rat smile after hearing that story. _Good. The more people who despise Umbridge, the better._

"'Give 'em our best, Peeves!'" Pettigrew quoted. "Merlin, we could have used a pair like that with us when we were students!"

Severus forbore to remind the rat just who had been on the receiving end of the Marauders' pranks. The Weasley twins had never been malicious, and never concentrated on a single victim, not even a perfect one like Longbottom. "They offered endless hours of entertainment," he offered dryly.

"But it was safer for me with Percy or Ron," Peter said.

"Not just for you," Snape replied. He nodded a farewell, noticing that Narcissa was gesturing for him to come over. "We'll speak again."

Narcissa had some papers out on the dining room table, which had been cleared off already. The Dark Lord looked on with amusement, and Bellatrix Lestrange with fury. "We've spoken about your remark about Potter needing a guardian," said Lucius's wife.

"And?" Snape asked.

"You know, of course, that my idiot cousin Sirius left everything to the Potter boy, except for some money for Lupin. We've come up with a strategy, and want you to hear it. It is incredible, after all, that the Black family home will be removed from our blood after so long. I intend to contest the will on my own behalf, and that of my sister."

"Do you think it wise to remind the Ministry of her existence?" Snape asked. "If you can be proved to know her location, you might be pressured to reveal it. It would be best to file a counterclaim under your name alone."

"What? A fine way to treat me!" Bella glared at him.

"Madam Lestrange, you know your sister will see you are taken care of," Severus said, with his voice on _soothe_. As long as your family home is kept out of the hands of strangers, does it really matter so much who does it? It will also make a difference if there is an entail on the home or on any other property."

Bella calmed down. Narcissa sighed. "Obviously, I don't have a clue how to manage this. Those wretched goblins are already dragging their feet whenever I need something from Gringotts. Oh, how I wish Lucius were free! He'd give them some of their own medicine!"

"Perhaps Severus can act as your representative," the Dark Lord suggested. "I believe our Potions Master is the only person I've ever known to make a goblin cry."

"That was an accident, my lord. He jostled me, and a vial fell out and broke. It really was the fumes, as much as I would like to think otherwise." Snape remembered that glorious day. Of course, he had decided to carry that particularly noxious potion then, knowing he would have to deal with Snaptooth about his own account.

"Well, what would you do?" Narcissa asked.

"First, make the Ministry prove that Black is actually dead. There isn't a body, and most of the witnesses to his fall behind the Veil are underage, or otherwise unavailable." Of course, if they chose to forget that Auror Nymphadora Tonks was close by, that was not his problem. "After all, despite his protests, young Potter stands to gain from his godfather's death. A case could be made that his friends are only too willing to support his claim no matter what happened. This will give us time to determine what to do next." Delay. Delay was his only chance to find a way out of this situation. Why in the name of Merlin he had even mentioned the guardianship issue he had no idea. One would think he was a Gryffindor who wanted to show off.

Bella smiled, though not pleasantly. "Oh, Snape, you're still the smartest Slytherin alive," she said. Then she clearly realized her mistake. "Aside from our Lord, of course."

"I live to serve," Severus said, hoping Narcissa wouldn't jump from contesting the will to pursuing a claim to guardianship of Potter. He certainly didn't plan to suggest it.

"I shall send the paperwork appointing you my representative to Gringotts," Narcissa said as she gathered all the scrolls together.

"I will do my best," he said.

"You had better," the Dark Lord said softly.

_As if I need reminding!_ Snape thought. He stood. "I have enjoyed this gathering very much," he said.

"But you need to leave. You are always welcome here, Severus," Narcissa said, standing as well. "You have long had the hospitality of this Manor. I now formally renew it. Door, hearth, table and bed are yours for the claiming at your need or desire," she added, using the ancient formula. The look in her eyes said more.

He bowed over her hands. "And I accept gratefully," he said, hoping he would never need to. His life was complicated enough already.

'Severus," said Voldemort. "Do not forget that we will gather soon after Midsummer. Normally I do not announce such things ahead of time, but you will be taking a leading part in the ceremonies that night."

"I am honored, my lord," Snape said, trying to look that way instead of terrified. He suspected what sort of night it would be. "Our numbers are too few with so many captured by the Ministry. No doubt it is time to replenish them." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Narcissa go white.

"You have guessed correctly, Severus," the Dark Lord said. "You will stand as sponsor for most of them, as Lucius did for you, both when you first joined and then when you returned. Naturally, you won't know the meeting place. But it will be a truly appropriate one."

"Of course, my lord," Snape said, and bowed over Voldemort's hands as well. "But I fear I must depart now. The old fool will be curious how I spent the evening." He was having trouble hiding his rage at being chosen the Judas goat to lead his students into captivity. If he stayed much longer, he was going to ruin more valuable things than Tonks could.

"Remember how we cherish you, Severus. Compare it to how you were treated last year, and for many years before," said Voldemort softly. "You have been alone for too long. We were your friends when you were younger. Return to our embrace, the way you have to Lucius."

Snape tried to look enthralled at the prospect instead of horrified as he left the room, the Manor, and the grounds. He landed in the Forbidden Forest, and quickly lost his supper behind a tree. _Feelings,_ he thought to himself. _I haven't rid myself of them well enough, obviously. Well, I know the cure for that._ The pensieve in his chambers had room for more memories. Once he restructured some of the walls in his mind, he could fit many others behind a shelter where they would never bother him.

He wiped his mouth and rinsed it out with a cleansing potion he'd brought along just in case. Then he sighed. It was time to change the furniture again, so his other master would also see what he wanted to. For a moment he wished that Lockhart could just hit him with one of his patented Global Obliviates. Then he began walking towards the Headmaster's office to report.


	5. Chapter 5: Toxicology

The Birthday Present

Chapter 5: Toxicology

Rowling: all hers.

Author's note: The possible long term effects of potions brewing and teaching were derived from Riley's work Pawn to Queen. This story is AU, and is not HBP compliant. Spoilers for all books up to OOtP.

Severus Snape

Snape sat in the Headmaster's office. He told Dumbledore nearly everything about the banquet, except the details of the private interview with the Dark Lord. He already knew how false Voldemort's compassion really was, and how full of hidden traps any kind words from that source were.

"Actually, it will work in our favor to have Black's will delayed," Dumbledore said, as he drummed his fingers on the desk. "The closer Harry is to being of age when the will is finally settled, the better. Lupin is temporary executor till that time, and we have no idea who the court might appoint for a permanent one while the boy is still a minor. This also gives Remus a place to stay for the summer, and allows the Order to use the place."

"A pity we can't deliver the portrait to Malfoy Manor," Snape said. "I can't think of a better place for it." At least there she would have to compete with several others almost as malicious as she was.

The Headmaster smiled. "Black's directions for the disposal of the painting were rather specific, I fear. However, I'm glad the meeting turned out the way it did."

Severus shrugged. "I am not fool enough to take their words at face value. Such banquets often turn out badly for the guest of honor." _I am not fool enough to take your words at face value either, Headmaster._

Dumbledore's brow wrinkled a moment, as if he'd heard the thought. Snape would be surprised if he had, since the walls he'd erected for the meeting were still up.

"Well," said the old wizard, shuffling some of the papers in front of him. "I've had time to look through this study the Swiss have done that was attached to these proposed regulations for brewers and teachers of potions. You should look through it, too, and see what you think. Poppy will need some blood from you to conduct the tests."

Severus took the papers. No doubt the toad was behind it all, though he didn't understand why he was her target this time. He'd managed to keep in her good graces right up till the last few weeks of her disastrous reign. Why she blamed him when she'd used an entire bottle of Veritaserum on one subject, fake or not, on just one person he had no idea. A good thing it hadn't been real, given Mr. Potter's relatively low body weight. He could imagine the pressure she was under these days to get results. But trying to get Minerva McGonagall to betray anyone showed more desperation and less sense than he was used to, even from Umbridge.

He scanned through the summary sheet. He'd seen a few articles from this team already in Potions Monthly. Some of their reasoning was a bit shaky, or so he'd thought at first view, but this study might have more validity. "If necessary, I can see to it that the results of any test look the way they're supposed to," he said. 'They're using the sames profiles that St. Mungo's does, and I'm accustomed to working with those."

"Just this once, I'd like to know what the results truly are," said Dumbledore. "We can decide what to do with them afterwards."

Snape nodded. "May I borrow these papers, Headmaster? If I am to manage next year's duties, I'll have to find the right weasel words and exemptions."

"I just hope the blood test comes back all right."

"Of course. In case it doesn't, though, it'll be helpful to find out what sort of adjustments I'll have to make in order to continue with next year's schedule." Snape couldn't believe other witches and wizards would put up with this nonsense. A pity he wasn't active in the Guild, though he suspected it was going to file a protest as soon as any public notice came out.

"Severus…you could require treatment." Dumbledore looked serious.

"Every Potions Master knows about the long-term effects of brewing and teaching," Snape said. "We both know the Order has other priorities. It feels rather silly to be concerned about damage twenty years from now. I didn't have time to perform all my duties last year, and now I'll have the Wolfsbane Potion to manage as well. Surely these regulations won't go into effect for this school year." He'd just have to find a way around them if they did anyway. For a moment he felt a flash of anger. It was the Headmaster's role to deal with the Ministry, not his. What was the point of being the old wizard's probationer if he received no protection?

Dumbledore shook his head. "I know this is probably a bad time to ask, Severus, but have you considered any changes to your attitude about Harry?"

Snape took a deep breath to assert self-control, and then was slightly amused that he had so little anger at the boy to hold back. "I have done some memory work," he said carefully. "That's why I still have your pensieve in the dungeons. I have also ordered one to be given to Mr. Potter as a present for his birthday this year. I hope it will help him with Occlumency. Given his situation with those Muggles, and his feelings towards me, the more he learns on his own or with someone else the better. He won't be able to use it much this summer because of the restrictions on underage magic, but having it may remind him that it could not hurt to look at his own memories as well as those of others. I have also begun a study of his household, though I'm not certain what to do with one that truly hates magic."

The Headmaster smiled broadly. "Well," he said, "I could not be more pleased. I wondered what the funds withdrawal you made was all about, but decided not to pry. You deserve to spend more on yourself than you do. But pensieves are terribly expensive. If you run short, you have only to say so and I'll get the goblins to release more of what's in your name."

"I don't think that will be a problem, sir," Snape said. "Besides, it was my gift to give." He hated knowing Dumbledore had access to all his finances. Admittedly, the old wizard rarely used his power, though the Ministry's parole agreement gave Dumbledore total control. In fact, the Ministry had wanted to take everything, and attach half his salary, but the Headmaster had convinced someone intelligent that keeping a friend of Lucius Malfoy short on money was not the wisest decision.

Now that he thought about it, he had never really gone without anything he truly wanted. Dumbledore only asked that he be kept aware of any withdrawals, so that the yearly audit came somewhere close to the correct figures. The old wizard also never made inquiries about the kitty kept in Slytherin that Snape used to help some of the poorer students. That was funded through money confiscated from the inevitable illegal gambling some of the older Snakes indulged in. Severus rarely had to supplement it with anything of his own. He sometimes wondered how well Flitwick watched over the Betting Book which Ravenclaw had run for several decades. How it galled him to have to be grateful for a fraction of what his outside potions work had gained him.

He looked up to see Dumbledore beaming with joy. How soon the old wizard had forgotten his threat! But Snape hadn't.

He stood up. "It is getting late, sir. I wish you a pleasant evening."

"Of course, of course. The same to you."

_Only if I don't have any nightmares tonight,_ Severus thought, and departed. Once in the dungeons he changed into bed-clothes, though he feared closing his eyes. Perhaps if he weeded out enough bad memories he might sleep better. For now, though, he sat down with the study and the proposed regulations. Surely anything the Ministry wrote would make him doze off.

Albus Dumbledore

The Headmaster's smile faded as soon as the Potions Master left the room. Snape had said little about how he felt. _I might as well have been talking to an animated corpse,_ he thought. Yet he didn't get the sense of barely suppressed rage the way he had at other times when Severus had been so outwardly controlled.

He supposed it was an improvement. While he still remembered the conversation about the banquet, he made several notes. Apparently things had been ugly enough at the Black house last year that Kreacher's tale had gotten other Death Eaters to respect Snape more. Of course, they could have been playing to Snape's own sense of martyrdom. He would have to get independent corroboration of how events really played out before he could draw any conclusions. Perhaps it had been a mistake to force Black and Snape to work together, never mind Moody. _I should have remembered how badly he took Moody's appointment the year before last,_ Albus thought. At least Moody wasn't teaching here now. A pity that everyone, including himself, had chalked up Snape's obsession that Moody was an impostor to his understandable hatred of the man. _I should have realized that Snape has seen more of Moody in some ways than I have. _Azkaban showed sides of people never seen anywhere else. But Harry _had_ learned a great deal that year, even if Barty Crouch Jr. had truly been responsible for it. As far as Dumbledore was concerned, the gamble had been worth it for that reason alone. As for Black, no doubt Snape had made the Gryffindor's temper worse.

It was too late to ask Molly Weasley what she'd seen. She and her husband went to bed early, though it was summer. Or perhaps _because_ it was summer. Having been told in detail exactly what he'd interrupted a few times made him wary of doing so when it wasn't an emergency. He jotted down another note. Mrs. Weasley should return to her home a few nights each week during the next year. Spending so much time at 12 Grimmauld Place had clearly placed a strain on her marriage, and it wasn't fair to either her or Arthur to endure such problems this next year.

Albus made more notes. He needed to owl Switzerland for more details on their study. The summary hinted at emotional effects as well as physical ones from the syndrome they called potions overload. _We used to call it Brewer's Bog about a century or so ago, but there's no known cure but leaving the cauldron for about five years. It would be nice if something could be done somewhat more speedily._ Now that he thought about it, Snape fit the profile, or would if he were thirty or so years older. He grimaced. What else had he missed?

_I keep making things worse, too. Lupin will be here this fall, and Severus will have to brew Wolfsbane. If he becomes part of Tom's inner circle instead of Malfoy's hanger-on, he'll be summoned more often. And he's not letting me know how he feels any more._

Now Tom is getting smart enough to use the carrot again. If anyone deserves recognition for his brilliance and his work, it's Severus. Oh, Merlin, I wish I knew a way for him to get it! It's odd, though. When he talked about the banquet I thought I would choke on the resentment I expected to sense from him, but it never came. Is he just getting better at hiding his feelings? After all, I've shown him so many times how I disapprove of them.

With that question chewing at his mind, he prepared for bed. At least one good thing had come out of this—no, two. Harry did need a pensieve of his own, and it had been wise for Snape to think of it. The Potions Master also seemed less upset when Harry was mentioned, and was taking a look at the family situation.

But it wouldn't be right to let Snape lose by this financially. It was time to harass the goblin in charge of Severus' account again, and increase the percentage of his outside earnings that would be available to him.

Just as he lay his head down, Albus wondered if the younger wizard's nightmare cycle had exhausted itself, or had gotten into a nasty loop again. He would have to think of some excuse to get Severus to allow his barriers to drop. The sendings had clearly done their work.

The next morning he Floo'ed the Weasley household. From the uproar behind her, he realized he'd called at a bad time. He began to apologize, only to be interrupted.

"Silencio!" Molly said as she waved her wand over her kitchen. Dumbledore didn't know if she meant the spell, quiet the mob behind her, or both. "There now," she said. "Ronald shouldn't burn down the place in just a few minutes. Fortunately, both Fred and George are busy with their shop these days, and that cuts down on the mess a bit."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. I just wanted to ask a few questions. Were there any problems last year at 12 Grimmauld Place that I didn't notice? If you can remember any, especially those involving Professor Snape, that would be a help."

She stopped smiling. "I could have strangled my cousin Sirius with my own hands! It wasn't till almost Christmas that I found that he gave the professor only door-right to the place. _And_ he made sure both Kreacher and that bitch in the portrait knew it. Not that it mattered, mind, with the pureblood rules the way they are."

Dumbledore's blood ran cold. Having only door-right meant that Snape couldn't use the Floo, even in an emergency, without specific permission from Black, and that anything he ate or drank there would curdle in his stomach unless given him by Sirius personally. He wouldn't be allowed to sleep there, either, without being plagued by nightmares. "How did you find out?"

"I was setting a place for Snape at the table. I must admit, I was a little put out that he never touched anything, though I know those silly rumors about him being a vampire just aren't true. Sirius, he comes along, and laughs. Says I needn't bother, and then tells me why. I nearly heaved a frying pan at him! I thought it odd that Snape would come in looking three-quarters dead and not have so much as some tea before he left. But I got back," she said, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "I tricked Sirius into handing Snape the teapot one afternoon, by asking for it when I was sitting on the other side and my cousin couldn't quite reach. After that he could at least have a cuppa without having to beg for it. I brought him some sandwiches from my own house that he could eat on the stoop without it bothering him, too. Between Black's house and what I heard about Dolores, I wonder he managed to eat or sleep all last year."

"Ah," Albus said. He stroked his beard and smiled mysteriously. "But it's all for the best. You see, yesterday the professor went to a reception held by people who heard about his treatment from Kreacher. He was specifically honored for what he endured last year, especially for what the house elf saw. Now he is accepted as a member in his own right, and not just as a lackey to Lucius Malfoy."

"Oh, how lovely!" Molly said. "So it was supposed to be that way all along! I'm still glad I brought those sandwiches, though. He looked terribly fagged out just a couple of weeks ago."

"I'm glad, too." Dumbledore was appalled by how he was using his reputation for omniscience to cover up what had been done to Severus last year. And not the first time, either. "We ask a great deal of him."

"So, what did the others do, throw him a party? He must have been frothing all the time, wondering when any of us were going to bother!" She looked thoughtful.

He had to be careful. Many people underestimated Molly Weasley, and paid for it later. "I spoke with him last night, and he didn't seem angry at all. Of course, I had a little talk with him just a few days ago about his temper, and he seems to have taken it to heart."

Molly nodded. "I heard he had a fit over something that Harry did. I found out later from Remus that it was something about a pensieve. Harry was wrong to snoop like that, though he wouldn't listen when Lupin tried to tell him so. I hope the boy is paying attention to you."

Dumbledore grimaced. "We'll see. He was still quite upset over his godfather's death."

"Oh, dear. Well, I am glad that Remus is coming back to the school this next year. I hope the rest of the students listen to him better than Harry did. I stopped by Grimmauld Place to see how he's doing a couple of days ago. I wish I could tell him that he might be better off without the kind of friend who leads you into trouble the way Black has over the year, but he's so broken up I don't have the heart. Poor man." She swiveled her head around, and her eyes went wide. She waved her wand. "I'd talk more, but Ron's homework isn't going well! See you later!"

The Floo connection broke abruptly. Albus leaned forward and put his face in his hands. _Treated like an outsider last year so much that the house elf noticed it, and I paid no attention, or thought it Snape's fault. On top of that, I've let him know what I think about his complaints. Any complaints. Poppy says my eyes glaze over. What have I missed by not paying attention?_

Fawkes trilled softly at him. Dumbledore stood up stiffly and walked down to the dungeons. Snape was busy over a cauldron, and by the smell, at a critical point in the middle of a healing potion.

He stood back and waited for a good moment to interrupt. A few minutes later, Snape dropped in three elderberries and stirred counterclockwise two dozen times. The potion stopped fuming and turned a brilliant blue. Severus put out the fire underneath and put a lid on the cauldron to cover it. "It must sit for a half hour now. Is there anything I can do for you, Headmaster?" the Potions Master said in a neutral tone.

"I want to apologize," Albus said, as the two of them sat down in overstuffed, disintegrating chairs just on the other side of the door to the lab. "I spoke to you just after Harry left without realizing how hard last year was for you."

Snape nodded. His face was blank, with wary eyes. "Since it appears to be more of the same next year, perhaps it's just as well. I should know better than to believe it will change."

Dumbledore winced inside. He couldn't appear angry about his friend's attitude, or Snape would reveal even less about how he felt. "You don't have to get all the summer brewing done right away," he said. "Why not take some time off? Flitwick is in Paris right now, while Trelawney is in the States for the next two months." He remembered her last letter. The woman was having an interesting time staying with some Muggle woman named Betty Ford.

"The next meeting is going to be soon," Snape said, his eyes now as blank as his face.

"All the better reason to enjoy yourself while you can," Albus said gently. "Name the place, and I'll find an errand to send you there."

"I will consider it," Snape said, his face softening for just a moment.

They sat together in silence for a little while. Dumbledore didn't know what else to say. Then he stood up. "I won't take too much of your time today, Severus, but I've asked Poppy to make her order for the standard potions much larger this year. You need to speak to her soon about that blood test for the study."

"I still say it's a waste of time, but I will get to it." Snape took a deep breath.

"Your health is important, Severus," the Headmaster said. "I really am here to help you. Last year must have been difficult for you. How long has it been since you dropped your barriers in a safe place? You know what can happen to an Occlumens who leaves them up too long." He would rather face another tantrum than the apathetic acceptance he saw now. Well, almost. Perhaps he ought to take advantage of this temporary indifference to make some much-needed changes. "I spoke with Minerva recently, and I agree with her that you should have an assistant this year. If you can't use one of the students, then pick someone you think suitable and hire them. We'll find room in the budget somewhere. Next year can't be the same as this one."

"I certainly hope not." Snape stood up as well.

"I know you're in the middle of brewing, or I would order tea. Try to get some rest."

"Someday." Snape went over to his cauldron and lifted the lid to inspect it. Then he paused. "Thank you, Headmaster."

Albus nodded and smiled, though he was worried by the lifeless tone of the younger wizard's voice. He headed back to his office. Fortunately the staircase felt generous today and took him all the way up. That had gone better than he'd hoped. It had been a long time since he'd been able to speak to Severus without worrying about angry outbursts. No doubt Snape would explode eventually, but he was willing to be lenient as long as Harry wasn't involved.

He frowned when he stared at the pile of paper on his desk. Proposed regulations were spewing out of the Ministry faster than he could read them. Umbridge had clearly recovered from her ordeal in the Forbidden Forest, and now was taking her revenge. He was glad Minerva was helping him go through them. Though she still tired faster than she ought to, her eyes were as sharp as ever.

Dumbledore gazed out his window. It was a beautiful, sunny day. Too bad it was also windy, or he'd read through this pile outside instead of being stuck here. _Did I defeat Grindelwald for_ this? _Surely even Tom would decide against world domination if he knew what kind of paperwork it involved!_

Severus Snape

Snape finished the healing potion, bottled and labeled it, then went onto the next. He assembled more ingredients for the Harmonia Potion and boxed them up to be sent to the Dursley household. Then he started a new batch of healing potion. He suspected he was going to use a lot of it next year.

Even brewing wasn't the joy it usually was. Once the next batch was ready to sit for a half-hour, he began trembling a little. _I wonder when I ate last?_ He needed a steady hand for today's work, especially dicing the coriander for the Harmonia potion ingredients. Snape summoned a house elf. It was Winky this time, who disappeared after he asked for a tray, then returned with a plate, silverware and napkin which she arranged with rigid precision. He thanked her, then sat down. He had no appetite, but forced himself to eat anyway.

He rubbed his eyes. _I'll have to be careful using Dreamless Sleep. I'll start seeing things during the day if I try to dodge them too much at night._ As he stared at the half-empty plate, he wished he could trust the Headmaster the way the old man wanted him to. Even with the apology, though, Dumbledore hadn't withdrawn his threat. Nothing had changed. He tried to force down what was left on his plate, then gave it up as a bad job and went back to brewing. Leaving for a vacation would only mean more work piled up once he got back. Weasley and Lovegood would be turning lessons in soon, and they would need to be graded and sent back before they could go onto the next step. As he stirred and added ingredients, he thought of all the preparations he'd need to make for next year. The new master schedule hadn't come out yet, and probably wouldn't till next month sometime. At least he didn't have to start the endless round of swaps and deals till then. He was glad that Flitwick and McGonagall were morning people, though. They actually liked their classes earlier in the day, which made it easy to trade.

He thought back to the conversation he'd had with the Headmaster. He'd almost told the old wizard the truth. What a mistake that would have been! Dumbledore always knew everything anyway, and his claim of just finding out was undoubtedly just that. He hadn't gotten terribly specific, either, about what parts of last year were supposed to have been the hardest, either. _I can't talk about Black without anger anyway, and I know what would happen then. Everything would have come pouring out, and I know the consequences of that now._

_I've tried so hard!_ Snape protested to himself, and was disgusted at how whiny that sounded. Once more, his feelings were causing weakness, weakness that would hurt the Order in the coming year. He wasn't doing enough to get rid of them. _I should do some more memory work, especially before I'm summoned. I might show how much I hate seeing my students throwing their lives away for that wretched Dark Lord._

The cauldron began smoking. Severus hastily lowered the flame underneath the pot and put in the maidenhair before it was too late. There was something wrong with him if his mind wandered while he was brewing. Even routine potions could become exciting then, as Mr. Longbottom had proved over the years.

Once he focused his attention, the routine soothed him as it usually did. Venting the dungeons every day was helping with the dizziness, while Dobby thought it his duty to see his Master Severus got a tray once a day whether he asked for one or not.

That ridiculous study! Even if the Swiss were right, that wasn't going to change anything about _his_ situation. The treatment involved several months in residence, and _that_ certainly wasn't going to happen. Snape grimaced as he remembered the proposed Ministry regulations if he failed the test, or at manipulating the numbers. Only so many hours of brewing a day, fresh air for an hour—he'd like to see the ministers, besides Arthur Weasley, of course, subject themselves to Hogwarts winter weather to that degree. In fact, he wouldn't mind that at all. Frankly, teaching the amateurs in his classes was far more dangerous than any of his real potions work, including the Wolfsbane.

It was time to let the cauldron sit for the rest of the afternoon now. He'd better pay attention to this batch, as it should be far more potent than the last. He'd probably need it later on. The Dark Lord's favor was chancy at best, and his followers tended to be jealous of the latest favorite. Thanks to Malfoy's patronage, he had attended a few meetings under Lucius's protection, but even then he'd caught the occasional Crucio just for being there.

He assembled the Harmonia ingredients automatically and got them packed for delivery to the Muggles who had Mr. Potter in their grasp. Snape smirked as he thought about his next trip to Gringotts. As Narcissa's representative, he'd have more status than as Dumbledore's probationer. He looked forward to having some fun with the goblin in charge of the Malfoy account, and his. They respected force. Personally, he thought it would do Narcissa good to fight her own battles. She had enough hidden steel that she'd be able to teach them manners if she got angry enough. But since she was going to let him have the fun, he wasn't going to turn it down.

Severus cleaned up, applied some Muggle postage to the package before he sent it off to Hogsmeade, changed his robe, and went up to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey had yet to send him nagging notes by way of any handy house elf, but it was only a matter of time, and he may as well let the vampiric woman get the blasted sample now.

She greeted him from her office as he entered the small ward. "Oh, there you are! I was just about to head down there and get the sample that way."

"I probably should have let you," he said. "Then I could make a case that it was contaminated in the gathering process by all the fumes down there."

Poppy smiled. "Not this new one. You're not the only one who hates needles, so I took a class last week and learned how to Apparate blood properly. Liquids are pretty tricky that way."

"About time," he said. "But won't the use of magic affect the results of the tests?"

"Not this new technique. If the container is properly charmed, then anything like that will be countered. Hold out your arm, it doesn't matter which one."

Snape held out his right one. Intellectually he knew the presence of the Dark Mark, active or not, wouldn't really have an affect, but he just didn't like taking the chance. Blood appeared in the tiny vial that Madam Pomfrey held next to the vein on the inside of his elbow.

"There. That was easy enough," the mediwitch said, looking pleased. "An old friend of mine will run the tests and won't say a word to anyone else. Then we'll know what your baseline really is, and what needs to be done about it. As long as I have you up here, I have a few questions. How are you sleeping?" She summoned an owl and sent the vial off to St. Mungo's.

He almost told her the truth, too. His nightmares were getting increasingly bizarre, but they didn't seem to bother him as much after his memory work. "Better than last year." Anything was better than last year.

"Well, that's not much help," she said, obviously thinking the same thing. "I still have the Time-Turner if things get that bad again."

"I wonder about that," Severus said, as they both sat down by her desk. "I used Hagrid's hut to sleep in during the first part of the year so I wouldn't run into myself or anyone else, for that matter."

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind. He always likes company," Poppy said absently, sipping from her interrupted cup of tea.

"That's the problem. The students wander in and out of there, plus he keeps the door open all day unless the weather's really bad. That didn't work for me last spring, and I doubt it will next year, either." Fortunately the weather had been quite mild after the half-giant had returned, and he'd slept out in the boat cabin by the lake. But that wouldn't do in winter at all.

He hadn't thanked Hagrid properly for using the place, either. _At least I left his pantry stocked properly,_ he thought, _though I'm sure a few jugs of Ogden's would be well received._

"Oh, dear, you're right," Poppy said. "Maybe the Shrie—no, that won't do at all, no matter how anybody transfigured the place. Lupin might want to stay out there when he's had his potion anyway. I'll ask around and see if there's a good place. I'd offer the private room here, but I'm afraid you might see more of it than you like this year as it is."

He got up and paced around the office. "Somewhere close to the Forbidden Forest would be easier if I must use the Turner again next year."

"I suppose you're right. I worry about that, though. I know that you may need it to get enough sleep, but I read somewhere that's how people get caught in loops," the nurse said, clearly fretting.

"I don't know what else to do. The Headmaster told me he was sorry last year was so hard for me, but didn't have any suggestions beyond hiring an assistant." It would be easier for him if there were someone he could trust; but how much time would he spend in training someone new? Or in redoing the work when it didn't meet his standards?

"In case you're wondering, I didn't tell Albus how much you got hurt last year or how. I still think he needs to know just how much you sacrificed to the Order. I wish you hadn't had to." The mediwitch pursed her lips.

Unfortunately, Poppy did know, though he was grateful for her silence. Lucius liked to play rough, and he hadn't hidden it as well as he should have from the older woman's keen eyes and diagnostic spells. "I'm sure he already know," Severus said dully, as he stopped pacing. "It doesn't matter. It was the only way I could think of to find out what the Order needed to know." At least he was beginning to get numb enough to tolerate being touched again. Surely that was some kind of progress. He was much too sensitive at times.

"If you want to talk," Poppy said in a soft voice, looking down into her teacup, "I'll always find time for you. If this blood test comes back the way I think it will, you must get some help. Not for the Ministry's sake, but for yours."

"Why?" he barked. Oh, he needed to be more careful. The mediwitch didn't deserve his bad temper. He forced himself to use a calmer tone. "Once this…this is all over, then I'll do what you think is right. But if I can make it through last year, I'll make it through this one." _Or not. But that's not my decision to make. Oh, Poppy, Poppy, I'm not worth that worried face of yours._ "I'll even wander over to see Hagrid when we're done here and get a little sun. I'm supposed to look over his animals soon anyway. I haven't gotten slobbered on by Fang in weeks, and I'm overdue."

She smiled. "I'll check on a place for you to stay if you must use the Turner again. I hope you won't need it, since that is wearing, too."

"We both know I didn't have any choice," Snape said. "And now off to Hagrid's."

He left the infirmary and walked over to the groundskeeper's hut. He really was supposed to check with the half-giant once a week to find out if any of his beasts were sickly, though how anybody was supposed to tell with some of them he had no idea.

Hagrid was his usual hearty self, though he had a couple of bruises from dealing with his 'little' brother. Snape had yet to meet Grawp, and from what he had heard, had not lost anything by it. The half-giant was free to keep whatever pets he liked, though, and Snape had long had the suspicion that he was one of them.

This time none of the animals had anything wrong, so he took some time to just sit with Hagrid on the stoop. Naturally he had to pretend to be offended by the way Fang lay his head in his lap and drooled all over his robes. Given what else the house elves had to get out of his robes during the school year, he didn't think a little dog hair and spit would bother them.

He enjoyed his visit while he could. Though the groundskeeper always offered him a tot from the ever-present jug, the large man never minded brewing up fresh tea when Snape refused the whiskey.

"Got to thank you for comin' by so much last year," Hagrid said, a cup of his own dwarfed by the huge hand. "Fang would have got dreadful lonesome without you. Oh, Grubbly-Plank never forgot to feed him or nuthin, but the pup misses someone to cuddle with."

Snape remembered many cold nights when he'd come back from Malfoy's embraces and Black's sneers, and had found comfort with the dog when he couldn't bear a human touch. "Well, it helped when I need some time away from things." He stared down at his tea. "I tried to leave the place as neat as I found it."

"Ah, neater!" Hagrid laughed. "You know there's always room by the fire when you have to come back late. At least that _woman_ isn't going to be here. I know you Lupin scares you, but even a werewolf's an improvement over _her_."

"Unfortunately I have to agree with you," Severus said as he petted the dog.

"Wish you could have a beast of your own down there in those dark dungeons," Hagrid said. "It seems a shame you don't. Fang's never wrong about someone, you know."

"It's too dangerous," Snape said. "I have too many things around that could hurt a animal, and I can't be there all the time. I…I hate to say this, but some of my students can't be trusted around anything helpless." Some of them had been hurt so much they wanted to strike back at any target, while others had learned family lessons of cruelty all too well. He couldn't forget that anything he loved could be used against him by either master.

He sighed. Was he going to have to give up this small comfort for the Order's sake as well? Any chink in his armor of self-sufficiency might prove fatal. But not today. Today he would enjoy the stupid dog's warmth and affection. Today he would pretend he could have that much.

Hagrid looked at him, his shrewd eyes betraying more intelligence than the half-giant usually showed. Apparent stupidity could be a useful shield, too. A pity that real stupidity went to the bone on so many of his students. "You know I talk a lot, but not about some things," the groundskeeper said. "It's only right I help you, the way I keep you running with potions for my babies. Besides, the Headmaster's asked me to watch out for you."

"I know," said Snape wearily. "I hope you don't have to." Yet last year there were a few times when he could have used Hagrid's help. This next year might be even worse.

"Well, then, it's time you met Grawp."

Snape groaned. "Does it have to be now?"

"Might as well. You smell enough like Fang that he won't mind as much. He doesn't like new people till he gets to know them a bit. But he saved the two kiddies not that long ago when the centaurs were a bit upset with them."

Snape glumly followed the half-giant out to the Forest. He wasn't used to walking this fast to keep up with anyone, but even his long legs had to stretch to move as fast as Hagrid did when he wanted to move quickly.

At first he thought he was off the hook. He and Hagrid stood in the middle of the Forbidden Forest while the half-giant called for his brother and was met with silence.

Then a tree crashed behind him. Snape whirled around, his wand ready, only to face a larger, more awkward version of his friend. He put his wand back into his pocket immediately. Hagrid's brother stared, blinked his eyes, then blinked some more. "You…hurt me?"

"No, no," Hagrid said, coming over. "He just didn't know it was you. We're friends, see, and sometimes we help each other. Come on up close, he won't bite."

Snape tried hard not to show how he hated having someone so much larger than he get so near. But Grawp looked more puzzled than menacing, and bent down to look right into his face. Then the giant took a big sniff. "Smell like Fang," he said, his face screwed up.

_Looks like Goyle trying to read a book,_ Severus thought.

"Smell…smell like nasty medicine!"

Now it was Snape's turn to blink. "I make potions for your brother's sick animals, and sometimes for sick people, too."

That was clearly too many words in a row for the giant to cope with. Grawp's face went blank. Hagrid laughed, and slapped his brother on the shoulder. "He'd need a cauldron bigger than he was to make them for you!"

Snape devoutly hoped he'd never be asked to do so, but nodded anyway. He understood what the groundskeeper was doing now. Next year he might run into the giant in the Forest, and it'd be best for all if the fellow knew who he was. He was surprised he hadn't done so already.

Grawp sniffed him over again, and nodded. "It's all right now," Hagrid said. "The boy won't forget you. At least he won't munch you for dinner if you happen to be stuck out here some night. I'll teach him to come for me if, if you're not up to it."

'No meat anyway," Grawp said mournfully, looking down. "All bones."

Severus excused himself and went back to Hogwarts. He walked through one of the gardens on his way to the dungeons, and he wished he could just sit in the sun on one of the benches for a while. The warmth made him sleepy. But he still had a potion to finish, and it'd be much too easy to miscalculate the time when the days lasted so long. Oh, Merlin, he hated being a slave to the clock even in summer.

For a moment he stopped in the middle of the flowers and just breathed in their scents. He was so tired of the darkness. _If I become a ghost,_ he thought, _I will stay out here as much as I can and never go down below unless I must._ He imagined himself passing through the halls with students begging for answers for potions questions. At least he wouldn't be stuck teaching the class forever, the way Binns was. _What would it be like to not hurt or care any more?_

Severus inhaled one last breath of summer and moved on. He had too much to do and far too little time to get it done.

Albus Dumbledore

The Headmaster gazed down at the now-empty garden. He was glad his friend had gone outside today, at least enough to put a little color into Snape's sallow skin. _I hope he'll lower his barriers for me soon_. He knew how to force them to fall if he must, but would rather not.

Severus had been in Hagrid's hut, too, judging by the clump of dog hair on the front of his robe. _If he can't reach out to me, at least he isn't entirely closed in._ The half-giant had often been able to help people nobody else could. The Potions Master had looked so relaxed in the garden as he'd allowed himself to bask in the sun for a bit. A pity he hadn't sat down. _But how can I complain that he takes no time to rest when there is so much to do?_

He felt his age today. Yes, he knew what it was like to have mortality breathing chill upon his neck. How could he blame Severus for feeling he must make every moment count, knowing his last might come any time? Dumbledore remembered years of peace and joy, long before Grindelwald or Voldemort lay their shadow on his life. He loved his scattered family, even his brother Aberforth.

As far as he could tell, though, Snape had always been a prisoner of his past with no sense that the future might bring better things. _Surprising he's never understood Harry. They are so terribly alike._ Yet Harry had friends, and in the Weasleys, a surrogate family. Snape had only those pretending friendship for reasons of their own. And Lucius Malfoy. Albus shuddered a little bit, thinking how _that_ relationship had turned out for the younger wizard. The only member of the Order who had shown Severus any real hospitality last year had been Molly Weasley. What did Snape have to believe in?

It was terribly important that Severus reconcile somehow with Harry Potter. Victory might bring his own death, and the end of his ability to protect Snape from the Ministry. Only the word of a hero might keep Severus out of Azkaban, no matter his services to the Order. As for Harry, the boy must not learn how to hate too much.

Albus had been appalled when he'd learned of the boy's attempt to cast the Cruciatus spell on Bellatrix Lestrange, though relieved it had gone so badly. It did no good to destroy one Dark Lord, only to raise another. He sometimes wondered why Snape had never thought of seeking domination for himself. _How torn he must be between Tom and I, and how tempted he must be to end the game at times, especially now that I've shown him the whip as well. Perhaps I have taken his loyalty for granted. Yet I have to show perfect confidence in him in public, or Moody and his kind will tear Severus apart._

He shuffled more papers. All these decrees kept him from thinking about what was really important. Perhaps that was their purpose.

The key to victory lay through the Order, and Harry Potter. If the Order itself was divided, they were doomed. The Headmaster had hoped that Snape and Black would somehow learn to work together, even after their rivalry in the past. _But Sirius was never sorry for what he did, so certain of his innocence in everything but his foolishness in trusting Pettigrew,_ whispered an errant thought. _Severus was ready for me to call the Dementors for his crimes._ Of course, Snape's had been far worse. His time as a Death Eater had contained some appalling episodes. Albus had nearly hardened his heart when seeing some of them. _And we might have lost the war if I had,_ he thought.

Then he had another disturbing thought. _Harry wasn't sorry for that he'd done._ What was to stop the boy from performing Crucio again, this time on Snape? Maybe he'd do a better job of it the second time. The boy already blamed the Potions Master for Black's death. Dumbledore remembered how difficult it had been, even as head of the Wizengamot, to keep Potter from being disciplined for attempting an Unforgivable. It would be impossible if the boy did it again more effectively.

He got up and stood in front of the window, looking at the beauty that was Hogwarts this time of year. Snape had never said why he'd stopped the lessons, but Albus would wager two sacks of lemon drops that it had to do with the pensieve. Potter had snooped before. It was possible he'd done so again. Dumbledore smiled to himself. That would explain the gift of the pensieve. The Potions Master was right that Harry would need one if he were to learn Occlumency properly.

Then his smile faded. He knew what kind of memories Snape kept in the ceramic storehouse. _I need to ask Harry if he looked into the pensieve, and what he found. And what Severus said and did afterwards._

Maybe Snape had been driven too far. Yet Harry _must_ learn how to shield his thoughts, or Tom would start looking out of the boy's eyes all the time, instead of once in a while. Stealing bodies was a form of immortality as well.

_Oh, Tom, we failed you too. We ignored your pain till you put up such a strong shield that nobody could see it. We assumed you were up to no good, and our constant suspicion made sure you never trusted us. And then we expelled you, and thought that was the solution._ There was something basic to all three of them—Tom, Severus, and Harry, something that he should have been able to see. Showering privileges on Harry had only worked so far. One of these days the boy would ask himself why he'd been sent back to the Dursleys so many times, and not be put off with excuses. Severus was the only one of the three that Albus had real control over, and that could easily change. For all his Gryffindor heart, part of Harry was still Slytherin, and more so every year.

But the Muggle world had their failures, too. Some of them made the news. Albus took in a deep breath, and suddenly his lungs filled with the scent of columbine, though he didn't think any was blooming just now. Something in his mind told him it was only a shadow of things to come, in a place where two laughing young men turned school hallways into blood-spattered killing fields, but they carried Muggle weapons and not wands.

He shook his head, and the brief vision faded. It was just as well that most magic was not as deadly as those evil toys.

The Headmaster breathed a sigh of relief and sat down at his desk again. Such things weren't likely to happen here. Admittedly, he had once seen a Muggle movie about a girl named Carrie. She'd performed the most amazing wandless magic when pushed beyond endurance. _A good thing Severus never saw it,_ whispered part of his mind. _Or Tom._ He hoped and prayed that Harry hadn't.

Snape _had_ learned from his experiences. When young Malfoy had tattled on the Trio back in Harry's first year, Severus had agreed it was a good idea to frighten the Slytherin by making him share their detention in the Forbidden Forest. Dumbledore knew it had also been Snape's doing to make sure Crabbe and Goyle became the boy's constant companions afterwards. If only young Malfoy wasn't his own worst enemy! Severus had been stricter with the boy than most knew, but nothing seemed to make much impression on the child.

He looked around his office. Powerful wards protected it, but Harry had still caused a great deal more damage than he should have been able to. What matter happen next year? If Snape showed he was sincere with his efforts, and the young Gryffindor still proved unreachable, Albus knew he would have to step in himself and risk Tom's appearance. Perhaps he would have to do so anyway. By now Harry might refuse any lessons at all from the Potions Master.

Snape was calmer these days. Everyone had remarked on the shift. Dumbledore thanked whatever power was responsible, though he felt a bit smug. He knew the real reason. The peace might be a false one, and soon to fail, but he could enjoy the quiet while it lasted.

The Headmaster put his head in his hands when he looked at the paper. He swore the pile was growing on its own, even without any new owls. Albus turned his chair around to the open window and enjoyed the summer air. The hum of the bees lulled him to sleep.

Additional Author's Note: I realize there isn't much action yet. There will be. This is going be an extremely long work, and in this chapter I set up a few things that will be recurring themes throughout it. I appreciate your patience. I also appreciate all the reviews both for this story and "Grave Matters" (which is HBP compliant) which I have received recently.


	6. Chapter 6: Called to Greatness

The Birthday Day Party

By excessivelyperky

Rowling: all hers

Note: AU to HBP. Canon-compliant up to the end of OOtP. And thanks for all the nice reviews! Rather less pondering this time. ("Are you pondering what I'm pondering, Mr. Longbottom?" "Yes, Professor, but burlap chafes me so." It's Neville, it's Neville and the Snape, Snape Snape Snape Snape!")

Sorry about that. See what happens when you let Fred and George help with author notes?

Chapter 6: Called to Greatness

Severus Snape

Snape stood out on the grass by the Great Hall a couple of days later. He looked at the sun, still far above the horizon, and grimaced. School had gotten out early this year after Umbridge had been taken to St. Mungo's. Normally the Leaving Feast would have been today, the longest day of the year, and shortest night.

His arm throbbed painfully. He'd left a note for the Headmaster. For a moment he contemplated running away from both sides, only far more thoroughly than that idiot Karkaroff. Surely there was a place where he didn't have to deal with either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord.

Then he was ashamed of his cowardice. He was certain that new Death Eaters would be branded with the Dark Mark tonight, and some of them would be his students. He could not desert them. Perhaps in the shock and pain of their new servitude a few of them might realize how foolish they'd been. It was up to him to show them the way back. Who of them would know that there _was_ a way back if not for him?

He strode forward to the edge of the grounds, put on the robe and mask he hated more every time he had to wear them, and Disapparated.

Severus gasped when he realized where he'd landed. Only Tom Riddle would dare hold ceremonies _here_, amid the ruins of the Potters' house in Godric's Hollow. He'd mentioned the place as one of the possibilities to Moody, but of course the Auror had laughed at him. Why couldn't any of them understand that this was the time to strike? The Dark Lord was weaker now than he had ever been. Damn that Prophecy—and damn Dumbledore, too, for putting all his faith into it. What was needed was action, and he had already been forbidden by Albus to strike. "I'll know when the time is right, Severus," he'd been assured.

Fortunately the silver mask hid his face as he walked closer to the Hollow. He was afraid it was showing his feelings all too easily right now. Severus paused, and took a deep breath to reinforce his mental walls. It wasn't a matter of putting them up any more; they were a part of him now. Then he carefully arranged his memories to let his real fury towards the Headmaster show. As far as he was concerned, Potter was irrelevant now and probably always had been. Fortunately, with the House of Memory system that he used, it was rather like furnishing a room to make sure the proper knickknacks were on display.

He began walking again and soon encountered one of the new intake. Snape had to talk to the boy before it was too late. "Draco," he said softly. "I thought we had agreed that you were going to wait till next year. You're not even of age."

His godson was draped in a concealing cloak which must have been stifling in this heat, though the sun was dropping rapidly towards the horizon. Godric's Hollow was south of Hogwarts, and it would get dark here sooner than at the school.

"But I really am strong enough, professor! I know what we said earlier, sir, but just a few days ago I was allowed to visit Father in Azkaban. He said you worried too much, the way Mother does. I have to be the man of the family now."

_Damn Lucius to hell for this!_ Snape thought. "And of course your friends are going to be here as well," he said in a low voice.

"Of course," Draco said. "And Pansy, too. You're going to be proud of us!"

"Getting the Dark Mark is extremely painful. It will be hard for you not to cry out and disgrace Slytherin. I will do what I can to help, of course," Snape said contemptuously. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"It's…it's a bit late to change my mind, isn't it?"

"The Dark Lord does not need followers who waver," Severus added. "If you have any doubts, tell me now. He will scan your mind for loyalty, and that will hurt, too. I can easily tell him that you're not ready yet, and should be sent home after a quick Obliviate.

"There may be other consequences you haven't thought of, Draco," he continued. "The Ministry is still trying to confiscate your estate. Your mother _not_ being a Death Eater is the only thing that's kept them from being successful so far. You will weaken her position."

That obviously made the boy think. But not for long enough, because his godson soon shook his head and said, "No, I promised Father. It wouldn't be right to break my word to him."

"Very well. Let's join the others." Snape strode forward into the deepening gloom of the Hollow and towards the ruins, which were already in darkness.

Voldemort, Lestrange, and Pettigrew stood near the entrance to the wreckage. What an unholy Trinity! What was the Headmaster thinking to set a trio of children against these three? This was a task for grown men.

As soon as he was part of the circle himself, he went down on his knees. _Where is Nagini?_ Snape wondered. His question was quickly answered when the huge serpent came hissing out of the doorway. It turned his stomach to think of this place being so violated.

Others in cloaks approached. The Dark Lord waited till all were kneeling, except for Wormtail or Bella. Snape made no protest. Favoritism of this kind never lasted long with Riddle.

"You may rise," the Dark Lord said, hissing almost as much as Nagini. "Follow me."

Everyone went out from under the trees into dim starlight, as the summer's light had yet to fade all the way. The sun would rise amazingly early this time of year. Severus forced himself to ignore the warm night air which sang like wine through his veins. Other rituals would be held this night by most witches and wizards, but those would be for life. This one was for death.

"It is a time for new beginnings!" Voldemort proclaimed once they were gathered in a circle around a pile of wood. "Incendio!" Fire leaped from his wand and started the bonfire blazing. Wormtail left, then returned holding a small Muggle boy. Oh yes, and he had to have green eyes and black hair, of course. Snape knew what he was about to watch. He hoped his Slytherins understood precisely how easily it might be them in the place of sacrifice.

The boy struggled and wept, while all the rest were silent. Bella pulled out a knife and asked, "Shall it be done?"

The Dark Lord nodded. Wormtail held the boy still while Lestrange swept the blade across the child's throat. Blood spurted into the fire, which sizzled and spat. "It is done," said Bella, her eyes gleaming through her silver mask, her black hair slightly singed on the ends.

"Thus will our enemies nourish us," said Pettigrew, who lay the boy's body down by the fire. "Let the new crop come forward."

The would-be acolytes gathered in a group, and clearly outnumbered the adults. _A pity they don't realize their strength,_ Snape thought. _If I could be sure of them, we could end this horror right now._

No doubt the Dark Lord realized his vulnerability and had decided not to let anyone have time to think. Riddle stepped forward into the firelight, Nagini beside him. "Our first apprentice is from the brave house of Gryffindor," Voldemort said. "Percy Weasley, you are called to greatness. Will you answer?"

A cloaked figure, taller than all but Crabbe, stepped forward to dropped his hood. The red hair shone brightly, but the face beneath was pale and ashen. "Yes."

"And why does a Weasley want to join us? Surely you ought to respect family unity," Bella said mockingly.

"Because they think the Burrows is the best they can do," Percy said, his blue eyes flashing. "Because I'm tired of being mocked because of them."

"Who sponsors this man?" Voldemort asked.

"I do," said Pettigrew, looking dignified for once even with blood on his hands—one flesh, one silver.

"Then be prepared," the Dark Lord said. "Because you must work with those hostile to us, we will put the Mark where it is less easily seen."

Percy Weasley removed his shirt, revealing a torso that was still young and healthy, but slightly pudgy from too much office work. Bella's eyes grew brighter. Snape bit his lip. He'd heard rumors the boy was not enjoying his association with Madam Umbridge. This was going to be worse, if Bella had her way. She and her husband had allowed each other free rein before being imprisoned in Azkaban. Now Rodolphus was back in, and she was obviously eager to exercise her new liberty.

Perhaps he was lucky to be considered Lucius's property. Snape watched how the Dark Lord placed the Mark high on the Weasley boy's left shoulder. Percy took the pain well, and so did Pettigrew. Lucius had been his own sponsor and had proudly borne the renewal of the Mark at the same time. Severus remembered how Voldemort's mind had thundered into his, though somewhat cushioned by Lucius. He wondered how it felt to Pettigrew to be such a conduit.

He began counting, and hoped that Pettigrew or Lestrange would sponsor some of the remainder. Yet all the Slytherins were really his responsibility. He must find the strength somewhere to do what he owed them.

Percy put his shirt back on, and was handed the thin dark robe and silver mask of a Death Eater. He joined the group on the Dark Lord's side of the fire, though the Gryffindor didn't quite repress a shudder as he passed by the body of the sacrifice.

"The next one is from Ravenclaw," Bella Lestrange announced. "Marietta Edgecombe, you are called to greatness. Will you answer?"

A shorter figure came forward, and proved to be an adolescent girl. She had some odd marks on her forehead, as if a hex had been only partly removed. "Why do you want to join us?" Bella asked.

"Because…because everyone hates me!" the Edgecombe girl sniffled. "I didn't know what I did at first, but they all laughed at me at the end of school and said I was a squealer. Now they're meaner to me than to Luna Lovegood, and I want to get back at them!"

"And you shall, my dear, you shall," Bella crooned, stroking the girl's hair. "But I must tell you now that if you reveal any of _our_ secrets your punishment will be far, far worse than marks on your forehead." She pointed her wand at the girl and her face became clear.

"Who sponsors this girl?" the Dark Lord hissed. Snape was stunned the little dunderhead was being allowed in. Voldemort must be utterly desperate for numbers. Then again, Crabbe and Goyle's presence said that already.

"I do," said Lestrange. "Hold out your arm, my dear. Make all the noise you like, because this is really going to hurt."

Riddle raised his wand and once more applied the Dark Mark. Edgecombe screamed. Bella sucked in a deep breath, but made no sound as her own Mark became darker. Voldemort grimaced a bit, apparently not enjoying the taste of the girl's mind.

The Dark Lord turned and faced Snape. "Now we greet those from the great House of Slytherin," Voldemort said proudly. "Severus Snape, you are called to greatness. Will you answer?

"Always, my lord." He stepped forward and kneeled again, baring his left arm. His Mark sprang to painful life.

"Will you gladly sponsor those of your House?"

"With all my heart, my lord."

"Then rise. Tonight we shall see how well you deserve the honor heaped upon you at our last meeting. But first we shall make the connection between us direct. You are a member in your own right now, and not just by the sponsorship of Lucius Malfoy."

This night was to be a trial of his own loyalty as well. Severus stood, still holding out his arm. The pain washed over him at the Dark Lord renewed his Mark. Once again Voldemort's mind crashed through his. The walls held better than they ever had before. His efforts to drain away his anger had obviously worked.

Riddle's reptilian face looked slightly puzzled, then cleared. "You have done well to continue with the mastery of yourself," he said quietly. "Hate and anger are useful, but only if one uses them and not the other way around. You will need that control tonight and in times to come. Yet if your fury becomes too great for you to bear, we shall help you find ways to release it. There is no need to destroy any part of yourself in our service."

_Only my heart and soul,_ Severus thought wryly, and bowed his head. His nightmares told him every time he slept how badly he'd failed to master himself in the past. Fortunately those feelings were now bricked up, at least for tonight, like a cask of Amontillado.

Pettigrew thrust him a piece of paper with ten names written on it. _Malfoy, Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini—_Zabini?—_Avery, Macnair, Nott, oh Merlin, not _both_ Rosier twins…_Snape hoped he hid his surprise at some of them well enough.

He turned to face the new apprentices-to-be. ""Draco Malfoy, you are called to greatness," his voice boomed. "Will you answer?"

The boy came forward, his silver-fair hair shining in the firelight. "Why do you want to join us?" the Dark Lord asked.

"To serve you, my lord," Draco said joyously. "And to be at my father's side on the day of victory."

"Who sponsors this boy?"

"I do," said Severus. His godson stepped forward, knelt with his arm bare, and turned deathly white as his new Mark appeared. Snape took a deep breath as his own pain increased. "Welcome to our circle," he said, with faked enthusiasm.

The rite was repeated with the rest. First came Crabbe and Goyle, who argued about who got to go first. "Alphabetically," Snape said as he cut the discussion short. It was clear to him that they were there only because of Malfoy. The Dark Lord had a difficult time with surveying Crabbe's mind. Severus could have told him that the boy was as blank inside as he was outside. Miss Parkinson was next. She avowed her desire to serve the Dark Lord, but kept looking over at Draco in his bright new silver mask.

Severus couldn't believe Zabini was here; he had thought the boy too sensible for this nonsense. He was somewhat pleased to noticed the presence of shields in the Slytherin's mind, and hoped they held, as he suspected what might be behind them. "Be careful," he said in a soft and menacing voice. "Treachery will end only in death," and added _especially if you are caught_. Some minds were natural Occlumens; some were born good at Legilimency. Which kind Zabini was remained to be seen. The thin boy with pale skin and light brown hair bit his lip, but that might have been from the pain.

The Rosier twins joined, vowing vengeance on those who had murdered their Uncle Evan. Avery promised to help rescue his father, now a prisoner in Azkaban, while Jake Macnair also took the oath eagerly, though he glanced around, clearly looking for his Uncle Walden. Snape didn't know where the huntsman was either. One would think he would be proud to sponsor his own nephew, yet the task had fallen to him. Theodore Nott should also have had one of his own relatives here tonight. His branch of the family had longed been pledged to the Dark.

Snape was glad, though, that others were not here tonight. He had been certain that Marcus Flint, among others of his year, would have been glad to join—unless they had already, and were being kept a secret. He would have to find that out, but his heart felt a bit lighter. Why would Riddle bother with underage students if recent graduates were already part of the circle? Draco, of course, was a special case, but Severus could not imagine what use someone like Miss Edgecombe could be.

He still wished he hadn't failed those Slytherins who were here. But it was hard to think properly through the increasing pain as each student stepped forth and accepted his or her Mark. Snape could barely stand by the time they were done. His stomach roiled as he and the others were forced to dip their hands into the blood of the murdered child. The sticky clots felt as if he would never be able to wash them off.

All the others were dismissed, including Bella and Wormtail. Now he was alone with the Dark Lord and Nagini. Snape waited for what was to come numbly.

"Come forward, Severus," Voldemort said, and transformed a fallen brick into a chair. "Sit. I once brought a dozen into the circle at one time before we had enough to sponsor others, and I was unconscious for two days after. If you wish, I can take some of the pain for you."

"No, my lord," Snape sad, though he accepted the offered seat. If his arm didn't get any worse, he could master it, or at least ignore it, long enough to get back to Hogwarts. "You have given us so much of your strength. It's time for us to give you what we can." He tried to remember what Lucius had done to his own Mark when he'd first become Malfoy's apprentice. The Marks themselves had power, but something had to be done soon, when they were first laid on, or he'd lose the opportunity—at least that was what Lucius had said.

"Ah," said the Dark Lord. He transfigured another brick into a chair, only more throne-like, and sat down. "Nagini, sniff this man well. Remember him. Allow him to see me whenever he wishes. For he understands that our service demands much, and he has asked for nothing."

The huge serpent coiled around Severus and licked his face. He sat perfectly still, not daring to blink. The scales rustled as Nagini rubbed against him. Snape remembered how it had taken Arthur Weasley to recover from just one bite. The snake had an odd, musty smell, rather like Moaning Myrtle's bathroom once the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. Yet Nagini was no basilisk, though her eyes were strangely hypnotic. Fortunately the Occlumency that had kept him alive thus far also made resistant to that power, too.

The serpent withdrew. "You were wise not to move, my Shadow," Voldemort said. "She would have struck you, perhaps fatally, if you had startled her." The snake now coiled around her master. Both of them gazed into the dying fire.

Either the pain in his arm had lessened, or he'd gotten used to it. _Nothing like terror to focus the mind properly!_ "She must love you dearly, my lord."

"Yes. You would do well to remember that, Shadow," Riddle said. His lipless mouth smiled briefly. "Remember what you said to the Zabini boy about treachery."

"I must tell the Headmaster something, my lord," Snape said. "He's beginning to suspect that my devotion to him is not as slavish as he would like. Before this summer, he tolerated my anger towards the Potter boy, even though the brat is his favorite. As I said at the banquet, he's pulling the leash more tightly now. I cannot serve you in Azkaban as well as I can at Hogwarts, my lord, but I will serve you wherever you wish."

The Dark Lord grimaced. "I see. Tell him that nothing will happen this summer. Tell him that the Dementors will return to Azkaban before Christmas as if they had never left, and that Fudge will trust them again. I will regain those I have lost whenever I please, and there's nothing the old fool can do about it." He laughed. "He'll be forced to take direct control of the Ministry. Once he does, Hogwarts will be mine, and Dumbledore will have lost everything.

"If he stays at the school the Ministry will find ways to distract him from his duties so much that he'll lose his connection with the place, or have it become so thin it won't sustain him any longer. There are reasons that he's lived so long, and Hogwarts is one of them."

"All those proposed regulations."

"Yes. You will be affected by some of them." Voldemort pulled an envelope with the St. Mungo's seal on it from a pocket in his robe. "These numbers are not good, my Shadow. No wonder the old man wants to keep them secret." The red eyes lost their glow for a moment. "You shouldn't lose the fruits of victory after working so hard for them. If the Headmaster doesn't allow you to get treatment, we will find a way to keep you well till you can."

Snape knew he couldn't trust the Dark Lord, knew it deep in his bones, and hated himself for listening to this. Was he so hungry for caring of any kind that even this false show was starting to draw him in? He sighed, and bowed his head. That put his eyes on the body of the Muggle child, too much like the Potter boy had been at that age according to the pictures in the boy's file. "Shall I dispose of this carrion, my lord?"

"No. Nagini prefers her dinners alive, but freshly dead will content her for now."

Severus wondered for one horrified moment if her master shared her tastes. Voldemort had not eaten very much at the Manor. He decided he didn't want to know. He stood, then knelt. "If I may depart, my lord?"

"Yes. Remember how the old fool has shown how he doesn't really trust you. Your students will become worthier over time, even if they are too young to be much use for now. Their lives are in your hands."

Snape paid attention to that threat. Naturally the children were hostages for his own behavior, just as he had been for Lucius. No doubt his students would also be told to keep an eye on their own Head of House. He nodded, then stood and bowed. The Dark Lord smiled at him as Severus Apparated away.

Once away from Voldemort, the pain redoubled. He nearly fell. He leaned against a tree, fortunately on his right side, and panted till he could endure the flaring agony in his left arm. He heard Fang barking, and stayed where he was.

Hagrid's dog soon found him, sniffed, and whined, obviously disliking Nagini's scent. "It's still me, boy," Snape said as he carefully leaned down and ruffled the mutt's ears. Hagrid soon followed. "I'm not hurt this time," he told the half-giant.

"I'll walk with you anyway," Hagrid said. For once the groundskeeper didn't chat, and kept his steps slower and smaller than usual.

It was just as well his friend had found him. Now the half-giant could go to bed without worry. Soon they were to the hut, and both Hagrid and Fang went inside.

Severus was glad of the time to think as he approached the castle. The Mark could cut across any barrier, pass any ward, even those here at Hogwarts. Could he use it somehow to contact his new apprentices? He'd have to do it soon; Lucius had told him there was a time-limit when he'd done…whatever it had been. He had a sneaking suspicion that Malfoy had Obliviated the actual process from his mind.

He'd sponsored ten tonight, and he wasn't unconscious, though right now he would really like to be. Snape knew he wasn't nearly as powerful as Riddle in his prime. What was it that Voldemort had done that had taken so much out of the Dark Lord?

_I need to report to the Headmaster first,_ Snape decided. If what he tried to do was beyond his powers, the knowledge of this night's meeting had to be passed on. _I hope he lets me go fairly soon, though. This hurts worse than any summoning ever has._

For once the staircase took him directly to the office. He gave the password and the gargoyle let him in. Dumbledore looked up anxiously from his desk. McGonagall was there, too. Good. She needed to know more Order business.

Snape made his report. "You may find the body of a Muggle child or what Nagini has left of it, along with the remains of a bonfire, in Godric's Hollow. I don't know if the Dark Lord will do anything with them or not. He was there alone when I left, but he may not stay long." He fantasized a small army or Aurors popping out of thin air just in time to destroy Voldemort, though he knew it wasn't going to happen. That would be far too sensible.

Dumbledore nodded, and motioned for him to continue. He did so. "Tonight's business was inducting the new apprentices." He listed their names, but once he'd gotten to Percy Weasley and Marietta Edgecombe, both the Headmaster and McGonagall stopped listening. He doggedly finished with the rest of his Slytherins anyway.

"I knew Percy was discontent," Minerva said," and I knew he was estranged from his family, but I never thought in a thousand years that a Weasley would take the Mark!"

"His family must not know," Snape said. "The chance of reconciliation is small, but it will disappear if they find out and reject him." He didn't think Percy's mother would, but had no doubts how the rest would feel.

Albus sighed and bowed his head. "I don't understand about the Edgecombe girl."

"You Obliviated her, but not her friends," Severus said analytically. "She quickly learned what she had done. Just because she is in Ravenclaw doesn't mean she's protected from the cruelty of others." _I'm surprised Dumbledore didn't Obliviate me to keep Lupin's secret after the Shrieking Shack. I imagine he thought I would just keep trying to find out._ He did admire how Miss Granger used the coins and the curse to enforce the pact, never mind what she managed for Umbridge. He wondered what the Sorting Hat would have to say to the girl these days. Miss Edgecombe, however, would not last three days in Slytherin. He doubted she would manage much longer with the Mark, even—or perhaps especially—with Bella as her sponsor.

No one seemed surprised when he'd numbered those of his House who had joined, even when he had commented on Zabini. His children had been written off from the moment the Sorting Hat had placed them with him. Perhaps he was just dreaming, but he didn't think Mrs. Weasley would have been so hasty to dismiss them. _If she could stand up to Black for me, she would stand up for anyone._

He had one last comment, and was quite surprised the other two had not thought of the possibility. "Should someone contact Mr. Potter? I didn't feel his presence there, but he could have had a vision through his scar, since the Muggle child that was murdered resembled him greatly."

The Headmaster's eyes widened. "How dreadful. I shall send an owl to Shacklebolt to check on the boy immediately."

Severus nodded and made his escape. He was used to moving carefully to conceal pain by now. Tomorrow morning he'd have to let Madam Pomfrey know that the test results were not as confidential as she would like. He should have gone to his rooms and lay down, but instead he went to the Slytherin Common Room, empty at this time of year. He grieved for his little dunderheads as he sat down on one of the cushioned benches near the empty fireplace.

But he still could not rest. Snape stood up and walked to the stone pillar at the back of the room. Notices, requests for help with homework, Quidditch schedules, and occasional threats were posted there, yet the pillar was far more important than it appeared. There were only three others like it, one in each Common Room. They dovetailed into one deep in Hogwarts' foundation, far below even the Chamber of Secrets.

Severus had heard once as a firstie that the pillar could change in the Serpent of Slytherin, just as the others could change into their own House Beasts. He'd never seen his, of course. He didn't even know what his Patronus would be—at his OWLS he'd been so upset at what had happened after the essay test that he couldn't come up with so much as a white blob, while at his NEWTS he'd—well, he'd rather forget that bit. His attempt to fake a Patronus with a different charm had not only not worked, but he'd nearly lost the section entirely for attempting to cheat. That had not been a good year, with Potter as Head Boy and Lily clearly destined to be his future bride.

Why was he drawn here, instead of to a vial of pain potion and his bed? _I don't even know the right spell, if there is one. It was so long enough when Lucius became my sponsor, and I don't even know if he did it right._ He sighed. He had to try. _Someone has to look out for those idiots. Nobody else will._

And _that_ was why he was here and not at the Dark Lord's side. It wasn't for Dumbledore's sake any more. The old wizard had clearly given his heart to the Potter boy, and had none left for him. It didn't matter so much now. Potter was just as much of a pawn as he was, maybe more. _You would have been better off in Slytherin, Harry. I would have dealt with the Dursleys a long time ago._

Snape faced the pillar and gently lifted up his left arm so the fingers of that hand were touching it. The chill stone felt good against the throbbing heat, so he moved closely enough so he could place his whole forearm on it. Though the Mark itself burned black on the top of his arm, the coolness from the stone on the bottom of it helped. Once his left arm was steadied, he put the fingers of his right arm on the pillar as well. Severus closed his eyes and imagined the stone was a huge green and silver serpent, similar but not the same as the one who had gone over him with her tongue tonight. "Legilimens," he said softly. "Legilimens to my Slytherins, to those the Dark Lord has given to me. Legilimens to those whose Mark is bound to mine."

At first he didn't think it was going to work. _Oh, Draco,_ he thought. _I never thought you'd mean so much to me. Be like your mother, not like your father. Narcissa is not weak. There is no shame in following her path instead of the one that Lucius is on. _

Only by seeing Narcissa in the boy had he been able to manage being the boy's godfather once Draco had started growing so tall. His godson could be what Lucius had failed to become. Last year had been difficult. Malfoy had taken more interest in his son, and had urged him to cooperate fully with Umbridge. Both had been short-sighted.

Snape bowed his head. _I would have given anything to keep you away from this, Draco. But here you are. I will never abandon you. I will always protect you. If you ever wish to turn away, I will guide you the best I can back to the light._

Then he found himself in Malfoy Manor, in Draco's bedroom. The boy sat on the edge of his bed staring into the fire and holding his left arm as if it were on fire. A half-empty bottle showed that Narcissa had not kept the liquor cabinet locked, or that his godson had been able to talk a house elf into giving him some anyway.

Snape was surprised to look down and discover he was visible, though only a shadowy version of himself. He placed his hand on Draco's shoulder. The boy glanced up, his eyes going wide with surprise. His mind was an open book to the Potions Master—pride at enduring the pain so well, anticipation of his father's pleasure, and horror at the blood spilling from the throat of the murdered child.

_It will get worse,_ Severus told Draco mentally, hoping the boy could hear him. _It will get much worse. They will ask you to kill. Your hands will be wet with blood you have shed, and they will expect you to like it. They'll ask you to prove yourself in other ways as well._ He allowed one memory to escape to the surface. That red-haired Muggle girl they had brought to him as a special treat for his twentieth birthday and what he had done to her…

Draco went deathly white. For a moment Snape thought the boy would break. Then young Malfoy's jaw went firm. "Whatever it takes," he whispered.

_You can trust me,_ Snape said. _Hold out your arm._ He had finally remembered what Lucius had done. Draco obeyed without question. Severus extended one shadow finger of his left hand and touched the boy's Mark. Both power and pain flowed up into his hand and to his forearm. _You can speak to me without others hearing if we are close,_ he thought. _I will protect you no matter what._ Young Malfoy collapsed in tears and covered his face.

"Oh, professor," Draco said after a few moments. "It's so hard."

_I know. I will help._ Then he felt himself fading away, and back in the Slytherin Common Room. He reached for the other students, one at time. They needed his help, too.

Crabbe and Goyle were staying at the Crabbe house tonight. Both were stumbling up the stairs, with noise from a party down below.

"Not what I thought," said Vincent.

"Me neither," said Gregory. "Mum was pleased. Said I was old enough to help now."

"Do you think they know?"

Gregory stared, obviously stumped by the question. He took another step up and said, "Have to, I know. She said I had to remember I was at the party tonight when I talked to her just a little bit ago."

Vincent chewed his lip as the two got to the next floor. "Here's my bedroom," he said, waving at a door. "Yours is right across the hall."

"See who the kid looked like?"

"Yeah. Guess Potty's dead meat."

Goyle looked down the stairs, as if checking something. "Got a bottle in your room?"

"Nah. Mum watches me too hard."

"Wasn't watching me," Greg said, and held up a flask. "Too bad Draco's not here."

Snape slipped around, or perhaps through, the two young men and into the room as Vincent opened the door, walked in, and one candle lit automatically. Gregory came along, holding the flask.

Then Vincent gaped at him. "Professor! What are you doing here?"

_Checking up on your two. How are your arms?_ he asked mentally, hoping the two of them had enough brain cells between them to hear his thoughts.

"On fire. And I've got a headache," Vincent said. "Feel like I've got a scar like Potty's."

That was no surprise. Young Mr. Crabbe was a natural Occlumens, and even Dumbledore had confessed himself unable to break through the Slytherin's natural walls. No doubt the Dark Lord had pushed harder on him than on any one else, desperately seeking something vaguely resembling thought.

_Mr. Goyle?_ Snape asked.

"Oh, no, I'm fine," the other boy said. "Well, my arm hurts a lot too, but I didn't get a headache along with it."

_I know something that will help. Roll up your sleeves and let me see the new Marks._

They complied. He took both power and pain from them as he had with Draco. "Professor, you're the best," Vincent said.

Snape smiled thinly. Now _his_ head hurt. _Don't tell anyone about this, not even your parents. If you ever have to talk to me, you can._ He didn't bother trying to warn them. They'd go wherever Draco led them.

Once again he was back in the Common Room, then off for other students. Miss Parkinson cried her eyes out in the family parlor while her mother shouted at her to stop grizzling and be proud of herself. Snape hid in one corner, hoping the woman couldn't see him. At last Mrs. Parkinson left, throwing her hands up in the air. Severus couldn't blame her. Miss Parkinson was experienced at using waterworks to get her way. However, these tears were likely genuine. She was startled when he made his presence known, but didn't mind letting him touch her Mark. He was careful, as such touches could be used sexually, and he wanted no taint of that in his relationship with the girl. She was another who would follow Draco, though he was certain her parents had pressured her to join.

She was much calmer when he left. Once Snape arrived in Zabini's room, the young man stared blankly at the ceiling. He barely twitched when the Potions Master walked into his line of sight. No doubt the Dark Lord had walked through the boy's mind with boots on.

"Aren't you proud of me now?" Blaise hissed in savage fury.

_I wish you had spoken to me first,_ Severus thought to him. _I would have warned you what the Dark Lord's mind was like._

"I wouldn't have believed you." Zabini got up off the bed and looked out the window. "I thought I could keep parts of myself private from anyone. In our family, we have to. But…but he _laughed_ at me when he hurt me so much!"

_There are ways to manage that,_ Snape told him. _I can teach you some of what you need to know. Begin learning the House of Memory system this summer._

"That went out in my grandfather's day," Blaise said with a sneer.

_Your grandfather was wiser than you think_, Snape riposted. _Learn it, or get used to uninvited guests knocking over things._

The boy laughed harshly. "How can you stand it? I feel like a falcon tethered to a post, and I have to pretend not to care. I thought…I thought it would be like flying free at last. But tonight…tonight it was like having heavy chains put on."

Severus had never seen Zabini like this. The boy was so good at covering his true self with vague smiles and dreamy looks that nobody noticed him. _There are several methods one can use to protect oneself. The House of Memory system is one of the most complex, yet I think it will serve you best at appearing compliant while still managing what lies beneath. It will also help you organize your thoughts well for school matters. Continue your other disciplines as well. They protected you better than you think. After all, you are still alive. For now, let me touch your Mark. It is another chain holding you fast, but it is one meant to protect you._

Blaise sat up and showed his bare arm. "I can't believe I was so stupid! Do what you want, professor. I…I need your help."

_You should have talked to me before doing this,_ Snape said as he touched the boy's Mark. _Remember you are a Slytherin._

The young man nodded. "Thank you, professor. Even if I'm just dreaming this, It's better now. Can…I mean, may I talk to you when school starts? Or send you an owl before?"

_Owls may not be safe any more. I think the Hogwarts Floo system is still secure, but I don't know for how long. I will arrange something._ With that Snape found himself in the Common Room again. He repeated the process with the others. With the Rosier girl he was as careful as he'd been with Miss Parkinson. He knew some sponsors took advantage of their privileges with apprentices, as Lucius had with him, but he was not that kind. The Rosier boy was almost bursting with desire to avenge his murdered uncle, dead at the hands of the Ministry. Josh Avery was anxious about this father, who had never made it out of Azkaban the first time. Jake Macnair was sullen, and Nott blazing with pride and glory. The last one worried Snape, but all the Slytherins were in his case, and not just a chosen few.

It was just as well that the power he received increased his endurance; by now the pain would be unbearable without it.

After Nott, he was done. Ten new Death Eaters had a true sponsor. Snape stood by the pillar, which glowed a brilliant green. For some reason he couldn't walk away just yet.

No. The other two didn't even belong to him. They already had sponsors, who would undoubtedly notice any influence he tried to put on their Dark Marks. He was exhausted. It wasn't fair.

He supposed it couldn't hurt to check on them anyway. They were still, or had been his students. In Percy's case, he owed the young man's mother too much to abandon him to Wormtail's tender mercies, incompetence, and so on.

Snape first attempted to reach the Edgecombe girl. With Bella as her sponsor, she was in greater danger. At first he was blocked. Would he have to walk all the way to the Ravenclaw Common Room? What if Flitwick returned unexpectedly and found him there?

Then he remembered all the pillars were linked. _No matter what house, we are all Hogwarts._ The pillar turned blue. He tried to keep the image of Marietta Edgecombe in his mind. He understood why she'd done it, of course. Her classmates knew of her treachery and treated her accordingly. It was obvious one of them had told her what she'd done. _I know what it's like to have no friends,_ he thought. _I know what it's like to have people hate you without understanding why. Bella Lestrange is not your friend._ He lifted his hands back up the pillar again and closed his eyes.

He was fainter in this room than he had been in the others. Perhaps part of his existence here depended on her memories of him. She was an indifferent student for a Ravenclaw, but still had been one of his last year.

She was asleep, though she whimpered and held her arm while she lay in the bed. Snape edged closer, hoping she would wake up. Too much had been hidden from her already.

She opened her eyes as he stood by the bedside. "Professor Snape! What are you doing here?"

_You are hurt, and I am here to help. Bella Lestrange should have done this for you tonight. Did she touch your Dark Mark?_

"No! She's an awful woman. I hate her. I hate everybody." Edgecombe began crying. She sat up, grabbed a handkerchief off her bedside table, and blew her nose in it.

So many children reduced to tears by their own stupidity. He sighed. It was his job to help this time, not to condemn.

_Do your parents know of this?_

"Of course not! They're gone for a week to France. It's just me and the house elf for a few days. Gerri might tell them I went out, but she wouldn't know where I went. I can't believe they murdered that little boy, even if he was a Muggle…"

_You must be very careful, Miss Edgecombe._ It was strange that she heard him at all. _It may help with the pain if you allow me to touch your Mark. It is your right to refuse if you wish._ She would have little choice with many things from now on.

"Oh, it's horrible!" the girl said, and thrust out her arm. "I wish I could take it off and pretend this never happened!"

_It's too late for that._ He put out one shadowy hand and brushed her Mark with his fingertips. If Bella had any idea how the Mark really worked, she would know he had meddled with her apprentice. But he could make a case that she had been neglectful.

It wasn't as bad as he expected. Edgecombe had been Marked more lightly than most, possibly to spare Lestrange the backlash. He'd already noticed the Dark Lord had a soft spot for the woman. She was the only one Voldemort had rescued from the Ministry Raid.

The little Ravenclaw's face relaxed. "That's so much better. I know I'm not in your house, but may I talk to you sometimes? I mean, it's not like I can tell Professor Flitwick. If this thing could be charmed off you'd have gone to him already."

That was too close to the truth. The girl was sharper than she looked. He would have to be more careful in his assumptions. _Loyalty to the Dark Lord is for life,_ he told her. Let her make of that what she would, since it was clear the girl could not keep a secret. _The Mark will fade in a few days, and won't show except for those who know to look, till you are summoned. Don't wear long sleeves in hot weather, though. That will be noticed, too. _

"Too bad I'm so clumsy," she mused out loud, looking down at her arm. "I'll complain to Gerri that I fell off my broom and scratched it, and put the bandage on myself." Edgecombe looked up at him. "I'm glad that someone is telling me how this all works!"

Perhaps she was brighter than she looked. Wouldn't that be a nice surprise? He nodded to her, then faded back to Hogwarts.

Snape gasped for breath once he'd returned. He was so tired, and wanted to rest, not go haring off after a fool of a Gryffindor. Yet he owed it to Molly Weasley to watch over her son.

Severus leaned against the pillar, once more back in the Common Room. He was letting his imagination run riot—he heard a serpent's hiss in the ear against the stone, though a different one from Nagini's. He sighed. One more to go. _Percy Weasley_, he thought. _Good student, quiet, totally unlike the rest of his family. Kept to himself except when around his brothers. Now he keeps to himself all the time, I daresay. The Sorting Hat made a mistake putting him in Gryffindor, if anybody were to ask me._ He sighed, and let his mind follow the pillar down and back up again. This time it glowed red.

He found himself in 12 Grimmauld Place. Terror struck his heart as he realized the protection must be gone. Well, it had probably disappeared the moment that Kreacher had left. Percy Weasley sat at the table in the kitchen, drinking hot chocolate, and talking to Alastor Moody. Snape immediately hid in the shadows in his favorite corner. Fortunately the pillar had taken him directly here, instead of forcing him to sneak past that horrible portrait of Mrs. Black.

"I did what you told me to, Moody," Percy said. "I still have a headache, and my shoulder feels like it's on fire." He moved restlessly in the chair.

The old retired Auror nodded. "Well, if I hadn't done the charm properly, you'd be a lot worse off. Wormtail your sponsor! Isn't that a laugh?"

"Not much of an honor. Pettigrew felt some of it when my Mark landed. Snape had to sponsor ten. That couldn't have been much fun."

"The bastard deserves it. That's half the reason you're there, you know. We can finally find out what he's really up to."

"The Headmaster told you he's spying for the Order, just like I was when I started working for that woman," Percy said. "Why don't you believe him?"

"Never forget how patient a Slytherin can be." Moody took a swig from his flask. "That damn Barty hid in his father's house for years, and then he struck." The Auror's glass eye swung about. Severus tried to think shadowy thoughts before the magical artifact found him.

"Did you see him leave?" Mad-Eye asked.

"No. I hung around for a bit, like you said I should. He—_he_ had Snape stay. The Professor's face doesn't usually show anything, but he was white as a ghost, like he was afraid. But I was frightened, too, and got out of there before I could hear anything. I'm sorry, Moody."

Severus had forgotten how young the Weasley boy was, but now Percy looked his age. He'd once been just less than twenty, too.

"That's all right." Moody patted Percy on the right shoulder. "With the Memory Charm I laid on you, I'm surprised you remembered to notice much of anything."

The clock chimed. The Auror sighed, took another drink, and slowly stood up, bracing himself with the table. "I'm for bed. You should be, too."

"I want more hot chocolate first," Percy said. "It helps a bit."

"Any Dementors there? I should have asked."

"No. But I still feel cold inside. They murdered a boy, just to start things off. The kid looked just like Harry."

Moody looked avid. "Who did it?"

"Pettigrew held the boy, and Lestrange sliced his throat. There was blood everywhere. They made us dip our hands in it. And before you ask, no, Professor Snape didn't like it. He went all blank and stayed that way the whole time. Look, I've seen him enjoy things when he thought he was hiding it. I've seen him roasting Harry often enough! I don't know why you hate him so much. He's on our side, isn't he?"

The Auror grimaced. "I knew he was lying when he was in Azkaban, and I know he's lying now. A Potions Master as good as he is can surely beat Veritaserum, especially with as many Dark spells as he knows. Anyone who can deceive Dumbledore is extremely dangerous."

"Wouldn't we all be dead already if he was a traitor? There was a rumor when I was Head Boy that Snape tried to convince Fudge that _he_ was really back. I didn't spread that one around, of course, even when Mr. Crouch asked me about it."

"A damn good thing, too, I suppose," Mad-Eye said. "But as for being dead, Sirius Black already is."

"But you've said yourself that Black was an idiot for running off like that."

"It would have been child's play for Snape to goad the dog into doing something stupid," Moody said, shifting his weight around. "I have to admit, Padfoot didn't always need help."

For once Snape sympathized with his old interrogator. A wooden leg would pain any man, least of all someone Mad-Eye's age. _I have to admit that I could have crawled a little harder to convince Black to stay that night. But once I mentioned Harry, nothing would have done any good. _He tried to convince himself he wasn't jealous of the boy, knowing that no one would take such a risk for him.

Moody scowled at the corner where Snape was hiding. Severus knew the old man sensed _something_, but just didn't know what it was. "I'm for bed," the Auror growled. "You should be, too."

"In a bit, sir. I just need some time to think."

Mad-Eye stumped off, cursing underneath his breath.

Once he was gone, Percy lifted his head and looked directly into the corner. "Is that you, Professor?" he asked quietly, though his wand had appeared in his hand.

Snape shifted himself a little more into the light. _Yes. I am not here physically, but I can help you if you want me to._

"Why would you care about a lowly Gryffindor?" Percy looked older now. No doubt working for the Ministry had been educational.

_You were one of my students,_ Snape said. _And you are in deeper trouble than you think. If the Dark Lord has any idea that you're working for Moody, you will die._

"I know. It made so much sense when he thought this up." The Weasley boy put down his wand. "When I saw them kill that child I thought I was going to puke."

_Get used to it. This is nothing compared to what I've seen. Or done._ Then Snape thought of something. _Does any of your family know you're working for Mad-Eye?_

"No. He said they can't, because they'd give it away if they did. But what if they find out? They'll never forgive me!"

_I know. The Headmaster will as soon as I get back. If anything happens, they'll know you weren't a traitor._ Weasley was lucky to have a family that cared about him. It would be idiotic for the boy to throw that away no matter what Moody said.

"Oh. You don't know what that means to me." Percy put his face in his hands.

Snape was sure he didn't, but had a good idea what it might mean to the boy's mother. _Has Pettigrew touched your Mark, or made a magical connection between the two of you? If he is your sponsor, it's his right._

"He said he'd do it later," Percy said. "He told me it'd hurt too much if he did it now."

The Potions Master snorted. _It would hurt_ him _less is what he meant! If you wish, I can do it now. It would mean that you are bound to me instead of the rat, and it may offer some other protection. Moody is wrong about me._ He needed to get this done and go back to Hogwarts. The strength he'd taken from the others was fading here, probably because of the many wards around this place. He could feel them now. At least Percy was the last one.

"What do you have to do?"

_I will touch the Mark. This will take some of the pain away, but it will also make your Mark more sensitive to mine. You may have a connection to the other new Death Eaters as well. If something happens to you, or them, all of us will feel it in a way. This can be both good and bad. However, it may help hide your true feelings without a Memory Charm. Those can be dangerous if repeated too often._ He wasn't sure it was safe to mention Occlumency to the Weasley boy, not yet, but at least the young man had more control over his face than most of his family, which would help. _You must decide soon. I am running out of time._

Percy took off his shirt, showing that the Mark on his shoulder was still black. Snape reached over and touched it. More pain, and more power, flowed up his arm to his own.

"Oh, that feels better," Percy said with a sigh. "I know that Moody would say I've given you too much control."

_It can be like that in the wrong hands,_ Snape warned him. _Now I must leave._ He felt his substance slipping through the wards of 12 Grimmauld Place like flour through a sieve.

Then he was trapped in darkness. Had he gotten back to Hogwarts at all, or had he fallen into one of the wards? Snape could not see or hear. For one terrible moment he thought he was in the Blank Place that he sometimes visited in his nightmares lately, where there were no words or language, only pain. He had been there for a time after his parents' death, and once again while in Azkaban. This was different, though. He wasn't usually blind there; just…blank, able to see and hear, but unable to understand most of it.

A greenish glow appeared in front of him, coiled and waving like a serpent about to strike. _Nagini?_ But this didn't make him afraid like she did. Then he saw it _was_ a snake, larger than Nagini, with gleaming silver eyes.

SERPENT'S CHILD, YOU HAVE DARED TOO MUCH.

_Who was I supposed to abandon? I must stand for my Slytherins. Nobody else will. That idiotic Edgecombe girl has no one to protect her from Lestrange, and I owe a debt to the Weasleys, as much as I hate to admit it._ He paused and took a breath. How strange. Perhaps he still had a body to breathe with. That would be nice. _If all the apprentices are under my protection, they have an obligation to me as well. Power has a cost._

THAT ISN'T WHY YOU DID IT.

_All right, I was stupidly sentimental. I failed to keep those dunderheads from running to put themselves into danger, so I need to watch over them, just like I keep them from blowing themselves up in Potions. Happy now?_

SOMETIMES EVEN A SLYTHERIN DOES NOT COUNT THE COST IF THE PRIZE IS GREAT. PEOPLE HAVE FORGOTTEN WHAT BEING ONE TRULY MEANS. RECEIVE MY BLESSING.

The serpent wound itself around him, the way that Nagini had, then sniffed him. But he felt no revulsion, no horror this time.

HOLD OUT YOUR ARM.

Severus knew which one the snake meant. His own Dark Mark burned blacker than ever, as if the Dark Lord had seared his skin beyond redemption. The serpent struck. Snape screamed when the fangs sank into the Mark, then stopped when the arm grew numb. The absence of pain there was so unusual these days, he'd almost forgotten what it was like.

_How strange it would be,_ he thought as consciousness faded, _if I were now the Serpent of Slytherin's apprentice instead of belonging to Voldemort…_


	7. Chapter 7

The Birthday Present

By excessivelyperky

Rowling: All hers.

Author's note: AU to HBP, has spoilers for everything up to HBP. In my version of events, someone named Bellwood was Head of Slytherin when Snape was a student, not our dear old Sluggy (though he was about as effective at looking after his students).

Chapter 7: Minerva Takes a Hand

Albus Dumbledore 

The Headmaster woke early, despite getting to bed late. He went to the Great Hall annex to chat with whomever might be up at this same time. As he'd hoped, Minerva sat in front of her porridge and tea in the side room where the staff normally breakfasted during summers and holidays. He glanced around, but saw no one else. He shouldn't be surprised. Most of the other teachers were away, and he didn't really expect Snape to be up. _I had better check on him today, though he didn't seem injured last night,_ Albus thought.

"I hope Severus is all right," Minerva said after she'd greeted him. "I thought you were going to tell him last night to go see Poppy because his arm was hurting so much."

"I was just glad to see him come back," he said as he sat, knowing the house elf would soon bring him his usual hearty breakfast, and another cup for the teapot in front of McGonagall. "I wish he'd say something when he's in pain." Yet Madam Pomfrey needed her rest during the summers, too. It wasn't as if Snape didn't have access to various pain potions. "I'll make sure to talk to him today."

"Good," Minerva said. "I'm glad you didn't have him stay long, though."

"We sat up much too late," Dumbledore said, now wishing he'd been more sensible. "But it was good to talk with just the two of us. I am glad he isn't up this early. He needs more rest." _And won't get it if he's still having nightmares,_ an inner voice reminded him. _With that child murdered in front of his eyes, no doubt they'll be worse._

His old friend smiled faintly and took another sip of her tea. "How's the master schedule coming along?"

"Just the preliminaries. I'm trying to put most of Snape's classes during the afternoons, especially the upper-level ones. I can occasionally persuade him to let someone else take the lower classes. That will cut into Quidditch practice, though. If anyone's taking advanced Potions and Astronomy, they won't be able to play unless they skip dinner." There were so many factors to take into account. "Your classes will be early, of course, though it looks right now like Advanced Transfiguration is going to conflict with Individual Project in Potions this year. On top of that, Vector's going to scream about NEWT-level Arithmancy against sixth-year Potions. Miss Granger will be wanting the Time-Turner again."

Minerva snorted. "Well, she can't have it. She nearly wore herself out that year, and I want her in good shape for her seventh. Snape told me that some of the potions she needed to recover from the Ministry Raid might bother her if she falls ill this summer. Oh, and did you send an owl off to Shacklebolt to check on Mr. Potter?"

"As soon as you left," he said smugly. Albus was pleased that Severus was showing signs of being more concerned about students other than his precious Slytherins. He shouldn't feel so angry that it had taken this long, though deep inside he knew he did.

"I also told him that he could put in for an assistant this year," McGonagall added. "Last year was difficult for him, and he'll have to brew the Wolfsbane Potion on top of it for this one. I've heard about some new Ministry regulations from Poppy, and I wonder if we ought to have an alternative schedule set up in case they're implemented. Any change in Snape's classes will affect the rest of us."

"That will mean some morning classes for him, though with breaks during the day."

"He'll use them to grade or catch up on brewing, but better than sitting up half the night," Minerva said. "And Filch will throw a fit because he's used to having help with his patrols. We've gotten rather dependent on Severus filling in all those extra duties, haven't we?"

"Pomfrey's got a much bigger budget for the standard potions this year," the Headmaster said. "That should help. I'm afraid he'll still have to brew the specialty ones. I'm trying to argue some more funds out of the Ministry, since their regulations will decrease the amount of time that Snape ought to be in front of a cauldron. If they're passed, that is. I still hope they won't be. Poppy is still waiting for the results to come back from his blood test, but that should be soon."

"Actually, this could work for us," McGonagall mused. "If his health has been affected, or we can show somehow that it has, it'll be easier to explain to Filch why he won't have as much help this year. I'm not sure how much Argus should know about all this. He can't help finding out part of what's really going on, even being a Squib, but he got rather fond of Madam Umbridge last year. It may not be wise to tell him too much."

Albus hadn't thought about Filch at all. "I wonder what he saw last year," he said.

"Severus generally stayed in Hagrid's hut or the boat cabin to rest when he returned from Order business. I'm not sure if Filch saw him much when he wasn't at his best. This Ministry thing could help us. It'd be easier to blame any er, illnesses on an ongoing problem rather than find a new excuse for each incident."

Minerva always saw things clearly. Dumbledore sighed. "I swear, we spend more effort on him than we do any other member of the staff."

"We ask more of him, too," she said softly. "I know it must be exhausting to be his father figure, but he wouldn't do this for anyone but you. Besides, you've always had a soft spot for the hard cases, like Tom, Severus, and now Harry."

"I wouldn't call the boy a hard case." The Headmaster dug into his eggs and rashers, which had finally appeared in front of him.

"He was quite disrespectful last year, and not just to Severus," McGonagall said. "All of us had trouble with the boy, even his friends. He did have good reason. Umbridge was particularly abominable to him, as well as to some of the other boys. That damned quill of hers ought to be an Unforgivable!" She shook with rage. "And then to send him back to those wretched Dursleys! Snape had quite a few words about _them_, believe me. I'm glad you finally told Moody about _that_ family."

Albus nodded, though it hadn't been him. Severus had probably dropped a hint or two into Mad-Eye's ear, and let it go from there. "I failed there. I failed Harry so badly."

"So did I," said Minerva. "We're not used to seeing that sort of child in Gryffindor. I don't look for the signs. I wonder who else I've missed?"

"That's why I asked Snape to do what he could," the Headmaster said. He was tired already though he'd been up for a short while. "I hate admitting he takes better care of his Snakes than I have so far with Harry. Maybe the Hat was right after all. It wanted to put the boy there in the beginning. I was so proud he chose Gryffindor instead. Maybe that was a mistake. I've seen Snape's files, and he has to cope with that kind of family all the time. The students tell him things that terrify me, but he considers it all in a days' work."

"No doubt he would," said McGonagall, who knew as much about Snape's background as he did. "A pity that Bellwood wasn't that kind of head when Severus was a student."

"That's why I knew he'd make a good Head of Slytherin. He'll give up arguing with me sometimes, but never over one of his students. He's also used to people lying to him. I still wonder what he puts in the hot chocolate he gives to his firsties on Sunday afternoons."

"Bold talk from someone who gives out lemon drops from a different bowl than the one he eats from!" his friend said with a laugh.

"Why, my dear Minerva," he said blandly, "how dare you suspect me of ulterior motives? At least I don't turn into a cat and listen in that way."

"It's all I can do to keep up," she shot back. "Between the portraits telling you everything and your special lemon drops, no wonder everyone thinks you're omniscient."

Dumbledore tried to look innocent and knew he'd failed completely. "No wonder Severus won't have any," he said. "But how does Poppy know so much?"

"Oh, she has the house elves organized," Minerva said. "And I'd be careful what I said in a greenhouse unless you don't mind Pomona finding out. Some of those plants are brighter than they look."

"Are there any secrets in this place?"

"Probably not. Albus, go back to bed. That pile of paper will still be there even if you wait till noon to get to your desk, and your decisions will be better for getting more rest. We have to look after you, too."

The Headmaster bowed his head, feeling older than ever. "I think I will," he said. "At my age you have to sleep when you can. Though now that I think about it, when was the last time you took one of your potions?"

McGonagall sighed. "Aren't we a fine bunch? A good thing others are even worse off."

"For now," Albus said, and left. Perhaps if he slept some more he could make sense of his dreams this time. In them, the pillars of Hogwarts had been active, all but Hufflepuff's. Just before he'd woken up he'd heard the hissing of a huge serpent. Did that mean Tom was contemplating attack _now_? And was there any way to protect Hogwarts with the staff so diminished this time of year if he did?

Minerva McGonagall

Minerva McGonagall wondered what was wrong with Albus. He seemed concerned for Severus, but wasn't following through the way he normally did. She supposed last year had been bad for him, too. Of course, time was not on the Headmaster's side.

_I know what half of Snape's problem is,_ she thought as she finished the last of her porridge. _Before the Potter boy came here, Albus treated him like a son. Slytherin won the Cup several years in a row, and without blatant point-dumping on anybody's side, either. Oh, I whinged and moaned like the other House Heads, but Severus really had those children in hand. But once Harry and his friends showed up, Snape may as well not exist except to get set down for the way he treated the boy._ As much as she liked Gryffindor winning, the way the Headmaster had gone about it so far smelt badly. Even when it should have been Hufflepuff's turn to shine when Diggory had been chosen for the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Harry had been the star, again. Pomona had been most vocal about it, and everyone knew what Snape suspected. It had been a relief to find out that Barty Crouch Jr. had been behind Harry's falsified entry into the Goblet, and not Albus himself. But she hadn't had the heart to razz Severus about it, not when he'd risked so much by showing the Mark to that idiot Fudge.

Last year, of course, had been a complete shower. Umbridge's total disregard of any kind of fairness had grated on everyone, even Snape, the lucky recipient of most of that woman's largesse. Naturally everyone else had been even more upset. Severus had made the comment to her once after a particularly nauseating episode, "Shoe hurts when it's on the other foot, doesn't it?" At first she'd been angry, then realized how things must look to the Head of Slytherin.

Perhaps last year had been a lesson that points didn't mean as much as people thought they did when given out unfairly. Snape had learned _that_ lesson long ago, but of course no one else had paid any attention—well, except Flitwick and Sprout. As much as she enjoyed Gryffindor's pre-eminence, things _were_ out of balance, and had been ever since Harry had been sorted into her House.

To be fair, Dumbledore constantly reassured any Order member who asked of Snape's loyalty. But things weren't really the same. Albus had been the only one besides Poppy to show real warmth to the man, though she and most of the other staff members considered Severus a friend, however prickly he might be. However, it had been clear to everyone one that Snape was jealous of all the attention Harry had gotten since the moment the boy had sat under the Hat.

And why shouldn't he be? Severus was a grown man, but had been at Hogwarts save for a year or so since he was eleven. He'd lost his parents when he was only fourteen, and then had been taken up by Lucius Malfoy. Minerva had tried to ignore the rumors about Malfoy's involvement with Snape, though Albus had taken them seriously enough to deny Lucius the post of Head Boy in Malfoy's seventh year. Since his return from the Death Eaters, Severus had been dependent, both emotionally and legally, on the Headmaster. _There are days when I think Albus likes it that way._

_Now Severus probably feels more abandoned than ever,_ Minerva thought, pouring herself the last cup out of the pot. _I certainly did myself last year when we were stuck with that bitch Umbridge. Hard to believe that she and Molly were roommates. I know it was important to discredit the woman, but was it a good idea to allow her free rein to treat the children so? Perhaps it's time we_ all _grew up and stopped leaning on Albus so much. He can make mistakes, and so can I. It's time I learned from mine._

One mistake she'd made last night was to concentrate so much on the Weasley boy, wonder out loud what on earth Miss Edgecombe had been thinking, and ignore the Slytherins completely. _Severus must think we've written him and his off completely. I suppose we have. No wonder he left early. How galling it must have been to hear us go on about two of them, and not mention the other ten._

She got up and carried her dishes to the kitchen. This gave her an excuse to look on in the house elves and listen to a bit of their gossip. Winky was better these days, but would bear watching. Few would notice in summer if she went back to her old habits with the butterbeer. She greeted the little elf cheerfully, though she wondered where Dobby had gone to.

McGonagall went down to the dungeons. She was shocked that Snape's normal wards weren't up, save for the ones he had around all the time. He always put up more while he slept, and never removed them till he dressed and left his private quarters. She smiled a little. He had offered to show her how to put them around her own rooms, but she was never interrupted quite as much as he seemed to be by his students. _Is it because his are Slytherins, or because I leave mine to themselves more?_ This was a day for reflection, all right.

She frowned. She could force her way in, and perhaps she should. He might be far more injured than he had let on. She spoke her password as Deputy Headmistress to the onyx serpent on the door, and it unknotted. The door opened easily. She swiftly scanned the rooms, including the shabby, clean bedchamber, but couldn't find him anywhere.

Then she thought about it. _Where did I go the night the Potters died, after Harry was left with the Dursleys?_ She gave the password to the Slytherin Common Room and walked in.

Severus was on one of the couches, apparently asleep, though Dobby patted his right arm over the cloth. "Master Severus, Master Severus, please wake up," said the house elf.

"Perhaps if you touched him on the skin he might," she said. "Or perhaps you ought to let him sleep. He was in late last night." It must be uncomfortable, but moving him wouldn't help.

"Oh, no, Mistress Green-Eyes, mustn't touch. Bad to touch him, bad, bad, bad. Wake up Master Severus, please wake up. Not have bad dreams."

Snape looked pale and calm, though it was clear he'd lost weight again. Minerva had seen him in the Hall every day taking a meal for the last week. But had that been his only meal? She'd told Dobby to take him two trays per day. "Has he been eating the food you bring him?"

"He tries, Mistress, he really does. He drinks tea then takes a bite, drinks tea then takes a bite, but can't finish. I bring smaller trays, he happier."

"I see. Well, he doesn't look like he's having bad dreams now. Perhaps you ought to let him rest and come back later."

The house elf hung his head. "If you stay, please? Was crying last night, crying in his sleep, Dobby couldn't wake him. So quiet now, but won't wake up at all."

"I wish you had gotten Madam Pomfrey." This didn't sound good.

"Master Severus says he is bad sometimes, not to bother Mistress Nurse. I try to take him to bed last night, he cries out in his sleep when I move him, but is better when I put him back."

"I'll stay here a while," Minerva said. "You are good elf, Dobby, to look after the Potions Master so well."

"Oh, Dobby's done it for a long time, Mistress. Master Severus stayed with Master Lucius. Dobby always fixes what Master Lucius breaks."

McGonagall bit her lip. How very interesting. She'd just been thinking about those old rumors. She'd persuaded that Bellwood had known all about it and was taking care of it. _But Bellwood didn't say anything to Albus about the Marauders, at least not where I could hear, one reason I never took the complaints seriously. Until the Shrieking Shack, of course, and even then Slytherin ended up losing points over it as well. I wonder that Snape has forgiven me or Albus for what we let happen. _"You've done well, Dobby. But that was a long time ago. I'll sit with Severus now."

"Oh, no, not a long time at all. Master Lucius in prison now, but wasn't last year." Then Dobby clapped his hand over his mouth.

"But he is in Azkaban and can't hurt anyone," Minerva said gently, despite the chill that settled in her heart. Obviously she was still out of the loop about some things. "Dobby, go fix a breakfast tray and some very strong tea. If the Professor does wake soon, he'll probably be quite hungry."

"Oh, Dobby hopes so," the elf said, and left.

She watched Severus sleep. Experimentally, she brushed his right hand. He shuddered, but didn't wake up. Now that she thought about it, he avoided being touched by anyone most of the time. Why would he flinch? She was afraid she could guess what could have happened when Snape stayed with the Malfoys after his parents' death. What had happened last year? The Order desperately needed the information Severus brought back, but nobody ever asked him how he got it. Sirius Black had made a crude joke about it just once in her hearing, but she'd cured him of _that_. What had Black said when she wasn't around? Had it been true?

Even so, what could anyone do about it? It would hurt Severus more if he thought people had any idea what he was really going through. Most members of the Order would rather close their eyes to the situation. At worst, some would use Snape's sacrifice against him. It wasn't as if he was treated well by most of them already.

It didn't matter. Something had to be done. Severus was clearly in a great deal of pain. If Dumbledore didn't have the strength to deal with it, then she would have to. All of them had left such burdens to Albus for too long.

Dobby brought back the tray, piled high with Snape's favorites. "Just leave it there," she said. "I'll put a warming spell on it."

The house elf babbled his gratitude, and then went off to other duties. McGonagall continued to watch Severus sleep. His breathing was even as long as she didn't touch him on the skin. Then she tried the left hand, though more carefully, given the way his arm had clearly hurt him last night. Oddly enough, he didn't react at all. In fact, now she was really looking at it, the left arm looked quite limp.

Then his eyes opened. "Percy Weasley is spying for Moody," he whispered.

Minerva felt a rush of joy to learn the boy wasn't disloyal after all. Percy had always been one of her favorite students. Then she was terrified. "How could Moody do such a thing?"

"Suspects me." Snape took a deep breath. "Wants to catch me."

"But what if you must do…do something to keep your cover?" McGonagall asked.

"Cell next to Malfoy. Or in the Special Section." Severus closed his eyes again. "No one to protect the students who've taken the Mark…"

McGonagall felt like hexing Moody's leg off. Either one. "And once you're gone, it'd be up to Mr. Weasley to take your place."

"He's just a boy," Snape said, his eyes still closed.

"Not much older than you when we asked you to do the same thing," Minerva said. "But I didn't think it was right then and it's not right now. I will deal with Moody. Can you sit up?"

He opened his eyes and shook his head. "No. Call Dobby."

"I can manage," she said. Minerva levitated the pillow beneath him so he was supported in a half-sitting position. "A good thing _he_ has so few followers right now. We're all a bunch of invalids today."

"Headmaster?" He looked anxious.

"Tired to death, though he looked like he slept well when he first came in for breakfast. I sent him back to bed, and he actually went. Of course I keep pretending I'm all the way better, and yes, I will take that dreadful potion. What happened to your left arm?" She hoped it was just his arm. She brought the breakfast tray over with her wand and spelled it to hover.

"Not sure," Severus said, and told her a confused story of the Dark Mark, sponsorships, and the pillars. "I know it doesn't make sense. I'm sure it was just my own vainglory imagining the Serpent of Slytherin."

"I've seen the Lion a few times. I don't see why the Serpent wouldn't come to you," Minerva said, touching his left hand again. It was limp and cold. "Does your Mark hurt now?"

"No. I can't move my left arm at all." He turned his face away.

"You're going to see Poppy for that. You should have gone to her last night." Perhaps the mediwitch ought to sit in on Snape's reports and monitor him whether he liked it or not. She hated taking more choices away from the poor man, but it was clear he wasn't caring for himself very well. She thought of something else. "Is there anything more about the meeting itself that you remember better this morning? We didn't give you much chance last night the way we hared off after the Weasley boy and Miss Edgecombe."

"How did you find me here?" Snape asked.

"I went to the Gryffindor Common Room the night the Potters died. I suspect that Pomona did as much for Mr. Diggory a year ago. Of course you're going to grieve for your students, Severus. You didn't fail them, no matter what you might think right now."

Snape smiled sadly for just a moment. Minerva noticed that the expression seemed properly hung on both sides and his face didn't sag. "I hope you're right," he said. "I can't remember if I mentioned the other things or not. The Dark Lord kept me after the others had left. He had Nagini sniff me." His face stiffened. "The Headmaster must watch out. The Dementors are coming back to Azkaban, and Fudge will let them. Dumbledore might be forced to take direct control of the Ministry. If he refuses to do so, they'll try to distract him with all these new regulations, including the ones about me." He fell silent for a moment. His eyelids lowered, and for a moment McGonagall thought Severus was going back to sleep.

Then he gazed at her again. "I remember something now. The Daily Prophet had a problem once over twenty years ago. Everyone felt sleepy all the time, even if they'd rested well the night before. It turned out to be the ink. The maker had accidentally spilled some kind of potion during the process. It smeared, too, and didn't dry properly. I, I was there in the office and smelled it. I told them something was wrong, and finally convinced Miss Skeeter to have someone check it. They had to throw out drums full of the stuff. Those regulations—not the study that went with it, that's all right—the Ministry papers Dumbledore gave me smell the same way. If nothing else, the Weasley boy needs to be warned if he's using the ink to make copies."

Minerva remembered how Albus had complained about it coming off onto his fingers. Though his windows were almost always open, perhaps skin contact had an effect. Perhaps the ink should be tested. "Anything else?"

"Yes." Snape's color was a bit better now. "Madam Pomfrey needs to know that her contact at St. Mungo's isn't secure. The Dark Lord has my test results already. He didn't show them to me, but he said the numbers weren't good. I know he was only pretending to be concerned about me, Minerva. Believe me, I know what that's like."

"You can tell Poppy after you have some breakfast," McGonagall said.

Severus began eating by himself, though his left arm was still motionless.

Minerva was glad he didn't seem to be in the same kind of pain he was last night. She stopped asking questions, though. Snape lost his appetite easily enough without her chatter contributing to it.

The more she thought about Moody the angrier she got. The retired Auror had never made a secret of his desire to have Severus back in prison, but she had thought Dumbledore had finally gotten through to Moody about how badly they needed the Potions Master. Apparently the lecture hadn't sunk in. She rehearsed what she would say to Mad-Eye. Albus was clearly exhausted these days. Minerva thought she'd take a look and sniff at those Ministry papers herself. She was Deputy Headmistress, after all. Despite everyone's exhortations for her to take it easy, a lap full of papers while sitting in an easy chair shouldn't ruin her health.

Severus lay down his fork, though he'd eaten only half the plate. Dobby had piled it pretty high, though. "That's better," he said. "I can get to the infirmary myself now."

"I'll come along with you," Minerva said, "and choke down another vial of that horrible potion."

Snape stood without help, though he seemed a bit wobbly and steadied himself on the top of the couch. He didn't appear to have any weakness just on his left side besides his arm, which he tucked into a pocket.

McGonagall breathed a little sigh of relief. She watched Albus these days for any sign of a stroke, especially after being told by the staff at St. Mungo's that she had barely avoided one herself. Severus was far too young for one, but the pressure on him was tremendous and what he might have to endure even worse.

They took it slowly to the infirmary, but finally got there. Poppy fetched her potion first and made her sit down to drink it. Snape smirked. "You don't have to enjoy it so much," McGonagall teased. "Now, tell her about your arm."

Madam Pomfrey helped Severus off with his robe and shirt. Minerva made herself look at the scars, including the claw mark along the side that one of her students had been responsible for, without flinching. Poppy went over the left arm with her wand, though it was clear she was taking the opportunity to scan the rest of him as well. "It's almost like the paralysis from a snakebite," the mediwitch said, "but I can't detect any poison. I'm not even getting the sort of reading that I usually do from, er…"

"The Dark Mark," Snape said morosely. "You can see it's still there." In fact, it burned much blacker than McGonagall had ever seen it. It looked like it ought to hurt immensely.

"Keep the arm warm and have it supported by a sling for the next couple of days. Soak in hot water as much as you can to help the circulation, and let me know if there's any change. Did it happen last night?" Poppy looked worried.

"Yes, but not at the meeting." Snape told his story again, though with fewer details. "I was obviously hallucinating at the time, though I don't know why. I didn't eat or drink anything, and Nagini didn't bite me. She did lick me, though…" His brow furrowed for a moment. "Maybe her saliva contains a skin contact poison."

"Or you might be reacting to the amount of potions residue in your system," the mediwitch said. "I got the test results from St. Mungo's this morning. I'll have to reference my copy of the study with their numbers, but just from glancing at it I can tell it's not good."

"Your friend at the hospital talks too much, or someone is spying on him," Snape said. "The Dark Lord had his own copy last night, and said the same thing."

Pomfrey went pale. "Oh, dear."

"Maybe it's a good thing I let you work on me instead," Severus commented acerbically.

Minerva said nothing, but remembered the week or so she'd spent in hospital last month. Nothing had seemed different from the few times she'd been there before. But Molly had spent every moment at her husband's side when Arthur had been there. There was also a curious story going round about an Auror who had died just when he'd started to recover. No wonder poor Mr. Longbottom was so worried about his parents. Perhaps he wondered what might happen to them if they should start to heal.

Poppy began helping Snape back into his shirt. "Albus needs to see those numbers, too. He'll make the final decision on what happens next. At the very least, though, you should get a complete workup by the Swiss at their clinic." The Potions Master bristled. The mediwitch continued. "Perhaps they have an outpatient regime," she added gently. "You won't be able to brew till this heals anyway."

Severus picked up his wand and spelled his shirt to button up. Minerva was a bit surprised. Most men didn't learn those kind of charms. No doubt Snape had gotten used to being disabled at times. "How long did it take for the Dark Mark to stop hurting the first time you got it?" she asked.

"About a week. But Malfoy was my sponsor, and took some of the pain. That's one of the things a sponsor is supposed to do." He looked down at the floor.

"Let's assume you managed it for all those students," Poppy said briskly. "It may take up to two weeks for your arm to fully recover, and you shouldn't worry about it till then. I'll need a list, though, for the ones who will be attending this next year."

"I won't have them persecuted!" Severus stormed. "They're not evil, they've just been remarkably stupid! It's not too late for them!"

"I didn't mean that at all, dear," the mediwitch said gently. "I just don't want to uncover the Mark on them accidentally if they're in here for something else. You know I'm not like that."

Snape went pale, and bowed his head. "I didn't mean it," he whispered. "I apologize for my ill-temper."

Minerva would have been happier about this if she hadn't felt the Potions Master was withdrawing out of fear. _Albus, I could smack you for saying what you did to Severus, or making him think you said it, anyway. He's surrounded by threats enough as it is. How dare you make him feel he's not safe here!_

"Where do you put the slings, Poppy?" she asked. The mediwitch pointed to a drawer, then got out paper and a quill. Snape looked utterly miserable as he listed the names out loud and Poppy wrote them down.

McGonagall picked out several slings, not knowing which size would fit properly. Poppy took one and helped Severus position his arm properly while she got it on. "It's warm enough that you shouldn't wear heavy robes over this, and I'm sure Dobby will be happy to help you with dressing and such," the older witch said. "And don't forget about those hot baths. We'll talk about the test results later. Drink lots of plain water and catch up on your reading for the next week, and I'll look at your arm again then. Take this chance to get some rest. I'm supposed to buy a lot more potions this year anyway, so don't feel you have to overwork just to keep up." She soothed the fractious man down and sent him off.

Pomfrey sighed once Snape was out the door. "Well, that was a shorter tantrum than usual. Have a cup of tea with me?"

"Once I visit your excellent facilities," Minerva said. "Had close to a pot already with breakfast." After she was through, Poppy was waiting for her.

"I worry about that boy," the mediwitch said, pouring them both a cup. "But I was glad he cut himself off before going off on one of his rants. They're really not good for him."

"True. But I'm not sure the reason for that is a good one," McGonagall said. "You see, at the beginning of this summer Dumbledore had a chat with him, and wanted him to patch things up with Mr. Potter."

"Surely that would be a good thing. I'm sure you've heard Severus on the subject even more than I have."

"Oh, I agree. Snape could have done so much for Harry from the very beginning if he had wanted to." Minerva knew that she could have done more, too, and sometimes wished she was as warm a person as Sprout was. "I would be more happy, though, if Severus hadn't gotten the impression that his legal status might be threatened if he didn't change his mode of expression."

For a moment Poppy looked slightly blank as she worked it out. "But what's that got to do with—oh! That man! No wonder Severus has been so quiet lately. Of course he thinks he'll be punished if he shows any temper. I'll be the first to admit he needs what the Muggles call anger management, but making him afraid only causes him more problems, the way it did when we thought Moody was teaching here. No wonder he apologized so quickly. It's not a good thing if he can't trust anybody, Minerva. He must watch himself with the students when they're here as it is. I remember that horrible insomnia he went through when the Dementors and Remus were here. He should have gone to St. Mungo's with that dreadful crack he got in the head out in the Shrieking Shack. I cannot believe anyone would use Molibicorpus on someone with a head wound! I should have put a body bind on him to make him stay in bed, but he got away."

"It was good thing he did, since he was able to rescue the three students who gave it to him, along with Black," Minerva said. "He should have gotten the Order of Merlin for that alone, considering his experiences with Dementors, and Lupin out there in wolf form."

"I heard that the Headmaster offered it to him, only to have it disappear when Sirius escaped," Poppy said.

"Yes," McGonagall said, thinking about how that had happened. "Even though it certainly wasn't his fault that either Black or Buckbeak got away." She had a good idea how that had happened, too. Yet Severus was forced to be grateful to Dumbledore just for being allowed to stay out of Azkaban, no matter what he'd done for the Order, and Hogwarts, throughout the years. She felt a nice, warm fit of righteous indignation coming on. "I have half a mind to tell Albus what I really think about all this."

"Are you sure that would be a good idea?" Poppy asked as she refilled her cup and added both cream and sugar. "You know how Snape gets sometimes. The Headmaster might have said something perfectly harmless and he took it the wrong way. Besides, if Albus really did threaten him, it might not be a good idea for him to know that Severus has been complaining about it."

Minerva snorted. "We're not dealing with Umbridge. Albus tries so hard to be fair."

"We both know he doesn't always succeed, especially if it's Gryffindor versus Slytherin, round 300, and especially not if Harry is involved. You've complained yourself about Snape's attitude for years. It really is time that something was done about it, if only to help Severus resolve his own feelings. I just hope that the Headmaster is actually trying to make the situation better, and not blithely charging ahead thinking all will be well if Snape just changes his ways. I seem to recall how exasperated you were with Harry yourself last year."

"Don't ever quote me on this," McGonagall said quietly, "but Sirius was not an asset to the Order, nor much help to Harry, last year. The boy was twice as bad whenever he came back from visiting that house. I swear the place is cursed. I think it was easy for everyone to believe Black murdered the Potters because he'd already tried to kill Snape. Albus was heartbroken."

"I remember. Dumbledore was worried because he'd been behind expelling Tom Riddle. He thought if he could keep Black in school that he might learn better than what his family would teach him." The mediwitch looked sad.

"And we had written off Severus already, just like we have the Slytherins who joined last night," said McGonagall. "As it turned out, everyone was wrong. Snape came back to us, and nearly ended up Kissed in Azkaban for his trouble, and Black was actually innocent—of that, anyway. I _loathed_ going to that house last year, Poppy, and I tried to avoid it as much as possible. I suppose we can blame twelve years in prison for what Black was like last year, but I just hated being around him. I cannot blame Snape for avoiding the man whenever he smelt of whiskey, either. I thought it showed more intelligence for people than we usually give Severus credit for."

"I was the one who told him to do that," Pomfrey said. "And I told Albus to let Snape leave as soon as possible after giving a report if Black was under the weather."

"Well, at least those idiot Marauders came to their senses after the Shack," Minerva said with a sigh.

"I wish I could be so sure of that. I caught Severus in here once in his seventh year, trying to treat himself. He wouldn't say who had done it, and laughed in my face when I told him to go the Headmaster. When I did, Albus said he couldn't do anything unless Snape told someone what happened. I'm afraid I thought about laughing the same way Severus did. I didn't see the boy in the infirmary again, but I left out supplies, nothing dangerous of course, and they tended to disappear. He might not have been the only one using them, of course, we had an interesting lot that year. But I don't think it was over. Remember, James Potter was Head Boy that year. Even if he didn't do anything for fear of Lily Evans seeing it, his friends were probably certain that they wouldn't get in trouble as long as they didn't actually kill Snape. You should sit down with Lupin some day. Maybe now that Black is gone he'll finally tell the truth."

"Severus has been quite a burden to you, hasn't he?"

"You should have seen him after he came back to us, or after Albus finally got him released from Azkaban. Since then I forget how many times he's been hurt, one way or another Usually it's a Potions accident caused by the one of the children. Till last year, anyway."

"I hate to pry—"

"No, you don't," Poppy said with a brief, wintry smile. "Let's just say that the information he brought us last year was dearly bought. I'm surprised that he's not on the same floor with the Longbottoms. I hate to think of how he'll be treated if he is. The staff at St. Mungo's don't like Death Eaters, you know. They're professionals, but they're still human."

Minerva decided not to bring up her speculation about Lucius Malfoy. "Then perhaps we ought to prepare a different refuge for our favorite Potions Master, should he ever become disabled. I hate to make such plans, but someone needs to. Albus seems terribly tired these days. Snape said he remembered a problem with the ink the Prophet used some years ago. Apparently it smeared more than it ought and had some unpleasant side-effects. Now that I think about it, I've noticed that his fingers are often smeared. I don't know if it's from his own correspondence or those endless new decrees from the Ministry. I'm just glad he's working with his windows open while the weather is nice."

The mediwitch seemed happy to move on to a different topic. "I'm worried about him, too. He was well enough when he first came back from vacation, but you're right, he does seem worn out. I'll go up and speak to him and see if I notice the smearing myself. Perhaps he ought to give a sample to Severus to analyze."

"Do you really think he'll get his arm back?"

"When the Dark Mark cools down, most likely. I think his mind just shut the feeling in his arm down when the pain became too great. He's also been using Dreamless Sleep quite a bit lately, so I'm not surprised he's seeing things. The bloodwork was quite thorough. I can't say I blame him for obsessing about Moody, either, especially if Albus has threatened Azkaban in any way. But I've given him two weeks not to worry about it, though I'm sure he will. He needs the rest in any case."

"How bad are those numbers on his analysis?" Minerva wondered about that.

"I will have to consult the chart to be sure. But he will have to get treatment, I'm quite certain of that. I can charm a copy of the study for you. I think you'll recognize the symptoms." Her lips thinned. "I don't like the prognosis if he continues to teach and brew without any intervention, but I won't go into detail with him unless I must. He's already a little too careless with himself."

"Then we'll have to make sure he's taken care of. He should see you _every_ time he returns from a meeting," Minerva said. "He could easily overestimate himself, and Albus doesn't seem as watchful as he has in the past. In fact, I fear the Headmaster would prefer to be relieved of some of that burden," she added waspishly. "But I am the Deputy Headmistress, and I should take some of it myself."

"I think that's a good idea," Poppy said soberly, "especially if Dumbledore's health is also not as good as it has been. We keep forgetting how very old he is, and demand too much of him as well. I'm afraid that Snape ends up bearing the brunt of it."

McGonagall nodded, and stood. "I need to sit down and do some planning on paper," she said. "I am not quite ready to break out the multicolored ink the way Miss Granger did during her OWLs, but it may soon to get to that point."

"Oh, no! Not that!" Pomfrey said, holding one hand over her heart. Then she smiled. "Those poor men. They'll never know what hit them."

"That's what I'm hoping for," Minerva said as she left.

Poppy Pomfrey

Madam Pomfrey chatted with the gargoyle. Ever since she'd treated a nasty little lichen he'd once picked up she'd never needed a password. He finally admitted the Headmaster was back in his office and let her in.

Albus looked up and smiled at her through several pieces of paper. "I swear, Poppy, just looking at these things is enough to make me sick!"

"You might be right," Poppy said as she came in and sat down, glad the window was open. "I spoke with Severus this morning. He told Minerva that the Prophet had trouble with its ink once. It smeared instead of drying properly, and had an odd smell to it. On top of that, it made everyone in the office sleepy all the time. Are those ink-stains on your fingers? Perhaps the ink being used on these papers ought to be tested."

"Some of these are a bit damp. You'd think their decrees would be dry by the time the Ministry owls bring the packets here." Dumbledore gazed down at the sheet he was currently examining. "I am glad Snape came to see you, though. Is he all right?"

"His left arm is numb and paralyzed, though the Dark Mark burns so hot I could warm my hands on it," the mediwitch said. "He's got a strange story about sponsorships, and using the pillars to contact the students involved that sounded odd even to me. You ought to speak to him today if you can. I'm certain he's imagining the worst, though I really think his arm will recover when the Mark isn't reacting so much. If it weren't for his fear that he won't get use of it back, I think he's better off being spared the pain."

The Headmaster looked thoughtful. "I thought I felt some activity through the pillars myself last night, but I believed I was dreaming. He is the Head of Slytherin, after all. I simply thought that since he can't do a Patronus, never mind the Patronus Slytherin, that the pillar in his common room would never work for him."

"To be honest, I thought he was hallucinating from using too much Dreamless Sleep Potion," Poppy admitted. "But there's more. His blood test results came from St. Mungo's this morning. He also told me that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named got them last night. I really thought my friend there would be able to keep this quiet."

Dumbledore blinked. "This isn't good at all."

"Neither are the results. He _must_ get treatment, Albus. His liver is still holding up. Fortunately he barely touches alcohol. But if this study is correct, he has only a few years before he becomes so ill he won't be able to teach at all. Before that, he'll become increasingly irritable and irrational, even for him."

"Isn't he quite young for this? I've seen Brewer's Bog before, and it's usually a problem for older wizards."

"He's also taught for longer than most of our Potions teachers, and became a Master much earlier in life than almost anyone in the Guild," Pomfrey pointed out. "Bellwood took a sabbatical every ten years, too, and that was without having to brew some of the things that Severus must. Our Potions curriculum is fairly advanced compared to other schools, one reason our students do so well on their OWLs and NEWTs. He was also exposed to a number of potions during his stay with the Ministry that have long term effects. Of course, given his condition when he was finally released, nobody was especially worried back then about such things. I don't even pretend to know what else he might be exposed to, either by ingestion or having to brew other potions, by way of his work for the Order."

The Headmaster looked abashed. "Do you think having to brew Wolfsbane will make it worse?"

"I have no idea. The Swiss started their work with the theory that there was a reason most potions masters and brewers were known for bad tempers. The team leader apparently has an older brother who fits the profile. They weren't expecting the physical changes at all, and ended up concentrating on those in their next series of studies. Ever since I've read their work I've been haunted by the idea that we may be penalizing Severus for something he can't help." _Chew on_ that_, Albus!_

"How was he this morning?"

"He was upset, mainly over his students, but he apologized as soon as he realized I wasn't going to harass any of them."

"So he can control his temper when he wants to." The Headmaster looked smug.

"If this study is correct, he must make a far greater effort than most to do so," she said, trying to keep her own irritation in check. "Why not make sure this is taken care of? Then he won't have the excuse the Swiss have given him. I'm sure he's noticed this part of the study, or will quite soon." Poppy didn't understand Dumbledore's attitude. _Maybe you really did threaten Snape with Azkaban over Mr. Potter. Oh, Albus, I really hoped it was just Severus being oversensitive again._

The old wizard bowed his head and sighed. When he straightened back up, he said, "I suppose you're right. As soon as his arm is better I'll make sure he goes to the clinic and gets a full examination. I hate hearing St. Mungo's is no longer safe. And I'm sure you're right about him assuming the worst." His face looked bleak. "I just get so angry myself when I think of how he's behaved around Harry for so long. I've given him one last chance. Since he is good with helping his students with their families, I offered him the opportunity to do what he could with the Dursleys. I haven't made much progress with them."

Snape dealing with Muggles? That was a twist. "You must dislike having to turn that over to someone else," she said. Pomfrey knew how fond the Headmaster was of the boy, and how distressed that Harry was treated so badly. Yet she'd rarely seen him fret over those with homes which were frankly far worse. She supposed it was because he was so old—a century ago the school was rarely involved in such matters unless physical harm was caused.

"I hate using fear," Dumbeldore said. "I hate using it on anybody. I didn't know what else to do. For all I know, the Dursleys will take theirs out on Harry, even with the Aurors checking on him. I…I wish I hadn't had to use it on Snape. You know how stubborn he can get."

"What did you tell Severus?" Were Minerva's suspicions correct?

"I..oh, damn, I wish I hadn't done it now. I suggested his legal position might be threatened. I tried to phrase it carefully, but I waved Azkaban in his face. On top of that, I laid a dream-sending on him so he'd know how badly Harry is treated in his gut. I've tried getting through to Snape other ways, but he wouldn't listen before."

Pomfrey struggled with a wave of anger. Well, that explained the Dreamless Sleep potion use. There _were_ other ways of getting Severus to listen. If only Albus had admitted that Harry was a handful to begin with, that would have helped. But it was clear to everyone on the staff that trying to tell the Headmaster that anything could possibly be wrong with the boy was like shouting into the wind. She tried to choose her words carefully. Snape had shown everyone that raising one's voice didn't work. "You'll get the short term results that you want, I think. Severus is fighting hard to control his temper. I will admit, I don't know what he's been able to do for Mr. Potter or his family situation yet. However, the summer's barely begun. Right now Snape has ten students of his own who are in far greater danger. No doubt the other two will want to lean on him in a pinch, if only because they know him better than the er…others. Even young Mr. Weasley should know better than to depend on Mr. Pettigrew." Poppy took a deep breath. "Severus has done far more for you out of love than he ever will out of fear. When was the last time you spoke to him without criticizing him or mentioning Harry?"

The Headmaster blinked. "Why, last night. And he was the one who said we should owl Mr. Potter, in case the boy felt something through the scar."

"Did you tell him how much you appreciated what he does? Did you ask him if he had been injured? Did you ask him how _his_ students were?"

Albus took a deep breath himself, clearly to protest, then stopped. "We…Minerva and I mainly talked about how surprised we were about Percy Weasley."

"I see." She let silence fill the room. "Did you even tell him that you appreciated his concern about Mr. Potter? After all, he was doing what you wanted."

"I told Minerva that I was happy he was looking after students besides those in Slytherin." He bowed his head a moment, then straightened up. "Damn it, Poppy, he's not a child! I shouldn't have to throw him a lemon drop every time he does a cute trick!"

"If he were really an adult, he could like or dislike a student without facing prison," Pomfrey said bluntly. "If he were really an adult, he could leave Hogwarts without the Ministry taking back custody. He could manage his own funds and not have to beg for an increase in his allowance. Albus, I know you've tried to make this yoke as light as possible to spare his pride. But don't you think he knows it's there, even before you put your foot down? Yes, you will probably get your way. Once Severus finds out what Harry's home is really like I don't see him ignoring the situation." _Unlike you, Headmaster. How long have you known what the Dursleys were really like?_ "But in the long term…"

"Do we have a long term, Poppy? Any of us?"

"I hope so," said the mediwitch.

"Hope is not enough. I've already told a fifteen-year old boy that he will have to kill or be killed. If you think I'm using Snape roughly, think of what I've done to Harry. Neither one deserves this." He stood up and looked out the window. "Sometimes…sometimes I wonder if I'll be able to lay my burden down or have it slip from my fingers. I ask no more of them than I do myself. I'm frightened, Poppy. And these days I'm just so tired."

"I know," she said softly, now worried for the Headmaster as well. "But don't write off anybody, including yourself. We've had some lovely years before and after Grindelwald. Snape and Harry never have. They've been weapons in one hand or another through most of their lives. At least Harry has the Weasleys and his friends. But all Severus has ever had is you."

"Surely you, Minerva, Hagrid, and some others on the staff are his friends, too." He turned back.

"Yes. But you and Tom have all the power over him. Severus would bleed for Draco the way you would for Harry, but you're the only one he's ever really trusted. Are you sure that what you want is so important that you're willing to lose that?" She wished the Potions Master leaned on her more, but was glad for what she could get. It was silly for her to even imagine that Snape would ever let down his guard enough around anyone to see that people did love him. She thought the Headmaster was a fool for throwing what he had away.

Dumbledore sadly nodded, then sat down again. "We have so little time, Poppy. It seems quiet now, but it won't last. If Dementors can't keep prisoners in Azkaban, human guards hired by Fudge certainly won't. I do worry about Severus, especially now. Those new Death Eaters will give him a power base for now, but for how long? He may not be able to make the sacrifices necessary to keep his standing with Tom."

Madam Pomfrey hoped she misunderstood what she'd heard. "Is he right about Gryffindors being all too willing to sacrifice Slytherins?"

"I'm afraid so. Necessity is a cruel master. But it was two Gryffindors who died in Godric's Hollow when this all began, Cedric Diggory just over a year ago, and now Sirius Black. I have not stinted risking my Lions, either."

Poppy idly wondered if anyone had bothered to count the number of black boxes on the front of the Prophet that belonged to Slytherins or Ravenclaws, but decided this would be the wrong time to mention them. "It is hard," she contented herself with saying.

"And much of it my fault. I knew what was likely to happen if Harry became convinced someone he loved was in danger, and failed to take precautions. I hope and pray that Severus can bring some of his own back to us again. But he must be willing to harden his heart the way I've had to harden mine. I have dreams about the Grindelwald War all the time now, Poppy. The Wizarding World won't survive intact if so many die again."

"Oh, dear." She leaned over and patted his hand. "Get away from all this awful paper and let Severus test the ink. If there's something wrong with it, then we'll get it fixed. You need looking after, too, and no mistake about that!" How many mistakes was he making simply because he was ill? Poppy wanted to warn Albus that Snape's paralyzed arm could be a harbinger of things to come, but she saw now her words would fall on deaf ears.

"I will." Dumbledore smiled wanly. "Perhaps Snape isn't the only one being poisoned. One can only hope the Ministry is suffering, too. Let's both get out of here for right now." He rose and started walking out of the office, as Poppy followed. "If it's any consolation, I know I ask too much of Severus and I always have. I feel spread too thin to be any good to anybody. I've already heard from Minerva what she thought of me leaving all of you to Umbridge's tender mercies, but I…I don't know how to do everything."

"You're not getting the Time Turner," Poppy said fiercely.

"I wouldn't dare. Time is not my friend these days." They both went down the stairs and started towards the Great Hall. Albus spoke more quietly. "Some days I look in a mirror and I wonder if I've become what I'm fighting."

"Keep wondering. That's more than some like Moody do." She glanced around the hallways. "Where's Fawkes? I'm surprised not to see him around this morning."

"I don't know. He was trying to keep me out of the office earlier, and then took off." Dumbledore frowned as they stopped in front of the doorway to the Great Hall. "Maybe he thinks there's something wrong with that paper, too."

"Well, I'm glad you're out of there." _And we're_ all _fighting this war, Albus, not just you._ Oh, how she wished she could bring everybody Tom Riddle's head and have it over with. Instead, she had to increase her stores of potions and bandages, and pray they wouldn't have to be used. _I hope it's quiet this summer. We all need the rest._ Sometimes she had chilling visions of her infirmary overflowing with wounded and dying children. _I don't need a boggart to see that,_ she thought to herself. _Someday I will be spread too thin, too, and people will die because of it. _She got an idea. Some of the seventh and sixth years could at least learn the basics. Even if the Headmaster never let her have a formal class, she'd teach all she could during detentions. _And I won't care what House they come from, either._

She sat down and Winky brought her tea. _House elves? Well, why not? Desperate times call for desperate measures._

Madam Pomfrey enjoyed her meal and tea all the better for knowing the time would come when she'd be lucky to have a crust and a cuppa on the fly. Time to build up strength. Minerva might not be the only one who needed to do some planning.


	8. Chapter 8: On the Home Front

The Birthday Present

Chapter 8: On the Home Front

Rowling: all hers, not mine (alas!).

Author's note: Those of you who have been patient about seeing anything from Harry Potter's point of view will be rewarded this chapter. Hail to thee, Snape's Nightie, for your brilliant assistance with the Queen's English. Once again, this story is seriously AU to HPB, and I like it that way.

Severus Snape

As soon as he left the infirmary and went downstairs, two owls were waiting for him with the first completed set of summer lessons. He could still grade, after all. The Mark gave off heat through his shirtsleeve even now; he wondered how much it would hurt if his arm hadn't gone numb. No wonder the Dark Lord said he'd been out for two days after taking in a dozen new initiates. There were limits to how much pain anyone could endure.

He sat down in his office with the papers and samples once he'd dismissed the owls. Lovegood continued sound on theory, and her sample looked like it had been brewed correctly. He'd have to test it later once his arm was better, of course. Mr. Weasley's potion appeared much the same, though his paper was somewhat less detailed. Snape normally didn't allow students to use Dicta-Quills, but he had been tempted for a long time to make an exception for the youngest Weasley boy. If only the family finances were not so straitened! Ronald Weasley was extremely proud about accepting charity. McGonagall had let slip that occasional arguments between Weasley and Potter arose from Potter assuming responsibility for expenses that the red-headed boy thought were his. Severus couldn't help but approve of such independence after his own experience with Slytherins much richer than himself. _Of course, I'll never admit it, even under Crucio!_

Another owl fluttered in from Hogsmeade, carrying a letter with a cancelled Muggle stamp. He opened it.

"Dear Professor Snape,

"I am at my wits' end. I cannot convince Vernon that the boys should have an evening class because of the added expense. Everyone here just glares at each other. At least there hasn't been as much shouting. I have made the tea the way you suggested, but so far my husband won't drink it, though I have been doing so. It has been so beastly hot that he refuses anything that isn't cold. The whiskey makes him uncomfortable, even with ice in it, though he won't admit it.

"I worry that Dudley is going out late, but I haven't caught him yet. Vernon says I fuss too much over him. I keep thinking of that horrible night when he was almost caught by a Dementor. But nobody will listen to me. I've tried not to shout at Harry just because I'm upset with everyone else, but it's hard. He looks at everyone so hatefully when he can be bothered to come out of his room. He talks in his sleep, but I can't tell what he's saying—I nearly thought someone's pet snake had escaped and gotten into the neighborhood one night.

"Has something happened to his godfather? He hasn't mentioned Sirius Black the way he used to, not even to threaten us. By now he would have said something just to annoy us, I think.

"Nothing has really happened yet. But I know it's going to, and it'll be horrible. And then that awful man with the glass eye is going to shout at us, Vernon will shout back, and someone is going to end up turned into something. (Not that I would become especially upset if Vernon's sister happened to get in the way, given the way she's insulted my whole family, mind. Fortunately for her, she no longer visits when Harry is with us, though she'll never say why. I thought she was supposed to have forgotten what happened to her, but to be honest, I don't miss her nearly as much as Vernon does.)

"You're the only one who seems to understand that I don't really want things to be like this. I don't hate Harry, but he frightens me these days. Maybe I deserve it for not standing up to Vernon in the beginning. But nobody but you has any idea how hard it's been having the boy with us. I dislike bothering you when you should be resting, and I appreciate what you've done already, but I honestly don't know how to go forward from here.

"Sincerely,

Petunia Dursley"

Severus wasn't a bit surprised to hear the Potter had used Black to threaten his family in the past. Now that he thought about it, he remembered the woman standing next to Black at Lily's wedding, clearly unhappy at the dogfather's attentions. It had been far too much fun to mention to Padfoot how displeased the bride, and by concatenation the bride's new groom, would be if Lily's sister were treated badly.

Too bad Potter hadn't told Black what really went on in his 'home'. _The dog would have certainly landed himself back in Azkaban all by himself after seeing how his godson's family treated the boy._

He sighed, and sat down to write, spelling the paper to stick to the desk.

"Dear Mrs. Dursley,

"I certainly sympathize with your situation. It is difficult not to be taken seriously when you have your family's best interests at heart. I am glad you are drinking the tea, even though your husband has yet to do so. Given what you've told me, only your strength has kept matters from getting even worse than they are thus far.

"I understand that in the States many drink their tea cold. I shall send you a larger bunch of herbs than normal, so you may brew it a pitcher at a time. I have no idea if that changes the taste, however. You may have to experiment.

"If your husband is concerned about expenses, he is probably unaware that Mr. Potter stands to come into a considerable inheritance when he is 21. No doubt he will be glad to recompense your family for your care of him when he is able to do so. Unfortunately, he has extremely limited access to those funds until he comes of age.

"As for Mr. Black, he perished before the boy's eyes in an unpleasant incident at the Ministry itself. Some of his behavior is because Mr. Potter may feel somewhat responsible for the situation, or is angry at those he does believe responsible. I have not had much luck at determining his reasoning over the years.

"You are right to be worried about your son. The Ministry seems to have lost track of the Dementors once they left Azkaban, and no one appears to worry about bringing them back. I commend Mr. Potter for watching over his cousin the way he did last summer. I hope it does not become necessary this year. I strongly suggest greater supervision over both children in your care till the beginning of school.

"If you have any questions, be sure to write. I do hope this summer is better than the last for everyone concerned.

"Sincerely,

Severus Snape."

He laid the paper down to dry and smirked at what Harry Potter would consider proper recompense for the _loving care_ offered him by the Dursleys. Snape was glad he'd added the codicil about the limited access, though, just in case the uncle thought to rob the boy as well as mistreating him. What he would give to be a mouse in a corner when Potter turned 17 there!

How odd to not have his blood boil while saying something complimentary about the Gryffindor. Severus wondered how long it would last. No doubt he'd make a fool of himself at the worst possible moment about Mr. Potter.

He'd need some help putting together a larger batch of the herbs than usual. Snape left the letter out to dry thoroughly—nothing wrong with the ink _he_ used!—and went upstairs in search of a tractable house elf. Watching Winky lay out the silver for the noon meal reminded him again how obsessive she appeared to be about having everything set out perfectly. He nodded at her, then went in search of Dobby.

The house elf was out in the hall, well out of earshot of the younger one, or so he hoped. "Dobby," he asked, "is Winky quite busy these days?"

"Not busy enough," Dobby said. "Butterbeer again when nothing to do. But Dobby will help, Master Severus! Sorry about bad arm."

"Yes. I'll need your help tonight to bathe and get ready for bed." Severus didn't like sleeping in his clothes the way he had last night. "But I will need some during the day, too, and I know you have other duties. If Winky isn't that busy, it's better I use her right now. I'll watch her to make sure she isn't careless. You would be bored by such simple tasks."

"Master Severus is too kind," Dobby said, though he stood a little straighter. "Winky should do more, but not that much in summer. Nobody asks for her, though she doesn't cry over her Bad Barty like she used to."

"Good. I'll talk to her after dinner." He entered the hall annex and took his usual place at the table, though he hated anyone seeing him wearing the sling. But any day he ate with the others at least once was another day that the Headmaster didn't hover over him. It was a small price. He forced himself to show a placid exterior. He'd finally learned he was more likely to be left alone that way than when he scowled and tried to shove people away.

McGonagall smiled at him, and he nodded at her. At least she could tell when he really didn't want to talk. He shredded the meat at table with his wand, and tried to eat as much as he could, though he still felt full from the breakfast Minerva had brought him.

Dumbledore sat next to Poppy and made conversation with the mediwitch. Then the older wizard looked up and pretended to be pleased to see him. Snape exchanged some inane chatter with the man. Oh, he could play the social game when he really had to; he'd learned that much from Lucius over the years. He just never thought he'd be forced to pretend that way here, after so long. But it was obvious the rules had changed, and honesty once more was penalized.

That afternoon he sat in his office again. When he'd first come to Hogwarts, he'd set up a contingency plan in case his welcome turned out to be false. He'd acquired Muggle papers from Knockturn Alley and kept them in a warded drawer. Over the years, he'd dropped in a modest sum from every pay packet, about the price of a tankard of ale in one of the taverns. About half of it had been converted to Muggle funds from a changer not affiliated with Gringotts, nor subject to their reporting requirements.

He opened that drawer and took a good look at it. He'd continued dropping in minor amounts from habit, and was glad of it now. As Narcissa Malfoy's representative, he could draw from her resources, but he rather thought he'd steal food out of waste bins before depending on that family again.

Yes, the papers were still there that proclaimed him a proper Muggle. They'd have to be updated, of course, but that shouldn't prove difficult. Some of the sickles and galleons in here would take care of that. Many in the Alley didn't care about the war, only their own survival, yet had the honesty to stay bought once money crossed the counter.

Then he slammed the drawer shut. He had ten, no, twelve reasons he must stay in this till the bitter end. It didn't matter if his arm ever came back to life; it didn't matter if Dumbledore used his disability as an excuse to get rid of him, either now or when Potter returned. Even if he restrained his temper he was only here as long as Albus thought him useful.

One of the glass beakers in the next room shattered. Oh, Merlin! Perhaps he ought to find the Room of Requirement and find out what monsters he needed to kill _this_ time!

He sighed, and opened the drawer again. If he were forced to leave Hogwarts, he would have to find a way to stay out of Azkaban for his apprentices' sake. Severus had contemplated his death before, but hadn't given much thought to being on the run. Perhaps these Muggle papers could offer him a temporary sanctuary and help him continue to give the Order the information it needed. He still had door-right to 12 Grimmauld Place unless it was withdrawn, but even then he thought Lupin might listen to him. Whether he could still brew the Wolfsbane Potion was another matter, yet Snape doubted the wolf would betray him to Moody.

Even a Muggle flat would be better than depending on the Malfoy family's charity. He knew a few potions he could brew one-handed, or with minimal help, that could be sold at Nora's or similar establishments in the Alley.

And if that didn't work out, he'd use his temporary privilege with the Dark Lord to visit him one last time. Percy Weasley would be able to tell the Order that their enemy was at least severely wounded and be believed, Potter could be brought in to finish things up and reap the glory, and the war would be over. _At the very least I will see Lestrange and Wormtail gone. If this occurs before the other Death Eaters can escape or manage their release from prison, all the better._

He went through the papers again. He'd need to acquire another set, though he'd need a Muggle photo of Draco, or charm a normal one into stillness. Most of this money could be used to finance the boy's escape if need be, since he'd certainly be cut off from family funds, and wasn't old enough to have access to his own money yet.

Snape settled back in his chair. If his arm didn't heal and Dumbledore discharged him without handing him over to Moody, he'd find a room in Muggle London with his papers. He'd probably have to learn to manage most of his life without magic, since a surveillance charm might be put on his wand. He'd have to avoid becoming indebted to either the Dark Lord or the Malfoys, and to dodge the viciousness of Lestrange and the incompetence of Wormtail. And he would still have to help those idiots under his protection.

He fought a sense of panic. He'd managed under worse circumstances. Snape kept a mental list of things he must do soon. Then he noticed the letter he'd written to Mrs. Dursley. He spelled it to fold up and stuff itself in an envelope. Minerva used the same charm to send off the entrance letters each summer, and had shown him once how it worked.

Severus knew he had other letters to write, or at least update. He would be a fool to count on living out the summer. He pulled out the old ones first. It was awkward unfolding the papers by hand, and for a moment he thought about waiting till his arm was better.

He knew better, though. He had time _now_. The letter for Dumbledore came first. He scowled as he read what he'd written. What a sentimental idiot he'd been! Yet he added no reproaches. That wasn't the right way to handle the old man. If Albus ever read this letter, he'd be dead and it wouldn't matter any more how the Headmaster really felt. Best to write something more in the old wizard's line. He added, _Don't give up on my Slytherins, Albus. Most of them haven't taken the Mark. Please don't abandon those who have. Your steadfast faith in me, when I had none in myself, has meant more to me than I can say._ He angrily wiped a tear from his eye, knowing he'd written the truth. He was still a maudlin fool, apparently.

He put that paper in the another drawer, just above the one with the money and the Muggle papers.

Severus glanced up for a moment and saw Fawkes come through the doorway. He looked around for Dumbledore, undoubtedly on his way, but didn't see him.

The phoenix settled on a bookcase and trilled peacefully. Snape leaned back in his chair and was entranced for a little while. He didn't know why he was being offered this comfort, but he knew he was going to be weak enough to accept it.

Once the song was over Snape felt as if he'd slept for hours with no potions. He got up and went into his private lab. After repairing the broken beaker with his wand, he found a small vial of honey mead. He poured it out into a dish and offered it to the bird. Fawkes drank it eagerly, then landed on Snape's left shoulder. The phoenix laid his head against the Potion Master's neck, trilled a bit more, than took off.

Severus sat back down again. He felt better, but his situation hadn't changed. He added a few lines to the letter meant for Draco that told the boy how to get to the money if he needed to escape and had no access to family resources. Once that was done, he started on notes to all his new apprentices. If he should die or disappear for more than a week, Dobby knew to send out these letters.

Then he realized he needed to add one more to the pile, which irked him. He sighed and got out the paper, knowing he mustn't let pride get in the way of protecting those who needed it.

"Dear Mr. Potter,

"I shall not pretend any particular affection. You wouldn't believe it anyway. Yet the more I learn about your family, the more I marvel that you have not killed them all. I have added to your burden, and perhaps my death will lighten it. If you are the cause of it, I congratulate you on your ability to manage something hundreds of students have longed to do. I suggest you consult Professor Flitwick and find out if the holder of the Betting Book still has the pool going.

"I ask only one thing. You chose Gryffindor. No doubt you feel morally superior to members of other Houses, especially mine.

"Prove it. Avoid becoming the next Dark Lord. Avoid allowing your supporters to show their devotion by tormenting others. Remember that Sirius Black was imprisoned by the Ministry without a trial. Do not allow them to use you to perpetrate similar atrocities. Watch Moody in particular, should he still be alive. If he has been deprived of the treat he's longed for due to my death, he will look for others.

"The following members of my House were initiated as Death Eaters this summer of 1996." (He listed them.) "Two others joined at the same time. Percy Weasley is spying for Moody, which may or may not be known by the time you read this, and Miss Edgecombe from Ravenclaw is already regretting her decision. By the time you read this, some of these new apprentices will likely be dead. Some of the survivors will have the Dark Mark in their hearts as well as on their arms. A few might want a way back. Give it to them.

"Remember, you are alive today because the Headmaster trusted _me_.

Severus Snape"

He wasn't certain if Potter owed him a Life Debt by now or if James Potter had yet to be paid in full. It didn't really matter. _It'd serve the little brat right to hate owing me a debt as much as I hated owing his father! _He thought with a smirk.

Severus repeated the spell to make the paper fold itself up and insert itself into the envelope, and added to the small pile in the charmed drawer. He should rest the way Poppy had told him, but there was so much to do. It was time to summon Winky and see if she could help with preparing ingredients for the Harmonia potion. It wouldn't take him long to find out if she understood directions clearly, or could only follow a strict routine. If she didn't work out, he'd try other elves.

He pushed the envelope that had to go to Mrs. Dursley half under a paperweight, wishing he'd thought to give it to Fawkes to take to Hogsmeade. Though he already had some Muggle postage in his top desk drawer, he didn't really feel like walking to the Owlery just now. Perhaps he'd have Winky run that errand, if she could learn no others.

Well. The sun was high in the sky yet, but soon would darken. If he made good progress with the potion, he'd call it an early night. If he had to please others, Poppy might as well come first in line for a change. Severus sent out the standard summoning charm with the little elf's name attached. _I hope she isn't too busy with butterbeer to answer!_

Albus Dumbledore

The Headmaster reluctantly walked down to the dungeons several hours later than he'd meant to. He wished he could get rid of the thought of how convenient it was for Severus to have a paralyzed arm not long after he learned that Lupin was to teach here again. Of course, it would be difficult for Snape to fool both Poppy and Minerva. And given how Severus disliked needing help to do anything, Albus doubted the charade would last long.

_I hate thinking such things about him_._ He's controlling his temper much better than I expected. What if his anger has found another path?_ There were stories of Muggles whose limbs refused to work not because of some physical problem, but from disorders of the mind. _Keeping too many secrets might end up killing him or driving him mad. If Severus has a breakdown at that clinic, we could be fatally compromised. On the other hand, he really is ill, if that blood test is to be believed. His arm could be the least of our worries._

Fawkes flew out from a corridor and onto his shoulder. "I imagine you're pleased I'm away from the office," Dumbledore said to the bird, which sang a few notes in response. Then he heard some activity from the Potions lab. No doubt Snape was trying to find exactly how much he could do in the way of brewing with his arm in the sling. _Or he's not that disabled after all._ Damn! He was doing it again. What was wrong with him?

Albus hastened forward, moving as quietly as he could. Snape's wards were like gossamer to him, though he knew that they were much stronger for anyone else coming in without warning. That hadn't changed.

Severus was speaking to someone. He was instructing someone, most likely one of the house elves, on how to crush some coriander into powder. The Headmaster continued to listen outside the door, amazed at the Potion Master's gentle voice. It became apparent that Snape was putting together the ingredients for the Harmonia potion. That made sense. Severus taught it to first-years, and probably thought that made it a good choice to start training someone new. From the few words he could hear, it sounded like Winky in there. A good choice, really—the poor little house elf was obsessed with getting things _right_ when not in her cups.

_A pity that Severus can't be so patient with the children,_ Albus thought. _But I put him in this position when he was much too young. Most of the other teachers weren't asked to join the faculty till they already had a reputation. Well, except for Defense, of course. Then again, he's received only kindness from house elves as far as I know_. _Snape's experience with children has been quite the opposite. And being here where all the teachers remember _him_ as a child probably doesn't help. _

The Headmaster moved into the doorway and cleared his throat. Severus whipped his head around. For a moment his eyes showed a flash of fear. His face changed so rapidly to its normal blankness that Albus wondered if he'd really seen it. He also noticed that the quantities of herbs laid out seemed larger than usual. Then again, that made sense. Training someone new often used up ingredients rather quickly.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Headmaster?"

"Just checking on you." Dumbledore kept his voice gentle. "Weren't you supposed to rest today, if not for at least a week?"

"I'm not in pain, and I may need an assistant this year. Winky has been a good elf, and is learning quickly." Snape nodded towards tiny elf, who glowed under the praise.

"Can she work on her own for a moment? I do need to talk to you," Albus said.

"Of course. Winky, when you have finished grinding the coriander, chop the rosemary into pieces exactly this size." Snape took a knife and awkwardly sliced a leaf. "Well, not that one," he grumbled, and started another one.

Dumbledore stepped forward. "I haven't quite forgotten this potion, Severus." Snape gave him the knife, though he scowled with frustration. The Headmaster quickly took the leaf apart into the proper sections.

Snape nodded. "Like that," he said gruffly.

Winky beamed. "Will remember, masters!"

Albus led the way through the office and into the living quarters. A pity that Snape had never renovated the place. He'd picked out some furniture from the attics when he'd first gotten here, let the elves clean once a week, and had called it good enough. The only hint of luxury in the Potions Master's quarters was in the bathroom, and probably because the fixtures were built in. Over the years everything had gotten slowly shabbier, though still usable. No doubt Severus feared his brewing might get out of hand and ruin anything better, but it was still unfortunate that the younger wizard could not bring himself to live in more suitable surroundings.

They both sat. Granted, the chairs were more comfortable than the ones in his office. But then, Dumbledore normally wanted meetings to get over as soon as possible. "Tell me what happened last night, Severus. All of it. I shouldn't have ignored you." It had been embarrassing to look up from his fussing over Percy Weasley with Minerva to notice that Snape had gone.

The younger wizard gave him a garbled story of apprentices, Dark Marks, the pillar, and what he'd seen. Now that he thought about it, it didn't surprise the Headmaster that Moody had thought to meddle on his own. The old Auror had run an independent operation during the Grindelwald War, and no doubt itched at having to report to someone this time around. Then he forced himself to pay attention to the rest of what Snape was telling him.

"I know I've forgotten half and I'm probably imagining the rest," Severus said. "It worries me that the Dark Lord has contacts at St. Mungo's that can tap into the Old Mediwitches' Network."

"That's my problem and Poppy's right now, not your," Dumbledore said firmly. "I've had a chance to go over the blood test. Both Tom and Poppy are right. I've scheduled you for a full workup at the Swiss Institut. You'll be gone at least a week, perhaps longer if they feel it necessary." If Pomfrey couldn't get Snape to rest when he was this ill, it was time to hand him over to someone who could. Albus felt ashamed of his suspicions now.

"What about my arm?" Severus blinked rapidly.

"The Dark Mark should fade in two weeks' time. If it hasn't, and your arm hasn't recovered by then, I'll think of something. Professor Flitwick should be back from his trip by then. He knows more than you think he does. I know you'll hate it, but if he can't manage to resolve the situation, Lupin is really quite good with Dark curses. From what you say, we shouldn't trust those at St. Mungo's more than we have to."

Snape's shoulders slumped. "I have two students taking Summer Potions."

"Then I will grade them myself. Who are they?" Dumbledore couldn't blame Severus for not wanting to trust outsiders with his health.

"Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Lovegood. Both are making progress. I swear, that boy needs a Dicta-Quill! I doubt he'd accept one as a gift, though. Good luck on reading his writing."

"I've seen it before, and I know what you mean. Perhaps he would accept one as a favor to an old man's eyes—on loan, of course." It sounded as Snape knew all about the boy's prickly pride when it came to money. "It might also be a good idea to work out curriculum changes in case your arm doesn't heal. Have you given any thought to the Wolfsbane Potion?"

To his hidden delight, Severus didn't look as if he were secretly rejoicing to be off the hook. Instead, he frowned as if he'd just realized the problem.

"Either Miss Granger or Mr. Malfoy could learn it. If they cannot, then I would try to work with Miss Chang or Mr. Zabini. The seventh years, except for Miss Chang, are a sorry lot this year. The Weasley twins are gone in any case. Now that's a thought. They're identical enough that they might be able to brew it as a team. I don't _think_ either one would make alterations to the potion, since both seemed to like the wolf. I would not care to venture what color Lupin's fur would be that particular month, however…" Snape's mouth curved up a tiny bit. "I'm certain Miss Tonks would approve…"

Albus snorted with laughter. When hearing of what the twins had done last year, especially with the portable swamp, he had wondered exactly how the boys had gotten some of the ingredients, especially the Kappa fur. "Perhaps it's just as well you have alternatives. And I still know my way around a cauldron. Maybe it's time I tried my hand at that potion."

"It is quite exacting, sir. At one point the brewer must be awake for twenty-four hours, though given the amount of strong tea consumed during the NEWTS, that shouldn't be a problem for _younger_ brewers. Neither Granger nor Malfoy should have too much difficulty if they put their minds to it. And I have no wish for either Madam Pomfrey or Professor McGonagall tohex me into next week for ruining your health."

Now that was tactful, especially for Snape. Dumbledore had forgotten that particular requirement of the potion. "Isn't there a way to nap between stages?"

"Only if you have an excellent time-keeper. Unfortunately, most house elves don't have a good sense of it. I have experimented with various clocks, but this is such a rare potion that nobody's built one just for it yet."

"I shall make enquiries. Meanwhile, rest assured that we will find a way for you to teach Potions, even if you have to change things around a bit. As for the Wolfsbane, if you need one or more of the students to come back early, just let me know."

Severus breathed a deep sigh, and his face relaxed for a moment. "I appreciate your patience, Headmaster. But I still worry about going to that clinic. What if I am needed…elsewhere…during my stay?"

"If Tom already has the results, then he'll know why you're there. You can't help your apprentices if you're too sick. The stronger you are, the better they will be protected." The more he thought about, the more he believed Snape's story of last night was true. One call would confirm at least part of it, and give a certain someone a sharp lesson at the same time. Perhaps the best way to motivate Severus now was to appeal to his need to protect his Slytherins.

"I hope you're right." Snape still looked dubious. "I'd better go back and make sure Winky hasn't started baking a cake in there."

"I don't blame you," Albus said with a smile, then turned serious. "But do try to get some rest. And if you need help with undressing and the like, be sure to get it."

"I've already made arrangements with Dobby," Severus said, and stood up.

Even though the younger wizard's face was still fairly blank, Dumbledore could tell Snape was much happier than at first.

As he left the dungeons, he suddenly realized why. _Did Severus really think I would sack him because of that arm? He was much less tense as soon as I began discussing how he would teach next year even if it remained disabled. Well, I have only myself to blame for that. Snape doesn't panic often, but he does a thorough job of it when it does happen._ Albus decided to leave it alone for now. _I still want him to do something about Harry's situation. The Pensieve is a good first step, but the household definitely needs help, too._

He noticed a letter half tucked under a paperweight when he walked through the Potions Master's office on his way out, but thought he'd snooped too much already, even when Fawkes suddenly appeared and dived at it.

Once back in his own quarters, he sat down by the Floo and summoned Alastor Moody. The old Auror's head was soon in the flames. "What can I do for you, Headmaster?" he growled.

"You can tell me why you didn't let me know about Percy Weasley taking the Mark ahead of time," Dumbledore said harshly.

"You would have told me not to," Alastor replied.

"You're absolutely right!" One part of Snape's story was definitely true. Perhaps the rest was as well. "Care to tell me why you did it?"

"Snape is our only reliable contact with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Moody said. "That's not right. It'll be easier to trust his reports when someone else confirms them. And from what I saw last year, he comes back from some of those meetings in pretty bad shape. It couldn't hurt to have someone there to pull him out if things get out of hand."

"Do you really expect me to believe you're concerned about his health?" Albus remembered how badly hurt Snape had been once released from Azkaban. That time he'd had the young wizard treated at St. Mungo's and his records put under magical seal. They might yet come in handy.

"Got me there, Guv'nor. But it would be easier to believe him if he and Weasley come back with the same tale. Besides, if he gets knocked off, you'll turn him into a martyr and people would leave flowers by his grave. I'd find that _very_ annoying."

"I have no trouble believing that," the Headmaster said. "Of course, none of this concern is motivated by your desire to have a chat with him without any distractions."

Moody snorted. "It wouldn't break my heart if Weasley discovered that Snape is really a traitor after all. Isn't he old Tom's new pet now? First that banquet at the Malfoys, and then keeping him back after all the rest have left. Now that Lovely Lucius is in prison, maybe Riddle wants a new boyfriend."

Dumbledore tightened his lips. "I heard some unpleasant rumors going around last year, and I wish I'd paid more attention to them. However, Sirius Black was not an especially reliable informant, given his confinement to the house. But we were both at the Ministry raid and we both heard how _he_ spoke to Madam Lestrange. I think you're looking in the wrong quarter."

Alastor shrugged. "Could be. But Tom was never known to worry about the flavor of his favorite tidbits, either. He might be curious to find out how well Malfoy trained Snape."

"I rather hope not," Albus said coldly. "I would like to leave you with one thought. While I live, Severus is under my protection. However, that works both ways. He has been constrained to act in the interests of the Order. If and when the times come that I cannot protect him, then he will no longer be bound on his side except by his own loyalties. Consider your favorite phrase, Moody. Barty Jr. was an amateur compared to Snape, and you know it. You may end up being the one having a chat without any interruptions. I'm sure he'll tell you the truth, but you may not enjoy it very much."

The retired Auror's eyes went wide, even the magical one.

Dumbledore severed the Floo connection in disgust. No wonder Snape was fearful. Moody's reactions had told him much. _I've added even more to the mix. But someone has to get through to Mrs. Dursley, and Severus is most likely to be able to do so. He can honestly tell her that Harry annoys him, too. Merlin knows he's done wonders with some of those pureblood families. But as long as he makes _some _kind of effort, that will be enough._

_Maybe Harry would have been better off if he'd been sorted into Slytherin in the first place. Would the Hat put the boy into Gryffindor now?_

Severus Snape

He and Winky finished the package for Mrs. Dursley, and the elf happily took both the box and the envelope to the Owlery, from whence it would go to the Hogsmeade postal station. Snape endured the humiliating process of letting Dobby help him undress, bathe, and get ready for bed. He wondered if he would sleep. And then he wondered if he wanted to.

Severus felt tired once in bed, though, and quickly began drifting off. _I should have taken some Dreamless Sleep,_ he thought, knowing he was already taking too much.

The nightmares plagued him again. However, he'd seen this lot before and didn't mind them quite as much. The cupboard again, his parents fighting in the rooms in Knockturn Alley, Vernon Dursley changing into his father and beating him and changing back again—but this time Petunia Dursley tried to stop it, only to get backhanded herself for her trouble.

He woke briefly. _Am I asking too much of the wretched Muggle?_ But the Harmonia potion ought to help, or why he wanted it to work a bit before he sent the distilled Stinksap. He knew the penalty that women sometimes suffered for trying to protect their children. _If only her husband will drink it, too. If there is love in that marriage at all, this should bring it out. Then maybe he'll listen to her._ That evening class was a good idea. He knew Potter was safest when confined to 4 Privet Drive, but he'd seen Sirius Black's reaction to such restrictions. Potter would likely react much the same. _Or the way I hated being stuck in my room when my parents were fighting just below. I would have given anything to be someplace else, even with the old man across the street._

He closed his eyes again. This time the dreams were much worse. Now he was in Godric's Hollow again, James' and Lily's bodies splayed on the ground.

Then he saw the little boy being sacrificed by Bella.

Then it was Potter.

Then it was _him_.

He woke up screaming, his left arm trapped underneath his body. He shifted position and freed it. _Albus, help me!_ Snape thought childishly, though he realized how silly that was. It was obvious he needed no help to see such horrors in his mind.

Dobby peeped in. "Master Severus need help?"

"Yes," he said hoarsely. "Bring me the vial on top of that wardrobe and open it." He was using too much of the potion, but he couldn't stand this any more tonight. Welcome oblivion followed the draught.

Harry Potter

It was the best summer he'd ever had with the Dursleys. It was because of Dudley, amazingly enough.

It started out the same way as ever, though. After the Aurors had left, the house had been quiet. Too quiet, really, with Uncle Vernon sulking in his chair downstairs and Harry trying to keep out of the way, but just as angry as his uncle. His godfather's death and Dumbledore's lecture still hurt.

_At least I don't dream of the Department of Mysteries any more,_ Harry thought one morning after the first new nights back from Hogwarts. It was funny how that new health tea Aunt Petunia made after dinner made the whole house smell nice. Maybe it was just as well he wasn't summoned to 12 Grimmauld Place, either. He didn't think he could stand being there with Sirius gone. He knew he should write to Lupin, but didn't know what to say.

Harry enjoyed some of his other dreams, especially the ones about Snape. He replayed the scene where the Potions Master threw the jar and Harry fled the office several times a day in his head the first week he was back in 4 Privet Drive. With each repetition, he got more and more angry with the tall, dark professor. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that Snape had somehow managed to taunt Black into going to the Ministry, or worse, was lying about his true loyalties to the Headmaster. It felt good sometimes to let the hate and rage he felt surge up inside. Sometimes when Uncle Vernon forgot and started yelling again, Harry allowed it to well up. It must have showed in his eyes, because then his uncle would remember some chore and send Harry off to do it.

He liked the dreams he had on those nights. It felt as if someone approved of him, like he was learning the lesson he was supposed to. One night he got a night-vision better than all the rest, just under a week from when he'd left Hogwarts. In that one he'd stood in front of a fire with all his friends standing around him. Snape was kneeling in front of them, his feet to the flames and his hands tied behind his back. Ron had held his wand on the greasy git and laughed. Instead of objecting, Hermione handed Harry a knife. He used it then to slice the Potion Master's throat open.

He hadn't expected so much blood. It had gushed out all over the place. But killing the bastard still felt good. Sirius would be happy now. In fact, in the dream his godfather had stood there and cheered the death, though Lupin had turned his face away. _The wolf is a coward,_ Harry remembered thinking. _He always tries to stop us having fun._ Maybe what he'd seen James Potter do in the Pensieve hadn't been so bad after all. Maybe he should have told Sirius how much he'd enjoyed seeing it. Snape had deserved it anyway.

He hadn't liked the ending, though. Hermione had changed into that horrible Bellatrix Lestrange, Ron had changed into Wormtail, and Snape's body, which had fallen near the fire, had changed into that of a little kid with black hair that stuck out. Though the tiny boy's eyes had been closed, Harry had the awful feeling that if he lifted the eyelids, their color would be green.

Then Sirius had changed into Nagini and hissed at him. That was when he'd woken up. The really funny part was that the morning after he'd had that dream for the first time he'd gotten a quick note from Shacklebolt asking if he were all right. True, he had a headache on his scar again, but it wasn't the same feeling he had from the other visions the year before.

He answered the note _Yes, I'm fine, thanks for asking_. Harry hadn't seen anything wrong with that dream at all except the ending. The only reason he'd come up with that, he thought, was because Dudley was a Star Wars fanatic, and had played his old tape of The Empire Strikes Back on his telly in his room so loud that Harry could recite every bit of dialog.

That day, he felt like writing the Headmaster asking why they still had Slytherin at the school at all. He remembered the way Draco had been all last year. The rest of the Snakes were probably just like him, and were only waiting to show their true colors. The school would be safer with them and Snape gone. _Why bother?_ Harry thought after a bit. _He would just tell me to sit and wait with my head up my butt and that he has everything in hand, even though it's obvious that he doesn't know half of what's going on. All right, I screwed up by going to the Ministry in the first place, but I did stop _him _from getting the Prophecy. Maybe—maybe once I defeat Snake-Boy they'll let me make a few changes. I couldn't do worse than Fudge!_

Harry also knew that Dudley was sneaking out of the house at night. He saw his cousin climb out down to the ground from his own window. He was tempted to send Hedwig out to follow him, but what good would that do? Hedwig couldn't talk. And he knew better than to try to follow Dudley himself. Umbridge was out of St. Mungo's and back at work according to the Prophet. Who knew what kind of vengeance she was planning? Besides, if Dudley ran into something…interesting, it'd be his own fault. Harry did send a letter to Hermione the day he'd read the article, though, because she'd be in the most danger.

Funny how his anger would ebb and flow, depending on his dreams and what he did during the day. It was beastly hot, and Harry remembered reading about something called "global warming" and what a lot of codswallop it was in Uncle Vernon's newspaper. Aunt Petunia made more of that stupid health tea, only in a pitcher that she left in the refrigerator. Harry sneaked a glass of it every once in a while, and it wasn't half bad. It was almost like something they'd done in Potions, though he couldn't remember what. He always felt better after drinking it. So did Dudley—his cousin let him take the second control on his Playstation for a race game if one of his friends wasn't able to come over after having a glass of it.

He still had that dream about Snape, though. The really funny part was that it changed after the first couple of nights—now _Winky_ was in it, of all people, and she always tried to get Harry to put down the knife and let Snape go. Even in the dream he couldn't hurt the little house elf, so he always had Hermione hold her while he killed the Potions Master.

One morning about a week after he'd started that dream Harry was at the table getting stuff ready when Dudley came down with a shiner that he'd vainly tried to hide with some kind of powder. Aunt Petunia was all over her son, demanding to know what had happened. Then she was on the phone to make an appointment with the local clinic. Dudley looked embarrassed.

"Aren't you afraid to be out at night?" Harry said softly, hoping his cousin would remember the Dementor.

Dudley turned his face away, then suddenly began gobbling his breakfast.

Harry allowed himself a little smile, then sat down and ate. Aunt Petunia hadn't objected to him filling his plate this year. In fact, she occasionally asked him if he had enough. What a nice change!

"You're going to see a doctor, Dudley!" Petunia said once she was off the phone. "If we get there by noon, someone might be able to see you this afternoon sometime, if one of the patients misses an appointment."

"But I'm fine!" Dudley said.

"No, you're not! Someone's been getting into the bathroom cabinet a lot lately, and now I know it's you. Harry, I have a list of things you need to get done while we're gone. If you don't mind, that is." She looked uncertain for a moment—almost afraid.

Harry enjoyed that. "I was planning to mow the lawn anyway," he said. He still pulled his weight around the house and outside. The work didn't tire him out the way it used to, now he was eating right, and it was just too boring sitting up in his room all the time. Or worse, he'd think about Sirius. "I'll take care of the rest once that's done." Garden work was best managed in the morning when it was this hot.

He went out to the back garden while his aunt arranged for a ride from a neighbor for her and Dudley, since they still had only the one car. He raked a few branches and got some of the new weeds out, then set up the lawn mower.

Mowing was peaceful, actually, now he was strong enough to manage the machine. The sound closed out the rest of the world, like several hives' worth of bumblebees. The sun and smell of grass and flowers eased a hurt spot inside.

Then he saw a black dog chasing a cat and he nearly started crying. He stopped the mower for a moment and wiped his eyes. Sirius was gone. He was never coming back. He had nobody who cared for just _him_. Ron and Hermione, of course, would be his friends forever, but sometimes things were so complicated with the three of them that he didn't know what was going to happen. He'd made a total botch of being with Cho Chang. Now he thought she'd been looking for someone who wanted to talk about Cedric more than anything else. Lupin tried, but Harry still thought of him like a teacher even though he hadn't been at Hogwarts for a couple of years. Dumbledore…sometimes he felt betrayed by the Headmaster. Maybe he shouldn't have wrecked up the office, but it had felt right then. Sometimes it _still_ felt right.

He blew his nose and started up the mower again. The sun went behind a cloud and now he was just mowing. The joy in it was gone.

Once he was done, Aunt Petunia and Dudley were gone, trying to get an appointment. He put the machine away and changed his shirt. Even a clean castoff was better than a horribly sweaty one. The rest of the chores were dead easy. The dishes had been soaking most of the morning, and didn't take long to finish off, while the carpet downstairs needed only a quick vac. He'd do the upstairs tomorrow, so hauled the thing up and put it in the cupboard by the stairwell.

He checked the list his aunt had left for him again. She hadn't put down what she wanted for dinner, so he hoped she'd planned on getting something from a takeaway. But laundry day was tomorrow, so it couldn't hurt to empty the hamper and go through the pile in Dudley's room and start sorting. Uncle Vernon's business clothes and Aunt Petunia's dresses went in one pile, the underwear and such in another, and regular clothes in a third. He remembered when he used to be embarrassed by his aunt's underthings. He was glad he didn't make mistakes like he had that one time when all the whites had come out pink. He'd gotten a good hiding for _that_ one!

_At least they never came out grey,_ he thought, suddenly recalling the scene in Snape's Pensieve. Only his oldest and ugliest shorts ever got that bad. He started bawling again, but didn't know why. _Why should I give a damn about the greasy git? Yeah, my dad and the other Marauders were rotten to him, but he's taken it out all on me! Even back then he was calling Mum names. He's the grownup. Why can't he act like one?_

Of course, his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were grownups, too. They didn't have even the slight excuse that Snape could claim to treat him the way they had. The Headmaster didn't have any at all. Dumbledore knew everything and had still left him to Umbridge. The only good thing about Snape was that he'd been put on probation by that horrible woman.

He continued to sort the laundry, anger and hate filling his heart again. _I'll have to take care of myself,_ he thought. _Nobody else is ever going to do it for me._

Once the first load was started, he stopped for lunch. Instead of a Coke he swiped a glass from the pitcher. If his aunt left something in the refrigerator, she had only herself to blame if he got into it. In a fit of rebellion, he ate and drank in the lounge instead of in the kitchen, and watched the telly while he did it.

Nothing much seemed to be going on, or they wouldn't have spent so much time on a rock star's new album. He felt a bit better after eating and drinking. That weird tea wasn't half bad with some sugar in it. Now that he thought about it, all the stuff he'd learned so far meant he _could_ take care of himself if he had to. He could cook, clean, get the laundry done, keep a lawn and garden looking decent, and make small house repairs without magic. Harry grinned to himself thinking how Malfoy would manage in his place. _He'd just sit here whining because a house elf wasn't around to do everything for him!_ This next year would be interesting with Draco's father in Azkaban. Now Mr. Spoiled Rich Boy would know what it felt like to miss someone.

Aunt Petunia and Dudley finally came home late in the afternoon, fortunately with some boxes that smelled like curry. "Harry, set the table and heat this up, please," his aunt said. "Vernon will be home soon and hungry for his dinner."

His cousin looked glum and shuffled off to his room. Harry scurried to get it all done, though somewhere deep inside he wondered why he bothered.

His uncle came home and grimaced when he saw what was on the table. Aunt Petunia said, "I had to take Dudley to the doctor's dear, and I forgot to tell Harry what to fix for dinner."

Vernon grunted and tucked in. Harry loved the spicy flavors and devoured a plateful himself. Dudley merely pushed his food around.

Once they were done and Harry started on the clearing-up, Aunt Petunia kept Dudley from taking off and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "This is what we found out today, Vernon. Dudley is overweight and at risk for diabetes. The blood test results will say for certain when they get back from the lab. The doctor says our boy has to eat differently, and to be in an exercise program. Actually, he said he wanted to take a look at you, too, since it seems to run in families." His uncle looked slightly alarmed but said nothing.

His aunt continued talking, and put the papers in front of Vernon. "He gave me a card for a two-for-one special at the local gym if we sign Dudley up for the evening program, so Harry can go to. It's all right if he's out of the house as long as he's with either me or his cousin."

"What?" Harry and Vernon said at the same time.

"I thought it would be nice if we had some time to ourselves after you come home from work," Petunia said with a soft look in her eyes as she gazed at her husband.

His uncle blinked. A look of comprehension crossed his face, and he said, "Couldn't hurt, I suppose. As long as the chores still get done."

An evening class would cut in on his homework for the summer. Then again, he wasn't really doing it anyway. The idea of watching Dudley sweat sounded like a lot more fun than sitting up in his room trying to pick out what was on the telly downstairs, or listening to one of his cousin's games going full blast.

That night, he wrote a quick owl to Shacklebolt, explaining the situation and pleading to be allowed to go. Inside a gym wasn't anything like wandering alone on the street. A Dementor wouldn't be able to make itself heard in a place like that! Besides, if they paid attention to anything in the neighborhood, the Auror on duty could watch him there just as well as they did at the house. Harry hoped the Headmaster wouldn't forbid it.

He got his answer a day later. _Not everyone in the Order likes it, but as long as your cousin is there, the gym will be all right. Don't use this as an excuse to wander off, though! Constant vigilance! Moody_

For the first time that summer, Harry Potter smiled and meant it.


	9. Chapter 9: Conversations

The Birthday Present

By excessivelyperky

Rowling: All hers.

Author's note: jenonymous is quite right about Fudge being the one to offer the Order of Merlin and then withdraw it. But since this withdrawal came about through Black's escape, which Dumbledore engineered, I don't think Snape can be blamed for being unhappy about it. Note that it's to the advantage of both Dumbledore and Voldemort that Snape's abilities remain unrecognized by the rest of the Wizarding World.

Chapter 9:Conversations

Severus Snape 

For the next few days Dobby continued to help him bathe and dress. His shoulder ached from the dead weight of his arm, and the Dark Mark burned black. The fourth morning after the meeting he Floo'ed Malfoy Manor from his own hearth, though he was careful to arrange himself so his left arm looked normal. Narcissa was extremely observant.

Fortunately, the house elf who answered his firecall fetched Draco right away. "Professor!" the young man said happily. "I wanted to hear from, but I was afraid to owl you."

"Quite right. We all learned last year that owls can be intercepted," Snape said. "I wanted to find out how you were."

"A lot better," Draco said, looking pale. "_It_ is still dark, so I have to be careful how I dress and stuff, even though it's summer, but it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as it did. Father told me I should expect it to stop aching and fade entirely until about a week from when I got it. But it doesn't hurt that much now. Crabbe and Goyle said you came for them, too, when they were over to practice throwing Bludgers at me. How did you do that?"

So it had been real. "I'm not quite sure myself," he said. "I wanted to make sure it had worked, though. That's why I wanted to talk to you."

"It did." His godson's face lit up with his smile. It could have been young Lucius there, a Lucius untainted by what the real one had done. Then Draco turned sober. "How…how much pain are you in, sir? I should have asked that first."

"Not nearly as bad as I expected, either," Severus improvised. It was true, after all. "I do want you to notify me when your arm has faded. Normally I would know already, but I believe mine will stay dark longer."

"That makes sense if you absorbed some of ours."

"I also want you to notify me if it begins to really hurt again, and you feel as if you have to Apparate somewhere. I want to be with you the first time you're Called. It can be quite frightening the first time it happens." Snape hoped his arm would heal soon, but if it didn't, he dare not miss a summons. "You don't need to prove how brave you are to me."

"Oh," Draco said. "I hadn't thought of that. Crabbe and Goyle's parents know all about it, but I was afraid to ask Mother, and I know better than to put anything like that in a letter to Father. I…I would like that, if you don't mind, Professor."

"No, I don't." He wanted to accompany the boy the next time anyway. "Have you had any second thoughts since then?"

"I did that night. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along."

Snape winced inwardly. "It will get worse. If you ever think you have made the wrong decision, it is safe to talk to me about it, but no one else. And it is best if you don't try to hide it. The Dark Lord is quite experienced at discovering those who doubt him, and if you come to me first, then I can explain things and keep you from showing any weakness in front of the others."

"I understand. Father said that you were…I mean, not squeamish or cowardly, but that you didn't like some things that had to be done, but that you did your duty anyway."

How well Lucius knew him sometimes! "There are some activities I feel are unnecessary and detract from our ultimate goal," Severus said in a steady voice. "You may express what doubts you have about them yourself to me. Your father expects a great deal of you at times. We both know that. I just want you to do what is right for you." _You could be so much more than Lucius ever was,_ he thought. _You can do so much better than to be like your father._ He had long ago learned not to want to be like his.

"Then…" Draco bowed his head, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I didn't like it when they cut that Muggle kid's throat. Sure, he looked like Potter, and I suppose that was the point. I wouldn't mind hexing the real thing any day! But murdering a little kid…those other two _liked_ it. I've heard plenty about Pettigrew, but I never knew Mother's sister was that crazy. I hardly remember her, I mean, from before. Maybe it's because she spent so much time in Azkaban. I remember what being around that Dementor was like."

Snape remembered how he'd punished his godson and his friends for pretending to be Dementors. Even Albus had thought it a bit harsh, but Severus knew it was the only way. Five minutes in the presence of one of the hideous guardians of Azkaban had been more than enough to convince the three Slytherins that it was no joking matter to pretend to be them. Even with the Ministry medallion Snape had been ill himself. "Your aunt was like that before," he said. "I'll be honest, I have no idea how your mother or your Aunt Andromeda turned out so very civilized, considering the way Bellatrix and Sirius Black ended up. I'm certain you've heard more than you care to on _that_ subject." He knew he ranted sometimes about Sirius Black, but had tried to keep it to a minimum around Draco. However, the boy had certainly listened in at the Manor when Snape had been a guest there, and Lucius had graciously allowed the Potions Master to vent.

"I met Cousin Tonks once. I like her, even if she is an Auror, and er, a half-blood," Draco said. "But she's the enemy now, and Aunt Bella is our ally."

He didn't look cheered at the prospect, either. Perhaps there was hope yet. "It is confusing sometimes. Well, I'm sure your mother will want to know why I called, and I'm certain you don't want to tell her the real reason. I'm sending you a seventh-year textbook as well as some notes of my own. Lupin will be back this coming year as the Dark Arts teacher. For everyone's safety, I think it's time others than myself know how to make the Wolfsbane Potion."

"Really? You think I'm that good?"

"You could be," Severus said acerbically. "If you decide to work. I'm owling the same material to Miss Granger." Draco clouded up. "This is too important. Perhaps knowing she's studying the same thing will keep you on your toes." It was on his lips to have his godson look up Riddle in the Wizarding Almanach de Gotha, but it was a bit soon yet. Lucius had nearly rebelled when he'd learned the Dark Lord was a half-blood. Draco had been filled with even more nonsense about the glories of being a pureblood than his father had, but any discovery would have to appear accidental.

"All right," the boy said. "But with this war on, it just seems like a waste of time."

"No knowledge is a waste. But what if something happens and I can no longer brew the Dark Lord the potions he wants? Pettigrew fancies himself a great cauldron master on the strength of bringing our lord back to his body, but we all know better. Who will step up and serve He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named properly?"

"Then why teach the Mudblood so much?"

_Because she is willing to learn!_ Snape wanted to shout. "The more she studies, the less available she is to her friends," he said instead. "You heard what happened to Miss Edgecombe, I'm certain. Or the rumors about Madam Umbridge. " Despite so much privacy surrounding the girl's betrayal and the hex she suffered because of it, the story had gotten out. Severus didn't know how much his godson had heard about the Minister's run in with the centaurs, but would be surprised if that had stayed secret. "Imagine Miss Granger's ingenuity when she has more time and is _not_ studying for her OWLs."

"Can't something be done about her?" Draco said petulantly.

"Only with permission of the Dark Lord. You—in fact, none of the students—are to do anything without it." Then he realized what the real problem was. He allowed his face and voice to soften. "Draco, you're the one who's important to me. I don't want to see you in Azkaban. It's bad enough that your father is there. But I'm a teacher, and I do have other students. You're the one most special to me, though. You always will be."

Draco melted under that reassurance. _If only someone would offer it to me!_ Snape thought, then continued. "You also need to know that I may have to be gone for a week or so soon. There are some new regulations proposed by the Ministry regarding the working hours and conditions of potion makers and teachers, so I have to get a full workup to prove my health and fitness."

"Can't you do that at St. Mungo's?"

"Quite likely. But the people at the Institut have a study going about long term effects of brewing and teaching, and it looks interesting. They'll do some tests there that aren't in regular use yet. It'll be more of a working vacation than anything else."

Draco smiled. "May I tell Mother? She has friends in Lausanne she could visit at the same time."

"Yes, you may. However, it might be best if she stayed home. As her representative while your father is ah, away, I need to safeguard her reputation as well as her finances." A little blunt talk could not hurt. "I would prefer to avoid the appearance of anything improper. We all know there would be nothing to it, but such gossip would not help your mother."

"Oh."

Snape decided to leave Draco with that thoughtful look on his face. "I need to get that parcel out to you. The sooner you begin studying the better."

The young man nodded. "Of course, sir. And thank you again for what you did that night. Crabbe and Goyle would adds theirs if they were here. The three of us will follow your anywhere."

_I sincerely hope not,_ Severus thought. "Good."

"Oh, would you like to talk to Mother? She's downstairs, I think."

"That's all right. Perhaps another time." He cut the connection. Snape rubbed his left arm, then forced it back into the sling. He was beginning to get a little feeling back in his fingertips, and the Mark wasn't quite so hot.

The Potions Master walked slowly to the Owlery and sent his book order to Flourish & Blotts', knowing the store would deliver directly to the students' homes. Fortunately the Granger household apparently had no trouble with wizarding methods of delivery, unlike the Dursleys. He charmed a couple of copies of his notes on the Wolfsbane Potion and sent them out as well.

Dobby came down to remind him that it was time for his daily walk. Following these simple routines took up far less time than fending off the Headmaster's pretended concern. In all the books it said that outdoor exercise promoted better sleep, but all it ever did for him was to make it easier to go back into a doze after waking from another set of nightmares. Still, he wasn't going to be able to brew much till his arm was better. There was nothing wrong with his legs.

Snape passed Flitwick in one of the gardens. The Charms professor was back earlier than he expected. He sat on a bench to talk to the much smaller man, though kneeling would have been more to the point. "Flitwick," he said. "May I speak with you a moment?"

Filius Flitwick, the tiny Head of Ravenclaw, nodded and hopped up on the seat next to Snape. "Heard about your arm. I hope it's better soon."

"The feeling is beginning to come back," Severus said. "I may wish it had stayed numb. However, I wanted to ask about two of your students."

"Oh, Minerva told me about Miss Lovegood. It'll mean some other changes to her schedule, but I should hate to stand in the way of a student's progress. I believe you're right about her and Potions. I also suspect that she'll learn a great deal if she can keep up. I'm not quite certain how you meant what you said to McGonagall about Miss Granger learning from a younger student, though."

"I have never understood how the know-it-all ended up in Gryffindor," Snape observed.

"It probably takes a great deal of courage to leave the Muggle world into ours, especially as a child of eleven," Flitwick said. "And from what I heard about last year, she's developed a sense of cunning worthy of _your_ house, Snape."

The Potions Master enjoyed talking to the wizard, especially when he dispensed with inane chatter. "Be that as it may. It's just that she, she _drowns_ in detail some times. She rarely forgets the main thrust of her argument as some Ravenclaws do, or Mr. Zabini, for that matter, but I still feel she's regurgitating. Miss Lovegood may forget supporting details, but she rarely lacks for ideas. If the two must work together, the combination could be fruitful."

Flitwick's eyes brightened. "That might be _interesting._"

"I hoped you'd see it that way. I will try to make sure the girl doesn't sit next to Mr. Longbottom. That combination could be far too exciting."

The Ravenclaw snorted with laughter. "The first day he tried _Wingardium Leviosa_ he nearly blew himself up. There's a lot of spare magic in the boy, it's just not being properly channeled. He might do better with his own wand than with his father's."

"Yet he never seems to have trouble in Herbology. I'm still puzzled by that."

"Damping effect of the wards that Sprout has in the greenhouses to keep the nastier plants in line, I expect. I'll keep an eye on him when he returns this coming year. 'As the wand, so the master' goes the old saying. Pity that Lockhart wasn't paying attention to that when he borrowed young Mr. Weasley's broken one."

Even Snape had trouble holding back a snort of laughter then. He sobered quickly, though. "One can only hope for any improvement with Mr. Longbottom."

"Yes," said Flitwick, who was also serious now. "I believe I know who the second student is that you wish to speak to me about. The Edgecombe girl?"

"Unfortunately. She took the Mark almost a week ago. I would appreciate not hearing the usual lamentation over why did a Ravenclaw do such a stupid thing, and so on."

The smaller wizard grimaced. "I can imagine you've heard all you wanted to on that theme in regards to Percy Weasley, despite the fact that all our houses have contributed to the Dark over the years." He shook his head. "Do you think she'll come back for her sixth year? She's a bit young to be married off by today's standards."

"She probably won't want to, but her mother may force her to return here. I suspect the woman was influential in getting her daughter to inform on Dumbledore's Army to Umbridge, and it would not surprise me if the idea to take the Mark came from her as well. I have not seen either parent at any meetings, but the Dark Lord may be keeping different groups separate. It would be too easy to assume his numbers are lower than they actually are." Flitwick had long been part of the Order, though one who kept to the background and never attended meetings. Snape suspected that Professor Sprout was informed of more than she let on, too.

The Charms Professor nodded glumly. "I hate this!"

"So do I." Severus looked down at the ground. "I will do my best to protect her, but since she is actually Bella Lestrange's apprentice, my power to do so is limited."

Flitwick's eyes went hard. "Do what you can, but put the Order first."

The Potions Master blinked. "I thought you were going to tell me to save her at all costs." It felt odd to be more concerned about Miss Edgecombe than her Head of House appeared to be.

The smaller wizard shook his head. "I'll always make the time to talk to any student, but I don't nursemaid them the way you or Sprout do. You put much more effort into house-training your Slytherins than I need to with my Ravens."

"I hope you don't mind if Miss Edgecombe comes to me for advice if she returns to Hogwarts in September, then. She didn't do well enough for Advanced Potions, so I may have to give her detentions for conduct in the halls to give her the opportunity. "

"Do as you wish," Flitwick said, clearly more exasperated with the girl than he was willing to admit. "I wash my hands of her."

Snape was appalled. "You can't do that! She needs help now more than she ever did. If it's any comfort, she was sorted into the right house. Once I told her a few things, she was glad that someone was finally explaining how it was supposed to work."

Flitwick softened. "Nobody would believe me that it was you who told me I shouldn't give up on a student. You're the first one to call for expulsions, especially the Potter boy and his friends."

"The shoe's on the other foot now," Snape admitted. "I'm so terrified those idiots of mine will get themselves killed or turn into killers. I can't _believe_ they were so stupid. I would have given anything to keep them from taking the Mark." A branch cracked and fell to the ground. "Oh, I wish that would stop happening. I hope Sprout doesn't come after me for it."

The head of Ravenclaw looked at him with a calculating eye. "You have been holding in your temper better than usual, or so I've heard. When that arm gets better, find me and we'll have a practice duel like old times." Flitwick was astonishingly good in the art, since he was able to levitate with such control he might as well be flying without a broom. He once said that he'd learned his technique from someone named Yoda, but even Snape knew enough about Muggle culture not to believe that.

"It's a deal," Severus said with an involuntary smile.

"Good. You do need to do something. It's been a long time since I was in some ugly situations, but I always found something to manage the fear."

Snape held back a laugh. "I can imagine who she was," he said.

Flitwick puffed out his chest a bit. Then he looked serious. "When was the last time you visited Diagon Alley for longer than it takes to pick up supplies? You're young enough to be my son, and when I was your age…"

Severus shook his head. "It puts me off to know that Albus gets a report of my movements from the Ministry any time I'm away from Hogwarts. Or a report chiding him for my disrespect in dodging any watchers. It didn't used to bother me so much." And last year he'd had no time, and less desire after spending time with Lucius.

"And yet you're trusted to come back every time you're summoned, and with no one to watch or report on you then…I'd be tempted to fake a call every once in a while and go off and have some fun." Flitwick smiled to himself, as if savoring a memory. "Pity they closed that place in Hogsmeade."

"Lying to the chief of the Order about that is not an option," Snape said flatly. "Of course, he did say that I had only to ask and he would send me on an errand that would really be a holiday. But there's no time for that any more, not with those dunderheads of mine trying to throw themselves away…" He heard the rising tension in his voice and hated it. For a moment he waited for another branch to break, and was relieved when none did. It was embarrassing to show the same sort of poltergeist behavior commonly found in young witches at his age. "I wish," he said in a soft voice. "I wish I could forget it all sometimes. But that's not one of my options." What was wrong with him these days? It wasn't like him to confide in other wizards, even ones he could trust to be objective.

The smaller wizard nodded. "Maybe we'd better have a duel or two soon, even if your arm doesn't heal. You might need the practice. At least it's not your wand arm."

"The last time I went into the Room of Requirement I was served up a nest full of serpents to blast," Severus said. "Perhaps I ought to find it again, or go into the Forbidden Forest. The Acromantulas are getting out of hand again. Hagrid said a group of them finally cornered the Weasley car that's been running wild there for a few years, and wrapped it in enough cobweb to keep its wheels from turning. Since then they've been moving their nests closer to the path to Hogsmeade. Something needs to be done about that."

"When you go out there, let me know," said Flitwick. "I want to practice some new charms and reinforce the ones protecting the path."

_And keep me from taking on more than I can manage,_ Snape thought. "In a few days, then. Once my arm comes back, which I think it will now, I'll probably go to that wretched clinic. I should take some books and get caught up on reading, if only to distract me from their undoubted incompetence."

"What's that about?"

"New regulations about health and safety in brewing," Snape spat out. "Generated by someone we all know and detest. How anyone is supposed to teach potions here without absorbing enough poison to turn one's liver black, _I_ certainly don't know. Longbottom is only the latest in a long line of idiots determined to kill everyone whenever they touch a cauldron."

"At least the charms I teach are mostly reversible," Flitwick mused. "But it's probably a good thing you're getting some outside air. Your color is better than it was at the end of the year. At least you'll get a trip out of it. Where are you going?"

"Switzerland. Near Geneva, I think."

"I'm surprised you're being allowed out of the country if the Ministry is still so strict with you after all this time."

Snape bowed his head. "Since it's their own regulations based on the Swiss study, it would look odd if I couldn't be tested by the same people who originated the findings. Of course, this requires logic, and I was surprised to see it from people like Umbridge. Dumbledore probably had to hex her, though."

"Well, perhaps this is the only errand he could find to send you off on holiday," Flitwick observed. "I hope you can find time while you're there to take advantage of it. The last I heard, there were women in that country too." He began rattling on about his own vacation in Paris.

Snape sat back and tried to be patient. The Ravenclaw had listened to his own nonsense for a while. It was only right to return the favor, though he simply did not believe that the Charms professor had escorted two dancers from the Folies Bergere on the same night. He forced himself to listen anyway, even though he could feel his nose beginning to burn once Flitwick had finally finished boasting of his conquests.

But he could live with that. Poppy undoubtedly had some cream for it, and if not, it took little time to make it up. Even his left hand had pinked up a little as he sat on the bench. Fortunately the smaller wizard had a sharp mind that rarely wallowed in sentimentality, despite his outward appearance and squeaky voice. _He_ was the emotional one this time. How different the head of Ravenclaw was from most people thought!

Flitwick left. Severus sighed as he stood and walked to the infirmary, glad to be in the cooler halls. Once again, his _feelings_ were getting in the way of seeing things clearly.

Snape awoke a few days later after yet another series of nightmares. Those didn't matter. His left arm hurt, but he could move it properly now. It was weak for lack of use, but that would soon be cured. The Mark had faded till it was nearly as dormant as before the Dark Lord's revival. Unfortunately, that wouldn't last long.

He dressed, happy he didn't need to call Dobby this time, and reviewed his summer brewing schedule. Severus knew he was way behind his normal progress. Though Madam Pomfrey was buying more potions on the market, the coming year might use them all up and then some. He also wanted to make a test run on the Wolfsbane potion in a month or so, just to make sure he hadn't lost his touch. Since he was going to teach it to his godson and that know-it-all, he'd better make certain of his own technique.

Poppy snagged him in the hall on his way to breakfast and demanded that he let her examine the arm. Once there, she nodded and hummed to herself as she went over the limb with her wand through the cloth. "It's much better," she said. "I can even pick up the magical signature of the Mark, though only a little. Don't overuse it just because you can, though I'm probably wasting my breath telling you this. Be sure to let Albus know, so he can schedule that trip to Switzerland."

Severus grimaced. "I suppose I have no choice about that."

"No, you don't. Those test results were dreadful. The Headmaster _does_ care, though he's not been good about showing it lately. At least he's wearing gloves and keeping the windows open when he's dealing with Ministry papers, and I think it's helping. Now, if he can be affected by just a bit of bad ink, how ill are you after years of brewing and student mistakes?"

"I honestly don't feel that much different." He didn't want to admit that venting the dungeons more often and getting a bit of sun had stopped the dizzy spells. Just being around the ingredients for the Harmonia potion had made him feel better, too. He was tempted to sneak some into the kitchen and dose the entire staff, but that of course would be wrong.

"Well, of course you wouldn't notice much change. You're more steeped in that stuff than the tea leaves in the Staff Room pot by Friday. You've been brewing without a break since you first started school here." She lowered her voice. "The study doesn't say anything about it, but I suspect so much exposure to Dark Magic hasn't helped, either. And spells put on your count just as much that way as the one you've performed, so don't even think you deserve any of this happening to you."

"I still think it's too much bother," Snape protested.

"We ask a lot of you, Severus. It's only right that we offer some help. Besides, I know how many of the students end up being cured on the spot during your classes, never mind those in your house that come to you first anyway. I couldn't do half my job without your potions. It's a bit of bother for you now, of course, but your health is important. You ought to see quite a difference once the treatment is over."

He grumbled, but not much. Madam Pomfrey had done so much for him over the years that he may as well indulge her now. Snape went up to the Headmaster's office. He told Dumbledore that his arm was better, made a few minor objections to the trip, and allowed himself to be overridden.

Severus noticed that Poppy was right, and the Headmaster was wearing gloves when handling the papers on his desk. "I'll test the ink today if you like," he said. "Do you have any papers you don't need?"

"Now that's a leading question!" Dumbledore said with a laugh. "But take whatever you like out of here," he added and waved towards the wastebasket.

Snape took several papers to get as large a sample as he could. The smell did seem slightly familiar, like the pages of the proposed Ministry regulation on brewing. One would think that the barrels the Prophet had used would have been disposed of a couple of decades ago. "This shouldn't take long, Headmaster. But even if I don't find anything, you should still take precautions."

"I have been feeling better since I started this, though these gloves make it awkward to handle single sheets, and I am reluctant to use magic on Ministry communications. I can't stand to work on this garbage for more than an hour or so at a time as it is."

"Could Professor McGonagall help? She shouldn't be in any danger as long as she works with the windows open and wears gloves as well. She does have a sharp eye for interesting phrases."

"So do you," said the Headmaster with a glint in his eye. "I can't see the purpose of half these papers even after reading them."

"Except to use up your time."

"Yes. But the moment I toss any of these to one side without being careful, I'll end up wishing I hadn't. I don't suppose you have any gloves small enough for Professor Flitwick?"

"Too bad there isn't a spell to search for hidden traps and save the time wasted reading the rest," Snape said. He could have used one like that himself in History of Magic. "Wait. I just thought of something. If someone spreads and turns the pages for him, Professor Binns can help, too. Nothing in the ink could hurt him, and the house elves can take turns."

Albus smiled. "That's a brilliant thought. He's always terribly bored in the summer time. He also should remember quite a lot of what previous Ministries have tried to pull on us. Umbridge and Fudge are not the first to attempt assassination by bureaucracy."

"Nor the last, I dare say. I had best start the tests on this now," Snape said. He wanted to leave before the Headmaster started prying in how he felt about things. Too many branches and too much glass had broken around him lately, despite not feeling as angry as usual.

"Thank you, Severus. I can always depend on you."

Snape left with an unaccustomed warm glow inside, although in a way it infuriated him. He was so easy for Dumbledore to manipulate! He was glad to get down to the dungeons and begin the tests. Potions ingredients varied, but never as much as people did.

Harry Potter

A few days later, Aunt Petunia took them to the gym to sign up. Uncle Vernon had arranged a lift with a co-worker and left his wife the car, since registration had to be during the day. There were lots of activities, but Dudley briskly demanded to take a boxing class. Harry was a bit more interested in the weight training, but went along when his aunt strongly suggested that they needed to stick together outside the house. The boxing coach assured him that he'd have plenty of weight training along with everything else, though he had an eager gleam in his eye when he looked at Dudley.

Uncle Vernon drove them to the first class, glowering at everyone. Even Dudley was glad to get out when the car screeched to a stop in front of the gym. "Be right here when it's over," the older man snarled.

Both boys nodded. Harry followed Dudley into the gym and lined up where he spotted the coach they'd met at the office. That first night everyone weighed in. Dudley groaned when he saw his numbers, but Mr. Banks just smiled and wrote the figures down. Harry got on the scale, and had to push the counterweights further down till the rod balanced right. "Hmm," Mr. Banks said. "You could go either featherweight or lightweight. I'll put you at featherweight right now, but I think you'll do better at the heavier one. You've got some growth left in you yet. I'll make up a diet for you, too, but it'll be different than the one I give your cousin."

Then they did some exercises designed to check their reflexes. Dudley did better than Harry thought he was going to, till he remembered that his cousin had boasted of beating bigger boys than he was last year. _Maybe Duds was telling the truth,_ Harry thought.

He was worried that his reactions might be rusty because of so little Quidditch last year, but was happily surprised that being head of Dumbledore's Army had made up for it.

"Good speed there, Potter," said Banks. Then he spoke to both of them. "Here's a little manual for you to read. Since you live in the same house, you'll have to share unless you buy another copy. It gives basic boxing terms and illustrates some combinations. I also want you to rent some videos that show classic bouts. Mr. Dursley, I want you to concentrate on George Foreman fights. There's an up-and-comer named Audley Harrison I want you to pay attention to as well. Big men don't have to be slow, and I'm glad to see you're not, but I want you to be faster yet. You'll also need more endurance than I've seen tonight. Mr. Potter, I want you to watch the early Ali and Sugar Ray Leonard fights. There's a fellow named David Burke you should look out for as well. I want you both to watch anything with Holyfield and Tyson. And when the Olympics start, watch as much boxing as you possibly can. We always keep an eye on the Cubans and the South Koreans as well as the Americans, and you should, too."

At first the classes were boring. He did have a lot of weight training, though slugging the bag felt really good. All he had to do was to pretend the punching bag was Snape and his blows were solid and hard. Aunt Petunia looked at the separate diets at home and her face went grim, but since both were high-protein (though Harry's had a lot more carbs), she shouldn't have that much trouble figuring out what Harry should cook. "It'll be better for Vernon, too," she sighed.

Dudley obviously missed all his sweets and said so, while Harry inhaled all his food and wished for more. Fortunately there was a place by the gym that sold every forbidden item on his cousin's diet, and for once Dudley didn't mind sharing.

"It could be worse, you know," Harry said one night while they were waiting for Uncle Vernon to pick them up. "I have a friend who never gets any sweets except at school even though she's not on a program."

"Why's that?" Dudley asked around an ice-cream cone.

"Both of her parents are dentists."

"God, and I thought my life sucked. She your girlfriend?"

"Nah. Just a friend. Think she'll finally catch on and go out with Ron." Then he ventured a bit of his own life. "I had a girlfriend this last year, but all she did was cry about her last boyfriend. Nice kisser, though." He would never forget that Cedric died because of him, and he was sure that Cho wouldn't, either.

"At least you're not so fat or ugly the girls just laugh at you."

Silence hung between them. Harry was amazed his cousin was actually acting human. "Wish I was taller, though. And that my hair didn't suck."

"I know some goop that'll keep it down," Dudley said. "Unless your hair, um, does what it wants anyway. When you were little, Mum tried all kinds of crap before she cut it off. A lot of good that did, too, if I remember right."

"I think I'd have to use the same junk one of my teachers has on his hair to make it lie down right," Harry said. He suddenly saw James Potter deliberately messing up his hair in his mind. He didn't remember the last time he'd had his hair cut. It never got longer the way other people's did. The only person he knew that was like that was Tonks. But he'd never been able to change anything, either, the way she could. Weird.

"I had a teacher like that at Smeltings once. Someone left him a certificate on his desk saying he was a charter member of OPEC."

Harry laughed so hard the Coke went up his nose. He spent a couple of minutes clearing things up before he replied. "Wish I'd thought of that! Maybe he'll be there next year when I go back." Snape probably wouldn't get the joke, though. Damn.

"You took hits pretty good tonight."

They'd done some real sparring for once, and Harry had hardly felt the blows from the smaller kids in his section. "Take a Bludger to the face with Crabbe's arm behind it, now _that_ hurts," he said. "Besides, I've had plenty of practice with you. The other guys my size just don't hit that hard."

"Oh, here comes Dad," Dudley said, and tossed the last of his cone into the gutter. The car drove up and they got in.

Uncle Vernon was a lot happier than when he'd dropped them off. In fact, both adults were that way, and Harry didn't mind a bit. Neither Tonks nor Moody had come to the house so far, and it was probably just as well.

In fact, his uncle seemed to enjoy watching the boxing videos with him and Dudley and made comments of his own on various fights. Harry was sent to his room a lot less even on nights when they didn't have class, though he let Dudley do the talking most of the time. It was scary speaking to Uncle Vernon like he was a real person, and sometimes he forgot to stay quiet and asked questions about the techniques mentioned in the manual. They even let him read it some of the time by himself.

In return, he was careful about letting Hedwig out, and made sure it was only during the day when Uncle Vernon was at work, or when it was late and nobody would see anyway. Aunt Petunia kept making that stupid tea, but he'd gotten used to the taste. Uncle Vernon still wasn't drinking it, but Harry suspected that it was going into his uncle's dinner somehow—his aunt always prepared Vernon's plate herself these days. If this was going to be the result, though, _he_ wasn't going to be the one to say anything.

Something was going to ruin it, of course, before the summer was over, but till then he was going to pretend it was real.

Petunia Dursley

Petunia Dursley trembled inside as she washed the dishes. Vernon hadn't been happy about either boy going to the gym class tonight. She hoped he didn't find out that her story about a two for one special was a lie. The evening classes cost the same as the other ones, but the total wasn't too unreasonable, she didn't think. The local council subsidized the place a bit anyway, on the grounds that lads who got proper exercise developed more character and had less time to get in trouble. Vernon refused to drink the 'weed tea' as he called it, but she'd put a bit of it towards flavoring his dinner the past few nights.

She was glad both boys were getting into the pitcher during the day, though. They fought quite a bit less and she didn't have to watch them like a hawk all the time. It wasn't right to stick Harry in his room all day long, but it was so hard to watch him and her son every moment he was out of it. So far this summer it hadn't been like that.

_I'll have to think of something nice to send that professor,_ she thought. Petunia finally remembered who Snape was. It had been years since she'd thought about Lily's wedding and her freakish friends. She'd never liked James Potter much; he'd reminded her of some of the football players at her school who thought they owned the place. She had especially despised that black-haired shaggy fellow who had cornered her at the punchbowl during the reception and wouldn't let her go. Vernon had charged in, murder in his eye.

She was afraid that her Vernon was about to get turned into something awful when a deep-voiced young man with a nose too big for his face had stepped forward. With a nasty smile on his face, he'd mentioned how interested the bride would be to find out how her sister was being treated. The horrible man had sprung back then and let her go, though he'd made an ugly crack about beggars at the feast, obviously directed at the shabbiness of the other man's robes.

She'd asked Lily later who they were. The one who had accosted her was Sirius Black, the one that the old man had said betrayed her sister and her husband, and then had got loose. Petunia had never figured that one out, especially when she'd heard later that Black had escaped from prison. She didn't understand why Harry had defended him, either. The one who had helped Vernon was called Snape. Lily had looked thoughtful as she said his name.

"Old boyfriend?" Petunia had asked. Lily had a trail of them going back for years.

"I think he wanted to be," her sister had said, and looked sad.

Later, after her sister's death, the old man had given her a list of names of people to contact if the house was ever in danger. One of them had been Snape's.

Vernon had forbidden her to involve any of Lily's people, though, even when she was going quite mad dealing with Harry's magic. "That boy will grow up normal, I tell you! Or I'll know the reason why!"

Of course it hadn't happened that way. Petunia sighed, and finished loading the dishwasher. She'd set it going closer to bedtime, so it wouldn't heat up the house too much. Of all the people who had intruded on her life from Hogwarts, only Snape had the least idea that she actually did need help, and that Harry wasn't the easiest lad to deal with. Oh, she knew how much of it they'd brought on themselves! But the professor understood that she needed to deal with the situation they had _now_, and not with might-have-beens.

She heard the sound of the car driving up as Vernon returned from dropping the boys off at the gym. She prepared two cups of the tea, set out on a lace doily on a silver tray with the usual things all laid out. Yes, it was just the two of them together, but that could be special too. There was this marvelous woman in the States named Martha Stewart who understood how the small touches made everything so _right_.

Vernon slammed the door as he came in, and plumped himself down in front of the telly. She brought out the tea and set it down on a small table she'd borrowed from the hallway.

He blinked at her. "Special occasion?"

"You're here with me. That's special enough." Ever since she'd started drinking the new tea, she'd begun to realize just how well her husband had aged. If Dudley was lucky, he'd show the same amount of character as he got older. "We don't get much time to ourselves in the summer with the boys back from school. We ought to enjoy it when we can."

His eyes widened. "My clever Pet. That's why you pushed to put them in that gym class."

She sat down and poured some tea. "I miss you."

He wiped sweat off his forehead. Vernon never did well in the heat. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to have a taste of this silly muck," he grumbled, and sipped some. "Hmm. Not as disgusting as it could be. But don't try to feed me any of that wretched health food."

"Of course not. You need to keep up your strength," she said with a smile.

"Wicked woman. Trying to drive me into an early grave, are you?" He smiled back.

She looked up at him. "Never." Petunia glanced around the room. The curtains were thick and drawn closed, though the windows behind them were open. She'd read one of those flashy magazines last week at the hair styling place that offered advice on making a marriage more exciting. Petunia played with the top button of her blouse.

Then Vernon's eyes went really wide. "Oh, is that it, then? Well, I could use the exercise climbing up the steps."

"You don't—I mean, we don't have to go up to the bedroom," she said, her voice shaking. "The sofa is right here." She got up and took off the plastic protector. The upholstery could manage for it self this time.

Vernon grinned broadly and began removing his tie. "Like a couple of teenagers before Mum and Dad come home," he said with a laugh. "Brings back old times." He threw his jacket over the easy chair and began untying his shoes.

Petunia knew she'd have to do all the picking up after. This once, she didn't mind.

After that, she had no trouble getting him to drink his tea. Or taking the boys to the class, for that matter.

Further Author's Note: Over 100 reviews, yay!


	10. Chapter 10: Swiss Miss

The Birthday Present

By excessivelyperky

Rowling: All hers.

Author's note: Thanks again to my glorious Britpicker, Snape's Nightie. Go read her stories! Also, a brief caution. This story was rated M for a reason, and a scene in this chapter is one of them. Snape receives a truly excellent and complete massage while he's in Switzerland. Any of you familiar with the phrase 'happy ending' should realize that this is a scene for adults. You have been warned.

Chapter 10: Swiss Miss

Albus Dumbledore

Albus Dumbledore amused himself reading the latest letter from Sybil Trelawney. As expect, she had found the silliest Muggles existing.

"Dear Headmaster--

"I have finished my stay with Betty Ford, and am now just traveling. I met the most interesting ghost the other day while in Malibu. He was a fairly nice fellow going under the name of Hunk-Ra and pretending to be an ancestral spirit so he could give advice to idiots. He told me he was haunting the woman (a rather nice one named Ms. Boopstein. Pity she seemed to be married) because she reminded him of one of his favorite concubines. He enjoyed scaring the wits out of the tourists and helping the woman rake in a lot of money.

"It is amazing how the poor things are taken in so easily by tricks even a Squib could manage. I look at people like myself from the outside and feel ashamed I've done the same. Really, you are kind to keep me on after my stupidity earlier this year. All I can say is that Madam Umbridge would drive _Snape_ to drink.

"By the way, how is he? I've heard some rumors that his health isn't good. I must admit, it would be nice if curing him of whatever is wrong improved his temper. The Muggles have something here they call anger management therapy that seems to work for some of them. I took notes. Copious ones. Of course, I have learned a great deal about myself as well. It will be fun to teach without those wretched glasses or breathe in that dreadful incense. Do you think Firenze would be upset if I sat in on a few of his classes? (Schedules permitting, of course.)

"I haven't met many witches are wizards here in the States, though I suspect many of them are 'hiding in plain sight' as it were. I met the most pathetic little coven in one of the desert cities east of Los Angeles—the only one with any real power had a Scrambling Spell on her. I wondered at that till I learned that she had an extremely religious father, a Covenanter by the sound of him. You remember that tragic little incident with the Knox girl, don't you? Anyway, the woman I met had a keen, analytical mind rather like McGonagall's, only she had the terrible feeling that something was always wrong with her. Unfortunately, the spell had been there too long, and I doubt even St. Mungo's could get it off by now. A pity, really.

"But I digress. I shall be back in about a month, though I will owl you tentative lesson plans in Muggle Studies long before that. I am taking my time riding a 'Greyhound' across the country (a lorry, not nearly as nice as the Knight Bus). The few real witches and wizards I have found suggested several Muggle weapons of varying lethality for our little problem—"Hex them till they glow, then curse them in the dark" was one such phrase.

"I really am much better now. Our American cousins have a bent towards self-improvement that I think could be useful at Hogwarts. They also have a way of discussing personal topics out in the open that I found astonishing. I have collected several boxes of books which I am sending on ahead. Apparently some problems are common enough, at least among the larger Muggle population, that a small industry has cropped up to cater to them.

"I must admit that I have found some aspects of their work spiritually uplifting myself. Prophecy isn't everything. Sometimes one must take responsibility for events, and not merely letting them unfold.

"Ta ta for now,

"Sybil Trelawney"

A vague and gloomy Trelawney was one thing. A self-actualized and highly-motivated one was quite another. Albus realized he was looking forward to seeing how long any changes lasted. Then again, seers were not usually known for such forthrightness. A fully integrated personality rarely attracted prophecies of any kind. He smiled to himself. Back in the 1920's there had also been a craze for positive thinking and whatnot among the Muggles as well. He knew several of his contemporaries who had dabbled a bit in such things, and it hadn't really changed them. Yet Sybil was in a position where she was forced to do so. A complete break from Hogwarts had apparently done her a great deal of good.

He hoped that this visit to the clinic in Switzerland would do as much for Severus. Despite outward appearances of compliance, the Headmaster feared that Snape was once again locked in a negative spiral which had already had ghastly results a couple of times. The pressures on the man were enormous, far greater now than in the past, and nobody, including himself, was doing much to help.

He watched an owl come through his window. Oh, good, it wasn't a Ministry one. Dumbledore took off the gloves, thought about it, then put them back on. It had been a long time since anyone thought to poison whatever an owl carried, but he'd be a fool to assume no one had this time around. Severus had been quite right about the ink. It was fun acting befuddled whenever Fudge contacted him, though. They had to believe their little plot was succeeding, or they'd only try something else that might be harder to figure out. In the meantime, most Ministry correspondence went to Binns first. House elves weren't affected by the ink, apparently, and didn't mind holding the scrolls down so the ghostly Professor could read them. The History of Magic teacher had already discovered several interesting points worthy of further interest, and had been able to classify the rest.

He took the message from the owl. It was from the Institut in Geneva, where Snape was being examined. The note was noncommittal, as he had warned Magister Lowenstein that owl correspondence was not always safe any more, and mainly requested a Floo session sometime today. So far no one had been able to interfere with that. Dumbledore looked up at his clock, which held most of his appointments. One of its hands said, "Good time to call".

He might as well get a connection now. Foreign Floos were occasionally a bit fussy, but he reached the clinic's main office quickly enough. The receptionist promised to get her chief while he waited. Albus didn't mind the pleasant little pantomime that played itself out while he waited. Some of the Floos in the States, or so he'd heard, played _commercials_. He was glad that Britain had not yet advanced to such horrors, though he suspected that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes would be the first.

Magister Doktor Lowenstein, a dark-haired plump wizard beginning to go gray, put his head into the fire after only a few minutes. "Headmaster," he said with little accent. "I cannot tell you how glad we are that Professor Snape was sent to us. At first, we find it hard to believe that a wizard so young was so ill. But I have good news! Normally, we have a waiting list for several months for our detoxification program, but for this man we shall be glad to find a place for him now. The treatment is usually four months, but I fear it will be six at least for this man. After that he should not brew or teach for a year."

"That is an improvement," Albus said. "Back in the old days, a bad case of Brewer's Bog meant five years away from the cauldron. I just didn't connect it to Snape because he's still so young. I remember a paper on it by Stevenson, oh, back in '95 that analyzed the symptoms."

"I do not recall a paper so recent by anyone of that name," Lowenstein said.

"Dear me! I should have said 1895," Dumbledore replied. "I'll see if I can find a copy lying about somewhere. But I'm afraid Professor Snape has responsibilities that will keep him from being in a residential program. Do you have any outpatient protocols?"

"We are working on one, but that is for witches and wizards with only a mild problem. I do not think it wise to attempt it for someone with the professor's level of illness. Are you quite certain he cannot spend more time for treatment?"

"I wish it could be otherwise," Albus said. "Are you sure he really needs to stay there that long?"

"Oh, we shall be talking about him for years. Given what he has published, and the reputation of Hogwarts students that have graduated with his teaching, we should not be so surprised, perhaps. We are used to dealing with those my older brother's age or more. In fact, Klaus kindly agreed to be my first experiment. Well, kindly may not be the right word, but he was a great help in developing this regime."

Albus thought of something that Madam Pomfrey had mentioned to him. "Have you considered whether or not the use of Dark Magic, whether on or by the individual, could have an effect in making the syndrome worse?"

"That is a thesis my assistant Johann has proposed, but several tankards of ale were involved, so we have not listened to him much," Lowenstein said with a smile. "Of course we can look into it. We are, of course, doing a full physical examination and offering a relaxation regimen while your professor is here. I am certain your medical facilities are satisfactory, but I cannot help but wonder if we have all the records. The massage therapy did not go well."

The Headmaster blinked. "I'm surprised he allowed anyone to touch him."

"You see? Perhaps there is some trauma in the past, but it is not in the files. Our therapists are quite confidential, if that is a problem. Johann wanted to do a deep tissue memory spell once the masseur reported the existence of muscle and nerve shadows."

"I hope you didn't let him!" That spell often recreated the original event. Severus had endured too much already. "Even under complete sedation, it can go badly."

"Of course not. Your professor would never trust us again. As it is, we have discovered a nasty nightmare hex we cannot remove, though we have helped with the symptoms. Headmaster, perhaps you may wish to look upon your staff members? This one goes too deep for us to help with, which makes us suspect that it was inflicted on him by someone he does not guard himself again. We have helped him to rest the night without a potion, but he has high levels of Dreamless Sleep in his blood. We have finally gotten him to leave off putting up his own wards at night, which is progress, I am sure. He has also been overdosed on Veritaserum, but when this happened we are not certain, and he will not say."

"There were some…difficulties almost twenty years ago," Dumbledore said. "He was under suspicion for Dark activities, and the Ministry was occasionally quite hasty in their judgments." How much _had_ Moody given Snape if the profile still showed its existence?

"I am surprised he lived through it. Your Ministry has a reputation which is not good at times. Some of us have been wondering if Britain is safe to visit now or if all foreigners should leave soon before they are suspected, too. I had a friend who went to your tournament, and no one could believe the stories he told us."

Albus didn't know what to say about that. He shifted the conversation back to Snape. "The professor has lived through a great deal," he said.

"Well, we need to know what," Lowenstein said. "Some of the potions he will need to begin the process have unfortunate side effects. This is why it is better to have him here, so his doses can be adjusted and others added if necessary. We have not ever had a patient who was required to brew, and never one who had to teach. That is the real danger, of course, for students will make mistakes. I have seen how well his graduates brew, even before their apprenticeships are chosen. I wish he could teach _here_, if he would consider doing so." The Magister looked wistful. "I would even enjoy watching him brew."

It was good to see that Severus was appreciated by someone. "We are aware of how lucky we are," the Headmaster said. But were they? "I am glad to see he's being cared for. Despite his ill temper, most of us here consider ourselves fortunate to have him. May I speak with him for a few moments?"

"He is probably sleeping. Since we did what we could with the nightmares, he has been quite…docile. I am surprised, really. His appetite has improved as well. We shall be sure he is feeling better once he becomes bored and tries to direct our research."

"Now that I can believe!"

"May we have his complete medical records, please? I fear the ones were sent have important omissions." Lowenstein looked unhappy.

"He tends to treat himself for most minor ailments," Dumbledore said, hoping to dodge the request. Yet was it right? Only the truth could help heal Severus now. "As you've probably learned for yourself, he's an extraordinarily private individual."

"He is not the first or the last," said the Swiss wizard with a sigh. "I want to avoid the muscle memory spell, yet I need more information about past injuries. If, for instance, he has ever been under the Cruciatus spell, there are lingering effects of that curse which are bad when our diagnostics are used in the wrong way."

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "I beg you not to use that spell. I will search the infirmary and find out if any records were inadvertently left behind. He has been under Crucio, though I don't know how many times. I was not here for most of the time last year, either. There were some administrative problems here at Hogwarts, and I had to deal with those. He's…he's been hurt badly enough already over the years. I absolutely forbid you to use that spell."

"Headmaster, you may be head of the Wizengamot, but we have our own rules for the welfare of patients. If you have knowledge that we need, it is best that you simply give it to us. I had already thought not to use that spell after what the masseur told us. We do not torture the helpless, no matter what they say in the physical therapy room. That was a joke," Lowenstein added. "But the potions we give can be dangerous to the patient if not properly formulated or supervised. If he is to be an outpatient, it can be much worse, especially if records are not being kept or get lost."

"I will do my best to make sure you get what you need," Albus said in surrender. "His family situation was bad, and his stay at Hogwarts didn't improve matters. He got himself in trouble that I still blame myself for. Professor Snape found his refuge in potions, and has made them his area of concentration since his early youth. As for his most recent activities, at this time I must invoke the Wizarding Official Secrets Act."

"And I, of course, do formally protest this Act," said the Magister. "What does this have to do with his health?"

"More than you think. His position is extremely delicate. As you probably know, we're having trouble with Riddle again. Professor Snape was once a member of his organization." He thought of something. "Did you ever hear stories of the Manticore when you were growing up?"

"Of course! Over the wireless and sometimes at my great-aunt's table." The wizard looked thoughtful.

"Professor Snape will die if too many secrets get out, and not of potions overload," Dumbledore said. "He plays a similar role these days. I'm risking his life by trusting you."

"But this means he cannot get the support that he will need in this regime," Lowenstein said. "The process causes great emotional upset in most patients. But this one cannot tell a therapist the full truth, for fear of revealing too much. For mind and body work together, and sometimes destroy each other. If you are the controller, you must see to his welfare all by yourself, yet still consider the mission more important. I must consider a patient alone, yet if I pry too deeply, I put this one in more danger." Then the younger wizard got himself under control. "It is easier to see why he cannot trust us."

Albus was glad that Lowenstein believed him, or at least hadn't thought of the possibility that he was being lied to in order to conceal what had been done to Snape over the years. Now he realized why he'd been tempted to allow Severus to manipulate the blood tests to avoid Ministry scrutiny. _I must tell as much of the truth as I can now,_ he thought. _Once I saw what the real results were, I should have realized that any decent healer would need to know everything, and not cover it up because I'm afraid of what people will find out about me._ "It's hard for him to trust anyone," he said.

"It is good you have sent him to us," Lowenstein said. "It is an impossible task you have. As controller, you must send him to do things, take his knowledge, and then send him out again, and worry how long he can do this. My great-aunt was in the last war, and she pretends she is over the nightmares. How well does this professor work with the others who are allied with you? Surely he must not carry this alone."

"They are suspicious of him, and only believe him because they know I trust him. The enemy is getting wiser. They threw him a banquet last month. Magister, this can't go beyond the two of us, or you're condemning him to death." Dumbledore knew he was saying too much. Maybe he needed someone to confess to as much as Severus did.

"This is worse and worse. He must be very confused by now. I am able to treat only the potions overload, but you must find a way for him to get other help. You are his superior in too many ways. He cannot tell you what is wrong, for fear you will no longer trust him."

That matched with his perceptions. Albus knew how closed up Snape was these days. "I don't think he trusts me any more. I can't blame him. His legal status is in my hands as well, and I made the error of mentioning it to him."

"He is here at your word, when he clearly does not like it." The younger wizard glanced down at his watch. "I assure you, I will not let Johann do the muscle memory spell. But you must find out who gave my patient this nightmare hex, and make him take it back. We have relieved the symptoms for now, but they will return. It is not good for a man so exhausted to refuse to sleep without a potion. Only the person who sent the curse can take it back now, for it has gone deep." Lowenstein stared intently at Dumbledore as if he already knew who the culprit was.

Albus looked at the floor as the man's head vanished from the Floo. _I won't be able to get into his mind to remove the spell unless I tell Severus why,_ he thought with a sinking heart. _Perhaps I can have him come in and drop his barriers, if only for an hour or so. It's not good for any Occlumens to keep a mind divided for too long, after all. If he will trust me enough for that, I can pluck_ that _set of nightmares out, at least. I'm afraid he's stuck with the rest._

The Headmaster felt better with that plan made. As for getting other help for Snape, he wasn't so sure he could manage that. Poppy had some training in mental healing, but she was already run off her feet with the demands of the school when the children were here. She already gave Severus as much support as she knew how to give, judging by the lecture he'd received not long ago.

_I dare not involve St Mungo's,_ he thought. _The place leaks too much already if even Pomfrey's friend can't keep a set of blood test results secret._ On top of that, any hint of weakness on Snape's part could easily get him killed, or any therapist not in the Order kidnapped and interrogated. Then Severus would die. A Muggle worker couldn't be told the truth, unless she or he was Obliviated. Since the Potions Master would clearly need more than one session, that would certainly be a waste of time.

He did have a 'back door', as the Muggles put it, into Snape's mind. But using it would destroy all the barriers at once. If Severus were summoned before they could be rebuilt, the results would be disastrous.

Dumbledore went to the infirmary to consult with Madam Pomfrey. "The Swiss need all of his records, from last year as well as his student ones," he told her over a cup of tea.

She grimaced. "He won't like that."

"Lowenstein said they won't be able to compound the potions that Severus needs unless they know his true physical condition. I know what's in the student ones, and in the ones from Azkaban. Was last year really that bad?"

"His physical injuries were fairly minor, compared to everything else," Poppy said in a flat voice. "They caused him enough pain that he finally asked me to heal them. I really can't say more. I promised him that I wouldn't tell you. He said you'd be disappointed in him."

_What did I send him to last year?_ He felt extremely stupid. Of course, overuse of a Time Turner caused problems, too. "I'm just happy he came back alive," he said. "His information was invaluable last year."

"Does he know that?"

"Probably not," he was forced to admit. "Please send the records yourself, Poppy, or I would be tempted to look at them. I'm obviously not good at helping him these days. Perhaps it's time for someone else to take over."

The mediwitch wanly patted his hand, but he could tell her thoughts were miles away. He didn't pry any further, though he really wanted to. Forcing Poppy to breach confidentiality, at least when the situation didn't call for it, would end her trust in him as well.

Severus Snape 

The Potions Master felt as if he'd been under sedation for the past few days, though he hadn't knowingly taken any potions. The first two nights had been unpleasant without any Dreamless Sleep. The little slumber he'd gotten had been filled with the usual terrors. The Magister had given him some ridiculous story about a hex, and one of the staff had muttered charms over him. After that, his dreams had become more placid, so he supposed that he could have picked up something ugly earlier in the season. It was nice not to fear going to bed. He'd better enjoy this while it lasted, as the horrific visions would undoubtedly return once he went back to Hogwarts.

It felt good to finally give himself over to the hands of the clinic's staff. True, the masseur had been unable to get him to relax, and some of the aides had fussed over the wards he'd put up the first few nights. But how did they expect him to sleep without a potion? He suspected they were putting something into his food or drink for now, but couldn't bring himself to care. _I just hope the Dark Lord doesn't summon me while I'm here._ That would be difficult to explain, although he had been told that he could leave the grounds for a few hours each evening to enjoy himself in town as long as he drank no alcohol or potions.

But anything could happen at a meeting, much of which would be impossible to conceal. It was all he could do to allow the masseur to touch him at all. Fortunately the therapist had taken one look at his scars and gone easy on him, but Snape simply couldn't relax under any man's touch. Apparently he'd lost the ability to force his muscles to loosen the way he'd had to do when with Lucius last year. That could cause problems if Malfoy ever left prison.

He sat in the sun room, ignoring the cooling cup of tea in front of him. Snape shook his head when he thought of the samples they demanded. Each day they took blood for tests. He grimly told himself that there was one set of bodily fluids they were _not_ going to get! A good thing he felt so sleepy all the time or they'd hear his opinion on _that._ If they couldn't diagnose him with the blood, skin cells, hair, urine and stool samples they'd taken already, they were out of luck.

He shouldn't be surprised if they used Calming Potion in buckets around here. The staff here had clearly worked with other potions masters. No doubt keeping their subjects half-deadened was the only way to cope with people like him.

For now he was content to sit and sip his tea and think of nothing of all. His eyes slowly closed as he began napping in the overstuffed chair.

A few days later, he felt a great deal more alert and inquisitive. The aides were ready for his questions, and took him on a tour of the lab. Even though these men and women were obviously professionals, he still went on the alert in case a Swiss Longbottom had somehow managed to hide among the cauldrons here. He saw evidence of sloppy technique with one worker, and bit back a threat to take off points.

Then he had a mid-afternoon meal with Magister Lowenstein, and they talked theory for an hour. Snape finally remembered a Klaus Lowenstein, and his work with dyes and pigments, and felt better when the wizard told him how his older brother had managed the regime. Severus was surprised by the amount of food he'd gotten down, considering he'd had a good breakfast and a light lunch already. Normally one good meal a day and some bits that Dobby insisted on was the best he could manage. He drank the ale warily, and wished for tea instead, though there was nothing wrong with the flavor of the cool brown liquid. However, it turned out to be mild enough, and didn't trigger any the anxiety he associated with wine or brandy. Of course, given that he usually drank those at Malfoy Manor, he had good reason.

"So, you will be brewing the Wolfsbane Potion again this year, yes?" asked the Magister.

"Unfortunately. Remus Lupin is coming back to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. I will grant that he is more competent at the task than some we've had in the past." Then Snape finally realized something. Black was gone. He'd never be able to use Lupin as a weapon again. "He taught three years ago, but there was an unfortunate incident when he forgot to take his potion when I trusted him to drink it out of my sight. _That_ won't happen again."

"We have only a few people who can brew it in Europe ourselves. It is too bad that it is so hard. There are werewolves all over the world who cannot find the potion no matter how much money they have."

"I ought to teach some of my students, then," Severus said, "if only so they'll have a guaranteed trade." He'd already begun with Granger and Malfoy.

"I do not believe any witch or wizard so young, so inexperienced, could learn such a complicated potion," Lowenstein said. "I fear you have an impossible task."

"You'd be surprised what I've taught them already," Snape said. He took pride that his students came out more advanced in Potions than in any other wizarding school.

"Yes, your pupils are sought after. That I will give you. But surely you overestimate them for this."

Severus leaned back in his chair and let his eyelids droop, as if he held his liquor so poorly that even this mild ale could affect his judgment. "I would back them against brewers twice their age," he said.

"Now let us be serious about this," the other wizard said.

"I'm willing to risk a few Galleons on it," Snape admitted.

It took them over a half hour to settle the bet. A thousand Galleons to be won by Snape if any of his students brewed a successful Wolfsbane Potion. He pushed for a time limit of next June. "You'll have the ability to manipulate what potions I'm taking for the next several months, so I ought to have some time to work on this without that to deal with."

Lowenstein reluctantly allowed the extra time, and Severus reluctantly pretended to be annoyed that the bet now involved only his sixth year students, not the seventh. He protested vehemently against the change, though secretly he was delighted. He had a much better chance to win with any class with Miss Granger in it. Knowing that Slytherin honor depended on it, Draco might actually pay attention to his studies, while Mr. Zabini could focus his scattered intellect on one subject at a time for a change. The Ravenclaws would be excited by the challenge, and the Hufflepuffs would be happy to help Mr. Lupin, who would no doubt be as popular as he was the last time he taught at Hogwarts.

This challenge would also promote the unity that the Headmaster spoke so adamantly about. Potter, and if he made the class, Weasley, would rather die than ruin Miss Granger's ambitions. Snape knew he'd have to take precautions against sabotage, but if any rewards were made contingent on successful completion by anyone, that shouldn't be much problem. Perhaps if there were only one cauldron? But he'd have to find a way for both Malfoy and Granger to participate equally or it wouldn't work. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs might appreciate some recognition, too. Still, four cauldrons would increase the odds of success by at least one of them.

Lowenstein finished his ale and smiled, clearly pleased with himself. "Oh, I almost forgot, Professor. I have arranged a treat for you. Your massage did not go well, and it is part of the process to have a good one. Gerta has a gentle touch and has helped the clinic before. She has a private office only a short walk from here. You will see her this evening." He handed Snape a car. "Then there will be the steam bath. You will have a vial for the sweat to fill."

It wasn't a request. Severus took the small pasteboard as if it were poisoned, but put it in his robe pocket, and even thanked the man with a semblance of civility. _It will only be an hour at most,_ he thought. _I'll be able to relax afterwards in the bath._

He arrived at the office just as the sun was setting. Gerta, a sturdy woman with auburn hair, came out to the reception room and bustled him back where she had the table set up. Snape undressed slowly, as he disliked feeling unprotected. The wards she set at his request were fairly strong. Fortunately she was quiet about his scars, though she gossiped on everything else that came to her mind. Her English was good, though heavily accented. He lay down, face forward, on the table awaiting the ordeal. _It won't be as bad as before,_ he told himself. _A woman never bothers me as much._

She began spreading oil on him with light feather touches. Her hands were warm and plump, while her chatter was soothing rather than irritating. That surprised him. Normally he preferred perfect silence, if only so he could hear someone's approach. Severus felt safe, which he wasn't used to any more.

The oil wasn't strongly scented, either. Someone must know his preferences. At that he felt suspicious, then decided not to make an issue of it. He had his wand in easy reach should he need it. Snape sighed with pleasure as she worked out a knot in his left shoulder.

Her fingers were careful on the scars, especially the claw mark on his side left over from the Shrieking Shack. Many of his injuries had had to heal on their own till he'd been able to see Poppy for them, though the mediwitch had done her best.

Severus had no idea that his body was so tense after a week of doing virtually nothing. As Gerta worked, each muscle she touched became looser. He'd forgotten what it was like to enjoy his body, and not just make it do what was needed.

Then she ran one finger between his buttocks and he shook with fear. "Not there," he said quietly. "I just wasn't expecting it." He deliberately tried to relax again, the way he had to with Lucius, and failed miserably.

"Ah. We begin again without the mistake." Gerta started at his neck and patiently redid her work of getting his muscles to lie down and be good. He gradually stopped trembling as her hands recreated their magic on his body. He tightened a bit as she worked her way down his back, but then she went directly to his legs. He was all right then.

Though his legs now felt better than in a long time, he realized he had _one_ tense spot and was lying right on top of it. It was natural, of course. Gerta was an abundant woman, the kind he preferred, he was naked, and she was touching him. One reason he'd never given into Narcissa's wishes was that she was too thin, and would snap like a twig if he ever lost control of himself with her. But Gerta was the type who looked strong enough to keep up with him, if he ever let himself be swallowed by the red tide of lust that occasionally reminded him that he was still young by wizarding standards.

He sighed with joy as she rubbed his feet. Being on them all day in a classroom made him appreciate it when they were properly cared for.

"Roll over now, please," she said.

He hoped that his erection would not embarrass her. So far she hadn't used towels in strategic places the way some houses did.

"Ah, so the gentleman has brought a friend, has he?" she said with a smile. "A complete massage will be a bit extra."

"Yes," he said hastily. He had a few Galleons that he wouldn't mind spending in such a good cause.

She massaged the rest of him before going for the gold. He was so at ease now that he closed his eyes for the first time here. He didn't lose his arousal; in fact, being touched all over so sensually nearly brought him to completion without direct stimulation. Severus finally recognized the oil, one that increased the sensitivity of the nerves. Lucius had wanted to use it last year, but Malfoy was far too unpredictable in bed for that to be safe. But here, oh here, it was only delight with no danger at all. He let himself imagine that _she_ was the one who massaged him, knowing he was so far away his thoughts could not soil her dreams.

He came almost instantly once she touched his privates. "Oh," he said with a gasp as he spent. "M—oh, my." Severus opened his eyes and didn't mind that Gerta was there, and not the woman he'd been seeing in his mind. They were much alike, really, and he should certainly be happy with reality _now_.

Once he had caught his breath, he said, "That was marvelous." He almost purred as she cleaned him with a warm, soft cloth instead of with a wand. He felt a minor tremor go through his body with the after-pangs, but even that was pleasurable. "I don't know how I'll get to the steam bath!"

"I will have to levitate you, then," Gerta said with a smile. She gently toweled the rest of him off.

"I'm certain you would do it right," Snape said, as he finally recovered enough strength to sit up. He began to dress.

Gerta shook her head. "Just the outer robe. You will have to take it all off anyway, and the bath is only down the hallway."

Severus opened his pouch and gave her all the money that was in it. "This is in addition to the bill," he said, not minding the extravagance.

"Well, I will not say you are too generous, but you are a gentleman," she said as she swept the coins into her hand. "There are ladies in this city who do not get as much. And here am I, as stout as a barrel."

"I prefer women of substance," Snape said, admiring the view of her neckline. Her exertions had caused her to sweat enough for her smock to cling to her flesh.

"Ah. Well, perhaps we shall speak again. But now, on your way to the baths."

He went down the hall to the sauna and steam baths, holding most of his clothes and the vial. A pity he hadn't thought of getting the sweat sample a bit earlier, but the oil would probably alter the results.

Not that he was complaining. Not at all.

Magister Allard Lowenstein 

Lowenstein sat by his Floo and waited for Gerta's report. Her head appeared in the flames right on time.

"You were right, Magister. He does not mind being touched by a woman," she said with a smile. "And I got the sample you wanted and were afraid to ask him for."

"That is good. Obviously, you were successful. Did you detect any muscle shadows?"

Her smiled faded. "Many of them, and they were deep. I was careful around his scars, some of which were magically induced and not allowed to heal for a long time. Even away from them there is damage below the skin. I have not felt such stored-up pain since the time we helped that poor gentleman who took so many Dark spells during the last war. I suspect this one has also had the Cruciatus spell done on him. Perhaps many."

The wizard nodded. That was in the records he'd received this afternoon. He was horrified by what was in them. The Headmaster of Hogwarts might well be telling the truth, though Lowenstein knew he hadn't heard all of it. The older wizard had looked fearful, as if he expected to be called to account. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "That is not good, Gerta. Some of these older witches and wizards who fought against Grindelwald are beginning to get some of the symptoms back as they age. They call it Post-Crucio syndrome, and it is most unpleasant." So far his great-aunt had yet to suffer from it, at least to his knowledge.

"I believe your suspicions about him having been assaulted are correct," she continued. "I touched him in an area where most men do not mind, and his muscles became like stone. It took quite some time before he could relax again. All through it, his hand was not two inches from his wand. No, not _that_ one, Magister!" She showed her dimples. "I put up the strongest wards I know, and I still feel he thought them barely adequate."

"You should have seen the ones he put on his room his first two nights here," Lowenstein said. "He has doubts about his safety." And if Dumbledore was correct, had good reasons for it. "I hope his behavior with you was not…improper or frightening." Fortunately Gerta had had experience with traumatized men before, and could fling a Body Bind swiftly at need.

"He did not want to talk, but let me do so as long as I asked no questions," she said. "The poor man is starved for touch, though even with the oil it took longer than it ought for him to enjoy it. He made no suggestions, but was happy to accept mine, and did not misbehave when he could have reached for me. Afterwards, he was quite generous and said I was to his taste, so I do not think he will realize I was part of the examination process. He may wish to see me again."

Lowenstein nodded. "Only if you want to, Gerta. He sounds a bit of a cold fish."

"He is not that at all! I can tell, believe me. I think he only wants to be sure of his welcome first. In fact, I believe he almost said someone's name, but stopped himself, but I cannot be sure. If so, she is a lucky woman if she can see past his big nose." She grinned mischievously. "Oh, and it does not lie, either."

"It is not the size of the wand, but what one can do with it," he said.

"I shall owl you the sample now. He is due to go back soon, yes?"

"Tomorrow or the next day. I want him to get as much sleep as possible before he goes back. It will take us at least a week to decide what potions he should start on. I wish he could stay here for the complete program! I will have to convince both his Headmaster and him that he must see us once a week to start with, and every two weeks thereafter. He won't have much fun once the regime starts, I fear."

"Then it is well you sent me to him," Gerta said, and closed the connection.

The Magister saw that it would still be early enough to speak to Dumbledore. He requested the connection through his Floo, got past the safeguards by proving who he was and that he was not under duress. What was going on there, anyway? Surely this Voldemort had yet to make an open attack against any place that was truly fortified. Then he remembered hearing on a raid on the British Ministry of Magic, and realized that the Headmaster was only being sensible. Unfortunately, the man was not there, though the Deputy Headmistress was. He had been introduced to Professor McGonagall at a conference, and had heard only good about her. "Is the Headmaster available?" he asked. He wanted to talk some more about that nightmare hex. Lowenstein felt the older wizard knew more about it than he had said.

"No, he's in London this evening and won't be back till tomorrow night."

Despite her age, which was close to his, she was still magnificent in a stern sort of way. "I am Magister Lowenstein, from the Institut. I wished to speak the Headmaster before Professor Snape left us. Is there somewhere he can be reached."

"He would be delighted to be called out of any meeting with the Ministry, but you can tell me how the professor is. I am quite concerned about him myself."

"Good. He must undergo treatment, and he will not like it. He has rested well here, especially the past few days, and is eating better. But I fear that will not last once he returns. The potions he will have to take are bad for the appetite, which he already has trouble with. I will send some recommendations to assist with that, which I hope someone will make him follow."

"Ah, you've already found out how stubborn he is," McGonagall said, her voice softening. "You do realize he'll be brewing this summer, and brewing and teaching once school begins."

"Yes, and this is not right! I will have to make his potions stronger, perhaps too strong than he can bear, because of this." The wizard took a deep breath. This was another reason he wanted to speak to Dumbledore. "I shall send a list of side-effects. He should take no other potions than the ones I give him."

"He is sometimes injured in his class, Magister." The stern woman looked worried. "It would be cruel to force him to heal in the Muggle fashion."

He had just gone over the man's file, too. If Dumbledore were correct, then Professor Snape ran other risks as well. "You are right. I shall make a list of the ones that will not conflict much in combination with mine. Yet they will not be as helpful as the ones he has had to use already, so he must be given more rest when this occurs." He decided to find out if this McGonagall had any awareness of what else was going on. "If he has other duties that place him in danger of injury, he should avoid them if possible."

The witch blanched. "If possible, of course," she said, though she looked quite unhappy about it.

Ah. Whatever was going on, she was not totally ignorant of it. "There is no such thing as a convenient time for this cure, I have found," he said. "Without it, he will grow more ill. Brewers have died of this, though I must admit rarely so young. He must not put this off to a better time, because that will never come. People with his talent are always in demand, but those around him must not be selfish. I still think he should be in residence. I do not like to treat someone in his state away from here."

She smiled faintly. "I agree with you, Magister. Now, I thought I had better mention that Severus will have to brew the Wolfsbane potion beginning in a couple of months. That's a matter of school safety, and seeing to that is part of _my_ duty. Will that affect his reaction to the potions he'll have to take?"

"Yes, but I have already taken that into consideration," he said. "Perhaps you also ought to know about the foolish bet he made with me. He thinks he can teach students in his class to make it. We have some money on it."

"I think a few of the seventh-years could manage it, Miss Chang in particular," McGonagall said, staring out into space. "She will be quite busy with Quidditch and her NEWTS, but a challenge like this might be too much to resist. He said the rest of them weren't too bright, but he says that about nearly all his students."

"Good, I have a chance then. He has all the way to the end of this new school year, but it is the sixth-year students he must teach," Lowenstein said triumphantly. "It was very difficult for me to persuade him to change to the lower form, but there we are."

McGonagall smiled like a cat with a mouse in her claws, but said nothing.

"What?" the wizard continued. "What do you know about these students that I do not?"

"One of them is a girl who could learn that potion today," she said. "She's already made Polyjuice potion, though she really should have been more careful what sort of hair she put in it before she drank it."

Lowenstein's heart sank. "Professor Snape mentions an HG in his papers at times. Is that not an associate in Britain?"

"Her name is Hermione Granger. She made that potion in her second year in an unused lavatory, out of the book."

The wizard gulped. "Yet if she becomes ill, or has a bad year for some reason?"

"Young Mr. Malfoy is almost as intelligent as he thinks he is, and might be able to manage if he paid more attention to his work. He would likely to do so to oblige his godfather once he learns of this bet."

"Let me venture," Lowenstein said. "His godfather, of course, is Professor Snape." He saw his Galleons waving farewell. He sighed. It would be wrong of him to contemplate altering the professor's regime in order to win the bet. "Well, if this potion can be produced more easily, then those poor werewolves will certainly benefit. I understand one is to teach this year?"

"Yes, Remus Lupin will be leading the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes this year. He's also been doing counseling for new werewolves at St. Mungo's. He has several clients by now. Professor Snape will have no trouble finding subjects to test the potion on." She smirked. "How much did you bet?"

"A thousand," he said, and paused a moment. "Galleons."

"Oh dear," she said, and pursed her lips, though undoubtedly to keep herself from laughing.

"He is coming back tomorrow or the next day, if I can persuade him to stay that long. I shall have to warn you, once he begins the potions he will not feel well, and will be bad-tempered even more than you are used to. My brother was not a happy man during the treatment, yet he is much better now after it. I will have a list of probable symptoms forwarded with the first set of potions, along with a list of those he can take in moderation if necessary."

"I hope you find time to consult with Madam Pomfrey, our mediwitch. She has been caring for Severus for many years now. I believe he trusts her more than anyone else here at Hogwarts." The suppressed laughter in her eyes had gone. "He is a difficult person, but despite all that he is very dear to us. I'm glad that he's getting this taken care of."

"It is better that he should. His lab results were bad. I have never seen anyone so young carry this much poison," Lowenstein said. He'd been appalled by the tests, the wand scans, and Madam Pomfrey's somewhat more complete chart information. "I still wish we could have gotten rid of the nightmare hex he has picked up. I fear it will return to full strength when he is away from here."

"I didn't think he needed a hex to sleep badly," McGonagall said softly. "The Headmaster said nothing of this to me. I shall look into it. Thank you for watching over him."

The wizard shrugged. "He is an interesting case. I can only help with the potions overload. I suspect there is much else wrong, but I can only do what I know."

"I'm certain we will all be interested in seeing your evaluation," the witch said, her green eyes glittering. "It must be getting late there. I appreciate what you have done for the professor already. I hope this works out well for him."

Lowenstein bade her farewell, then closed the connection. He had his own suspicions about that hex, and hoped the Deputy Headmistress would look into it. With luck he would not need to accuse one of the most noted heroes of the Grindelwald War of abusing his position. But Professor Snape was his patient now. He dared not shrink from his responsibilities.

Further Author's Note: Ten points to the house of the first reviewer who knows where Hunk-Ra and Miss Boopstein are from!


	11. Chapter 11: Object Lesson

The Birthday Present

By excessivelyperky

Rowling: All hers. Just borrowing them for a bit.

Author's Note: This chapter contains Death Eater style violence and open discussion of slash relationships, as well as discussion of child abuse. And a quick reminder—HBP never happened. Honest. Again, many thanks to Snape's Nightie, my loyal Britpicker.

Chapter 11: Object Lesson

Severus Snape

Snape crammed in as much brewing as he could once he returned to Hogwarts. Flitwick held true to his promise. One afternoon was spent, rather pleasantly in his opinion, in destroying Acromantula nests that were too near the path to Hogsmeade, as well as freeing the Weasley car from the incredible webbing that bound its wheels. Even Hagrid admitted the necessity, since Aragog's own territory was actually much deeper in the Forbidden Forest.

Severus still regretted the time lost. Once he began taking the potions, he didn't know how much he was going to be allowed to do. A few days after he'd returned from Switzerland just before the evening meal, he sat and thoroughly read about the procedure. The in-residence treatment was four months, though Lowenstein had wished that he could stay for six. Requiring him to stay away from brewing for year afterwards was, of course, ridiculous.

However, the need for potions to manage the side effects of the detoxicants increased the time required, since total potions load as well as the type of potion made a difference. If he could endure the treatment without taking anything for the side effects, the time involved in the process was reduced by a significant amount. Snape suspected that the outpatient regime would be much longer than the residential variety since he would continue to be exposed to random potion combinations along with what he brewed himself.

He was appalled at the prospect. It was quite possible that he would have to undergo treatment for the entire school year, especially if he succumbed to weakness over the side effects.

That was unsatisfactory. He could not possibly spend that much time on the regimen and still manage his other duties. Even the schedule proposed by the Ministry for healthy potions masters was unworkable with the current set-up. Would he have to use a Time-Turner again?

He really wanted to stomp up to the Headmaster's office and fly into a rage over the unfairness of it all. That, however, was no longer an alternative. Severus took a deep breath, then fetched a large blank piece of paper. He wrote down as many of his duties as he could recall, how much time he estimated they took, and tried to plot them out over a normal school week. That filled it up with barely enough time for eating or sleeping—not that he expected to do much of either over the next year. Then he scribbled '_Other duties?'_ down at the bottom of the chart, since he was unable to quantify how many times he would be summoned, and how long it might take him to recover from anything that happened at a meeting. Surely the Dark Lord would not be idiotic enough to call on school nights or during classes, given how many of the new apprentices were students. Of course, Riddle might do so just to impress everyone with his power. Snape knew he dared not ask for special favors from either of his masters.

He rolled up the chart and put it in Dumbledore's box in the staff room. _I don't know how I'm going to do it all,_ he thought. He sat down in one of the chairs by a window in that room and looked out at the beautiful grounds. _I know he'll want Potter to learn Occlumency. Merlin only knows the brat needs it, while the Wolfsbane Potion usually takes up a whole day. I'll have to meet with the new Death Eaters apart from the other Slytherin students. Not all of them play Quidditch, unfortunately, or we could disguise the meetings as strategy sessions. Wait. Not all of them play Quidditch _now._ If Draco becomes Captain, he could choose the few who aren't on the team already for reserve positions. Miss Rosier is actually better at being a Chaser than her brother is, but our team doesn't use girls as much as the other Houses do. Draco, being a Malfoy, could get away with changing that. Well, except for Miss Parkinson. But everyone knows that she won't let her betrothed out of her sight. If he appoints her as scorekeeper for practices just so she'll have something to do besides trying to get his attention, nobody will think it odd. You can keep anything secret around this school if it's in connection with Quidditch._

That helped a little bit. He wished he could recapture the calm he'd felt while in Switzerland, but that had vanished the first day after his return from the clinic.

His Mark began hurting just as the dinner bell rang. He shouldn't have been surprised. Snape wrote a quick note for the Headmaster, threw it in the box along with the time chart, and quickly went downstairs to fetch his robe and mask. Carrying them, he walked out past Hagrid's hut and into the Forbidden Forest.

It was difficult to force himself to Apparate to Malfoy Manor instead of letting the Mark take him, but he had promised Draco to accompany him this first time. The boy stood outside the Manor gates, already wearing the proper costume. "Thank you, Professor," young Malfoy said with a slight stammer.

Snape took a moment to don his robes and mask. "Now close your eyes, touch the Mark with the fingers of your other hand, and the bond to the Dark Lord will do the rest. There's no other spell involved." He'd given the same basic instructions to all the other apprentices, including Edgecombe and Weasley, just before he'd left for the work-up.

It was dark where they landed. Obviously, they were much further east and south as the sun had already set. He set off towards the light of a fire as Draco followed him.

The Potions Master mentally counted off the number of dark shapes in the dell ahead of him. The two taller ones by the Dark Lord were likely Lestrange and Wormtail, while the others looked towards him as soon as he came into the area illuminated by the fire. The tallest of those hesitated, then walked towards Pettigrew instead. _Smart, Weasley,_ Snape thought. _Never let them know where your true loyalties lie._ One of the shorter apprentices broke away and walked towards Lestrange, whose flowing hair gave her identity away. _Five points to Ravenclaw, Miss Edgecombe. Learning quickly is what your House does best._

Severus strode toward the Dark Lord and knelt, as did his other students, while Edgecombe and Weasley waited for their own sponsors to show them what to do. Bella and Pettigrew continued standing, but motioned for their apprentices to fall to their knees as well.

"Rise," said Voldemort's high, thin voice. "One must serve before one can command."

Bella laughed harshly. "I never thought to see you so obedient, Severus."

Snape held his tongue till he was given permission to speak, and glared at his students to make sure they kept silent, too.

"From obedience comes mastery, and from mastery comes power," the Dark Lord said. "You would do well to learn that yourself, my beloved Bella. _Crucio._"

The woman fell with a sharp cry. Snape held perfectly still, hoping his example would show the children what they must do to survive. The lesson was a short one, though. Lestrange stood without assistance, shaking off Miss Edgecombe's offered arm.

Severus understood Bella completely. One must never show weakness, for that was death.

"You may speak now, Snape. Your students seem already well trained." The malevolent red eyes turned to gaze on all the new apprentices, not just those from Slytherin. "They are wiser than I expected. Perhaps we can make something of all of them."

Wormtail stood a little straighter than the small man usually did. The Dark Lord continued. "Tonight we begin our training. Please rise. How many of you have ever cast an Unforgivable? Raise your right hand if you have done so."

All the new ones did, even Percy Weasley. "I wasn't expecting so many," Voldemort said. "And all of you from Hogwarts, too."

"If I may explain, my lord?" Snape interjected. "When young Crouch was pretending to be Mad-Eye Moody, he taught Defense Against the Dark Arts by demonstrating some of those curses. Even such as young Mr. Longbottom had to learn a few spells against insects and small animals."

One of his Slytherins muttered "Ferret." Snape immediately whirled and hexed that idiot Avery into silence. Painful silence. This was no game, where the loser was sent to the infirmary and the winner got detention with Filch.

Voldemort looked satisfied and asked for no explanation. The Dark Lord rarely interfered between a full member of the circle and an apprentice, as Severus knew from his experiences with Lucius.

He knew why they were meeting away from England. The Ministry still monitored the wands of students for magical use outside of school, but their reach could only extend so far. That gave him an idea that might prove expensive, but would prove advantageous. "My lord, if I may speak again? Most of these apprentices are underage, and their wands still watched for activity during the summer. Is that not why we are meeting here? May I acquire other wands for them to practice with?"

The Dark Lord's red eyes flashed. "Of course. Anything you spend on this will be recompensed twice over. You have proven yet again how valuable your services are to us."

Snape knew that he lost ground with Lestrange and Pettigrew the more he gained it with Tom Riddle. What else was new? Yet their influence was important, as much as it galled him to crawl to a madwoman and a Gryffindor. "I must find ways to serve you, my lord. I have a long way to go before I have aided you as much as these others here tonight have done. My sacrifices are small compared to theirs."

Voldemort smiled, clearly realizing what Snape was up to. However, Bella and Wormtail looked less angry, and that was the point. His students could suffer at their hands, and it was worth groveling to keep the woman's viciousness and the rat's incompetence from hurting those who were under his own protection.

Pettigrew left the clearing, then returned leading a man by the hand. The fellow was obviously under the Imperius spell or on drugs, given his glassy-eyed look. Snape could _feel_ his apprentices become frightened, including the two non-Slytherins, as they suddenly realized this wasn't a game of dress-up any more.

"I took this man from the streets of Berlin," Wormtail said cheerfully. "You're a nasty old bum, aren't you? Nobody is going to miss you. In fact, I happen to know that quite a few children would be very happy indeed to help us destroy you tonight. I watched you with them, you filthy old pervert, over the last month or so. I knew we'd need a target to practice on. Pity you don't speak English and have no idea what's going on. It doesn't really matter, I suppose."

Snape bit back a wave of fury. _How very clever, Pettigrew. None of my apprentices will sympathize with this man, not even Percy Weasley. Perhaps especially young Mr. Weasley, who still loves his family and would kill anyone meddling with his younger brothers or his sister despite his masquerade here tonight._ Once more he felt what his apprentices did. The Dark Lord had been clever with _him_, as well. Voldemort knew all about the old man who had lived across from Nora's on Knockturn Alley. Folben was long dead, but this tramp bore an amazing resemblance to the owner of the gin shop back then.

He shouldn't give into temptation. Yet it might be necessary to protect the others. "Which hexes shall we practice first, my lord?" Snape asked, his voice shaky.

"The Cruciatus Curse," said Voldemort with a smile. "All apprentices are to cast the spell first, then Lestrange, then Pettigrew. If he is still alive after that, you may have the treat of finishing him off."

Oh yes. Riddle knew. Snape briefly bent the knee, then stood again. As Bella's apprentice went first, he attempted to reach into the victim's mind, and caught fleeting glances of groping hands and gleaming eyes, and the horrified faces of the children the man had violated. It didn't matter. He must retain control somehow.

Miss Edgecombe's attempt at a Crucio was pathetic, though her voice shook with indignation. Weasley's spell was quite a bit stronger. Percy had never forgiven himself for getting so wrapped up in his studies that he hadn't watched over his little sister her first year. Severus struggled to stay calm, but couldn't help thinking _Good, you aimed the spell in the right direction for now. One day you may direct your wand at another target._

Ah. The Dark Lord had heard that one, as the reptilian monster turned and inclined his head. He must be more careful. No matter how officious Percy Weasley appeared to be now, Snape knew his Gryffindor apprentice had not forgotten a certain diary.

Now it was the turn of the Slytherins. Draco's spell was competent, and the man almost fell. Did young Malfoy already have access to an unmonitored wand? If he did, at least he hadn't used an Unforgivable in public. Snape barely suppressed a smile thinking of the pictures that Narcissa had purchased from the Prophet, originally taken by that lunatic Creevy, that showed two large slugs and one smaller one in Slytherin robes coming into the train station at King's Cross. It could have been much worse.

Crabbe and Goyle couldn't muster much enthusiasm, but gave the curse a good try. Miss Parkinson had more feeling, but about the same amount of power. The other Slytherins followed. The cumulative affects of their spells put the man on the ground writhing in pain.

The Dark Lord allowed the victim a few minutes to recover. "Once you gain control of the spell, you'll be able to give it lightly or heavily. Bella, my dear, try not to kill him and ruin the Professor's fun, but give him a good dose so they can see what it looks like."

Lestrange smiled and made the man scream in agony. He voided at both mouth and below, raising a stink in the dell. She did stop before it was too late, though Snape wondered if she would. "And _that's_ how it done," she crowed. "Too bad you weren't at the Ministry raid, Snape. That ridiculous Potter boy tried it on me after I killed my idiot cousin, and it barely tickled. I hope you can do better than that when it's your turn."

Pettigrew performed the curse next, but held his wand in his silver hand. He played the gruesome light over the bum, drawing more screams. Then he somehow continued the spell, but at an easier level, judging by the victim's reaction. "I've never had so much power or control before," he said when he finished.

Snape fought memories of clammy white hands and pale blue eyes that the man's appearance brought back. He wished Peter had been lying about the man collapsed on the ground in front of them. What little he'd learned from his attempt at Legilimency confirmed Wormtail's story. _Or,_ he thought, _his mind has been carefully arranged for my benefit so I will believe it._ Another surge of rage, both at the victim, and at the Dark Lord for thinking him so easily manipulated, almost paralyzed him.

"It is your turn now, Severus. How do you wish to finish him off?" Voldemort asked.

He should use a quick Avada Kedavra. He should. "We began with the Cruciatus and it will end that way!" Snape shouted. He whirled and pointed with his wand. "_Crucio!_" A blazing light erupted from the wooden stem and surrounded the body of the tramp, who jerked and spasmed till blood flowed from his mouth. The flesh and clothing actually ripped apart under the impact of his wrath. Everyone backed away from the two, except for the Dark Lord. _He_ smiled.

Snape stopped the spell when he saw that. Surely this man—no, he had a name—surely Jacob Metzinger was dead by now. He felt sick inside at what he'd done in his fury, but part of him felt relaxed and peaceful. Part of him _liked_ torturing this man to death. He reassured himself that the sheer impact of the spell had probably ended Metzinger's pain more quickly than a slower curse, but knew that didn't mean anything.

He forced his face to go blank under Voldemort's praise. Severus knew he would have to tell the Headmaster what he'd done. _But you don't have to tell him how much you liked it,_ said a small voice inside him. _He'll understand that you had to cooperate because of your position as a spy. If he ever learns how well you enjoyed it, he'll send you back to prison as soon as he can find an excuse to do so._

Snape bowed his head and thanked the Dark Lord for the exercise, terrified that the serpentine man had been speaking to him mentally. Voldemort dismissed everyone but him. For a brief moment Severus was tempted to unleash more anger, even knowing he would die soon afterwards. Yet—no matter what he'd been told to do, he was the one who'd done it.

"Very impressive, my Shadow," the Dark Lord said. "You are intelligent enough, of course, to appreciate my choice of subject for tonight. There is a time for mastery of one's passions, and a time for them to be used in my service. I am happy to see you have not completely deadened yourself inside."

_It would be better if I had,_ Snape thought. "I did not expect the strength of my feelings to carry me away like that, my lord. I hope I can restrain myself at need."

"How terribly difficult it must be for you at Hogwarts," Voldemort said. "You have exceeded _my_ expectations in every way. I must admit, you took a chance when you meddled with apprentices that you knew weren't yours. No wonder your arm was paralyzed for a time."

"My lord?" He was frightened now, but kept his eyes on the ground.

"Oh, don't worry. Both Lestrange and Pettigrew were directly linked to me from the beginning, so they don't really understand how the Mark controls apprenticeships. They haven't noticed anything wrong. In fact, they've been quite happy lately. You see, I've been concentrating on the Potter boy. He is now quite certain you arranged the dog's death. Unfortunately, keeping his hatred strong has involved letting the brat direct it all at you. Both Bella and Peter are quite certain that if the boy ever gains real power, he'll use it first to destroy you and not them. I shall not let that happen, of course. I fear, however, that they believe I will, and thus they'll spend less time trying to establish that you are a traitor. The less attention they pay to you the better. One day they shall both know better, but not yet."

"Of course, my lord. What better incentive could I have to make sure that Harry Potter never gains that power? After all, if the boy hates me so much, then any intelligent Slytherin would make sure he never learns enough to become a threat—and therefore never becomes a danger to you, either." The logic of self-interest was all that some believed in.

"How clever of you to see that so quickly! And you were right to contact all of the new ones that night. They need more guidance that I fear either one of the others can give. Now I shall make sure that my link to you is still strong." Voldemort touched his chest, where the Original Mark had created itself during the sorcerer's resurrection.

Severus felt warmth on his left arm, but no pain. Then he flushed red as the sensation traveled up his arm, down his shoulder and side, and into his groin.

"Ah. You do feel that." The Dark Lord smiled with his thin reptilian lips, and his red eyes flashed.

"I had no idea I found such favor with you, my lord," Snape said tonelessly. Lucius had used the Mark in much the same way last year.

"No performances tonight, Severus. Not after forcing you to see the memories you have." Riddle looked more sober. "This wretched body holds me to the earth, but little more. Don't bother to protest how sorry you are for it."

_Perhaps he wonders if he drives me too far, he will feel the effects of what tore the the dead man apart himself,_ Snape thought behind his mental walls. It was so like Voldemort to torment him in the guise of affection. He chose his words carefully. "My lord, someday you will be restored to your former handsomeness. I have never, will never, be anything but ugly. I don't understand why I've been chosen—" His voice broke. He never had, not really. At most a woman cared for his voice, his gold, and his manners, in whatever order. What other men saw, he had no idea.

The Dark Lord's eyes gleamed brighter. "Severus, you have your own kind of beauty. I'm surprised even the old fool hasn't seen it. Your father drove most away by his cruelty, but your mother's family—well, you know the reputation your great-grandfather Grigory Efimovich had even among the Muggles. A pity the family was wiped out by Stalin in one of his mad purges, and your mother with no place to go when her husband proved so brutal. Of course I understand what is wrong. The victim tonight was my gift to you. No pureblood ought to suffer in that way." Voldemort gazed down at the fire, his shoulders hunched, for a moment, then continued. "Once you have proven yourself, you will join the Inner Circle and I will break the link between you and Lucius. You are more than an apprentice now, especially with servants of your own. Malfoy must remember that I am his patron, not the other way around. He seems to have forgotten that over the years. You had Dumbledore holding Azkaban over your head and the keys to your vault in his hand to account for your reluctance. Lucius seeks only his own power. Oh, he'll get out of prison eventually, but not till he shows the proper willingness to submit to me the way you have."

Snape shifted from one foot to the other. "He was at the Ministry, my lord. I was not."

"You are more valuable at the school. A pity, though, that I couldn't let you kill Black. I know you would have enjoyed it far more than Bella did. But your loyalty does you credit, especially compared to the usual backstabbing. I ask only one thing." Voldemort looked directly at him now. "When I am finally restored to my proper body, I want one night to find out what Lucius sees in you." He reached out to touch Snape, then stopped. "But it would be wrong to ask anything tonight. You have too many memories to deal with. I hope that having erased one of _them_ will help." He kicked the sodden mass of flesh, blood and rags to emphasize his point.

"As you wish, my lord." One night. He could manage one night. He'd managed much worse, after all, for most of last year, never mind the summers spent with Lucius at Malfoy Manor. After what he'd done tonight he knew he'd never truly belong among those who fought for the Light. They were right to despise him.

"Look at me," the Dark Lord said. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. Few have the courage to do what is necessary no matter what. For now, do what the Swiss tell you. They are concerned for your health, and so am I. It would be wrong for you to believe you've failed me because I have neglected to see to your welfare. It's clear that Lucius has used his position for his own self-indulgence rather than to protect."

"He offered his own life as guaranty for my loyalty, my lord," Snape said.

"Only because he knew it was a given," Voldemort said. He looked down at his hands, clearly displeased with what he saw. Nagini hissed out of the depths and wound herself around her master.

"I shall work towards your restoration, my lord," Severus offered.

"Not till you are well. I can endure this shell long enough for that. You are strong and clever now. Think how much better you can serve me in a body no longer sodden with poisons. Besides, once you have begun this regimen, you will have little strength for other duties. I was too hasty attacking the Ministry. I should have remembered that we have all the time in the world. The old fool won't live forever. He is the only thing holding that wretched Order together, and when he finally passes they'll fall apart."

Snape was afraid that Voldemort was right. He bowed his head again and was dismissed. He landed back in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, and reassured Hagrid that he was all right. After all, he was in no physical pain this time. As he walked back to Hogwarts, fear gripped his heart. He would tell Dumbledore the truth, including the danger if the Dark Lord suddenly became more patient. He would even discuss the exercises, up to a point. But only to a point.

Albus Dumbledore

The Headmaster waited in his office, windows open to the warm evening air. He looked down at the chart and the note on his desk again. _For once Severus_ is _asking me for help, and I don't know what to do._ The estimates for Snape's duties seemed valid, even the time given to Slytherin as Head of House. The Sorting Hat almost always put the most difficult students there. _It wanted to put Harry there because of what the Dursleys had done to him. If he hadn't met the Weasley boy or Miss Granger on the train, or hadn't met young Malfoy at Madam Malkin's, he might have thought it a good idea._ Despite his reassurances to the boy after the incident in the Chamber of Secrets that Potter was truly a Gryffindor because Godric's sword had come out when Harry reached into the Sorting Hat, Albus wondered these days what the Hat would say. He knew that Snape would have managed the Dursleys far better than he had. The Potions Master had developed a system to make sure none of his students were left out or neglected, unlike the malign neglect and blatant favoritism Bellwood had practiced when Severus had been a student. Dumbledore knew the unsung tragedies of each House. Snape's files were on paper, while Sprout's were in her head. Flitwick was more concerned with academics than with the emotional well-being of his students, while Minerva kept him updated on Gryffindor on a weekly basis.

Albus sighed, and looked at the schedule again. Estimates for lab preparation, estimates for grading, estimates for brewing both with and without the Wolfsbane Potion—all of those seemed reasonable, too. Night patrol was going to be a real problem this year, even if Snape wasn't going to be made ill by the Swiss potions. Filch couldn't do that all by himself and manage any of his other duties. From what he'd heard in London, the Ministry was going to insist that the health and safety regulations begin this year. That alone was going to take time out of the schedule, never mind that Severus was likely to need far more rest on the regime.

_At least we'll have an excuse when anything else goes wrong. He won't have to pretend he's well when he's not the way he did last year. I'll show this schedule to Filch and see if we can work out something with the portraits and the ghosts. Lupin's health isn't good most of the time either, so having him won't help as much as it could, unfortunately. Professor Sinistra is up at night most of the time, but a great deal of that is spent teaching. I don't like sending female teachers on night patrol, especially one with a reputation for absent-mindedness like Vector. For one thing, Minerva will insist on joining her, and her health must be protected, too._ He remembered how devastated he'd been when hearing of her being transported to St. Mungo's after taking four stunners in the chest. He still feared the ordeal might leave permanent effects on the dear woman.

It would take a great deal of effort to get a Substitutiary Locomotion spell to work well enough to set the suits of armor marching up and down the halls, and keep it going for a full evening shift. Would it be worth the trouble? Only the first-years were actually frightened of the things, but the armor could be charmed to notify someone else that they were being interfered with. At this point, he would be willing to accept help from Peeves.

Snape entered the office. Dumbledore watched him carefully, but the Potions Master walked smoothly and didn't seem to be in any pain. He knew he should send the wizard to Poppy as soon as the meeting was over, though.

Severus sat down and gave his report. "The practice wands I acquire will probably receive a spell so the Dark Lord can monitor themto assure himself that they're performing their drills at home. However, I will know what they are doing through the Mark, no matter which wand they use, since that is keyed to each person. I need more practice in this art, since some of the students don't stand out as much as others do in my mind. In fact, I should reinforce the bond with them tonight. I don't want them too frightened of me."

"Will it hurt you the way it did the last time?"

"Not if I am careful. None of them received any punishment through their Marks. I had to remind Avery not to speak until the proper time, but that was for his own safety, frankly."

Dumbledore hoped that Snape was running less risk than last time. "And the spell these children practiced tonight," he said, horrified that Hogwarts students were being taught the Cruciatus. _I wish I had known that 'Moody' was teaching the same thing._ "Did they seem reluctant to attack a helpless victim?"

"Not really. However, they were given a story about the man's past history that made it easy for them to hate him. You might inquire with the authorities in Berlin about someone named Jacob Metzinger. If the story had any truth to it, they may have heard of him. My turn to demonstrate the spell came last. He died under it." Snape's voice shook. "It was quick."

Albus kept a mild expression on his face, though his stomach turned. The Cruciatus Curse normally didn't kill swiftly; that was the whole point. Surely Severus wasn't lying to him. His senses told him no, but there was more to the story than the Potions Master was telling.

But this was the moment he was waiting for. If he could only get Snape to lower his barriers, it was possible he could extract the nightmare hex without having to confess that he was the one who'd sent it.

"I am very sorry, Severus, that this had to happen. It's clear that it's bothering you. I promised I would help this summer, and I mean it. I know this has been hard for you, and not just physically. It has been over a year since you were able to relax your barriers. You know that an Occlumens must let them down on occasion, or they may become permanent. That has other effects which aren't good. You're not in physical pain tonight, which will make this easier for you. You know it's safe here, don't you?"

Snape's eyes widened just a bit. "I can fetch the pensieve, Headmaster. That might give you a clearer picture of what happened."

"But that won't change what is happening inside you. I know you've been having nightmares, Severus. I want to help you get rid of some of them, at least. Don't worry if your thoughts show anger or resentment towards me. I want you to know how much I appreciate the control you've exercised over yourself in the past few weeks. I can endure the truth for one night, Severus, and I promise not to punish you for how you feel inside." He knew that Snape was afraid of him, and rightly so. "I know it's been hard for you," he repeated. "This office has better wards, now, and I doubt you could wreck the place any more than Harry already has."

Snape gripped the arms of the chair till his knuckles turned white. _He doesn't trust me,_ Albus thought numbly. _But why should he?_ "I promise this will have nothing to do with what we talked about at the end of the school year, Severus. What you do or have done for the boy is far more important than what you feel. _Legilimens._" The tip of his wand glowed.

At first it was like hitting a stone wall. Then Dumbledore was in the dell by the fire, watching Peter lead the old Muggle into it. _Oh, Tom, you chose well for your purposes,_ the Headmaster thought sadly. The resemblance between the tramp and that vicious bastard in Knockturn Alley who had marred Snape's childhood was terrifying. He watched the students and the other two Death Eaters torture the man. Albus was even more horrified when Snape searched through the Muggle's memories. He felt the power of the Crucio that left the Potion Master's wand and nearly gagged at the results. Then he felt sick at the mix of revulsion and satisfaction that Snape felt.

The Headmaster grimly sat in for the rest of the meeting, though he nearly recoiled when Tom tried to seduce Severus through the Mark, and was grieved at the younger wizard's dull acceptance of eventually having to give in. It was even worse when Snape thought of Lucius Malfoy. No wonder Poppy hadn't wanted to tell him. No doubt she was disgusted, too, but had to treat the patient in front of her.

He couldn't stay in Snape's mind any longer. Albus found himself back behind his desk, his stomach roiling.

Severus lolled in his chair, his eyes blank. "I didn't want you to know," he whispered, as he stared into nothingness. "The Dark Lord thinks he has me, but he doesn't, I swear. I _am_ loyal to the Order, Headmaster! Why do you think I keep this door closed? Nobody wants to see what I am really like, even you."

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment. He could lose Severus forever if he did not take care. "I have to admit that I am disappointed that you still have so much violence inside," he said in the most gentle voice he could manage at the moment. "I am sad beyond belief that you were forced to return to Lucius Malfoy last year. I know that nobody asked or cared how you got the information the Order needed. Madam Pomfrey did not tell me, by the way. She said that she had promised you not to discuss certain matters, and she kept it, even against me."

He remembered the way he'd felt so many years ago when he'd learned just what Severus had endured since early childhood. Albus had been happy to allow himself to forget. The War had been so deadly back then, and Snape's spying so necessary. Once the young wizard had been released from Azkaban, the Headmaster had been more concerned about getting Severus healed and helping him adjust to being a teacher instead of a student. He had avoided physical contact with Snape, and he felt both of them preferred it that way. Given the younger wizard's experiences, it might be all too easy for him to assume that the Headmaster of Hogwarts wanted the same thing as everyone else in authority over him had. In fact, Albus had been heartened by the regular visits to Diagon Alley and the young man's choice of partners. The Wizarding World had its members who preferred their own gender, but Dumbledore was still glad that Snape's partners were female. The Slytherin was already isolated enough.

This new knowledge disturbed all of his fond illusions that the younger wizard had really healed from the pain inflicted earlier in life. It had been so easy for Tom to revive those terrible memories and to use them to make Severus a weapon once again. _Of course, _an inner voice murmured to him, _you'd prefer sole use._

He looked at the Potions Master, who looked decades older than he ought. The Headmaster knew he dared not show how he really felt. He knew he should go back into Snape's mind and remove that nightmare hex, but he couldn't do it. Not tonight. He still had a nasty taste in the back of his throat from what he'd already seen. "I won't ask anything more of you tonight, Severus," he said softly. "I'm sorry I intruded."

Once Snape was gone, he retched and nearly lost the tea he'd been drinking while waiting in the office. Dippet had failed in his duties by allowing Bellwood to be so lax in his administration of Slytherin. Malfoy's abuse of the younger Snape, both at Hogwarts itself and later on, was evidence of that. Unfortunately Severus had been prepared by the unnatural vice he'd already experienced to trade his body for protection. _And when Lucius Malfoy was gone, nobody protected Severus at all, not till he took the Mark._

It should not have come as a surprise to learn that Snape had reverted to his old tactics. It argued well for his loyalty to the Order that he had been willing to do so for its sake. _It sickens me!_ Albus thought, holding his head in his hands. _Surely he could have come up with some other way to get the information we needed without—without _that. He got up and walked around, still dizzy with nausea. Hadn't Snape learned anything in the years when Riddle was dead? Hadn't he learned that he could ask for help?

Dumbledore's memory betrayed him as he stood by the window desperately gulping in fresh air. Visions of every time young Harry had been indulged and what Snape had sacrificed for it filled his mind.

It had been funny when Snape's robes had caught on fire, but if Quirrell hadn't been knocked over, Harry might have died when the prank broke the Slytherin's concentration. Snape had been forced to act at Lockhart's assistant, when it was obvious the gilded lily had been quite incompetent. Snape had been made ridiculous in front of Fudge by Black's escape after almost dying the night before rescuing the three students who had caused his injuries. Snape had had to crawl to 'Moody' all the next year, no doubt in terror of a flask of Veritaserum and a quiet chat.

Albus forced himself to consider last year more clearly. Who would have helped Severus if he _had_ asked? He'd been too busy outfoxing Umbridge. According to Molly Weasley, Black had gotten nearly everyone to follow his lead in deriding Snape, not that Moody had needed any help. In his office, Harry had begun to take responsibility for his actions in the Ministry raid, but had moved quickly to blaming it all on Snape. Voldemort was using that now. If Severus did not help change things in the Dursley household, it might be too late for the boy by the end of summer. There had always been a danger of Mr. Potter allowing the darkness to take him, but now it was greater than ever.

He sat down again. _Once again I would rather worry about Harry than face the horror that Snape has inside him. All I'm doing now is running from his memories because I don't like them. I've threatened him with Azkaban to help Harry, when I can't do it myself. I made _him _endure seeing Riddle look out of Harry's eyes when I wouldn't do it. I have to _do _something to show him that I'm not as bad as his other master, not just wring my hands._

Unfortunately, that part of his mind was silent. Maybe Lowenstein was right. Maybe it was too late to help Snape the way he needed. The Manticore had committed suicide three months after Grindelwald's death. Maybe that would be the younger wizard's fate as well.

Then he remembered that Dippet hadn't been Headmaster when Bellwood was head of Slytherin. _I was the one who looked the other way when Lucius Malfoy ruled Slytherin in lieu of a responsible adult. I was the one who laughed at every prank the Marauders performed for the entertainment of the school. I was the one who protected Lupin at Snape's expense, and rewarded James Potter the next year by making him Head Boy._

_I remember, now. I didn't want to expel Black because we had done so with Riddle, and lost him completely. But all Sirius learned was that he could use Lupin as a weapon against those he disliked. He did it again during Harry's third year, only this time I allowed it for Harry's sake as well. Severus knew it, and probably has realized that I helped as well. If he had to use the Time Turner all last year, he probably knows how it was done. _

_Harry…Minerva warned me against leaving him with the Dursleys. I refused to see how badly they treated him, even when the Sorting Hat wanted to put him in Slytherin. I didn't listen then. Oh, I was disturbed at the boy's condition, but there have been other students who came back from their summers thinner than they began, only to thrive here. _

_Both Tom and Severus were like that, too. But I didn't want to believe it was that bad for Harry. I wrote the aunt several times, reminding her that we were watching. But I never followed up on anything till last summer. Of course, that's more than I ever did for the other two. I was always too busy, either as a teacher or as Headmaster._

Harry. Tom. Severus. The three of them were caught in horror and Albus was appalled at how much he'd contributed to their pain. He didn't even have the excuse of Harry being in the wrong house in his case.

He must do something for the youngest of the three before it was too late. Yet he must not use that as an excuse to ignore the other two.

Then he had an appalling thought. What would he do if Lucius Malfoy bought his way out of Azkaban? The Order desperately needed the information Snape had brought them last year, and this one as well. They would need it still. How could he look the other way and let Severus bargain for it the only way he knew?

Albus covered his face with his hands and wept. _I have bungled this so badly. If I'm forgetting when I was Headmaster, of all things, what else is wrong? I wish I could blame everything on fading memory. But I can't. What am I going to do?_

Further Author's Note: The Substitutiary Locomotion spell was borrowed from Bedknobs and Broomsticks.

As for Grigory Efimovich, those of who you haven't guessed his other name are offered the following hint:

"There once was a monk from Siberia,

Whose morals were rather inferior;

He done to a nun

What he shouldn't have done--

And now she's a Mother Superior!"

Oh, and those who haven't figured out Hunk-Ra yet are referred to the cartoon Doonesbury. There are several large format collections in many U.S. libraries. Ms. Boopstein is commonly known as "Boopsie", and is currently the wife of B.D.


	12. Chapter 12: The Thirteenth Apprentice

The Birthday Present

By excessivelyperky

Rowling: All hers. Just borrowing them for a bit.

Author's note: HBP did not happen!

Chapter 12: The Thirteenth Apprentice

Author's note: This chapter contains description of past child abuse and other adult subjects. With luck it won't be as depressing as the last one, though. Thanks again to Snape's Nightie, my loyal Britpicker, who has updated some of her stories (hint!). Warning: modest discussion of Quidditch theory ahead.

Severus Snape

Snape went directly to his bedroom in the dungeons and looked for a flask of Dreamless Sleep potion. In less than a week, the Swiss would start him on the regimen and he wouldn't be able to use any at all.

Then he stopped. He had others to think of now. He couldn't owl or Floo them directly, at least not at this hour. However, he could use the Mark as he had told the Headmaster to check on them. Since none of them had been hurt it was less likely that his arm would be affected again.

Severus wearily walked back up to the Slytherin Common room. He didn't know if he needed the pillar or not at this point, but it would be best to have it available.

He sat down in a chair near the back of the room and bowed his head. How could he blame Dumbledore for recoiling the way he had? The old man had tried to hide his disgust, but his emotions leaking back along the _Legilimens_ connection had given him away. _I tried. I tried so hard. I know what he feels about me. The way he's always felt about me. I can't let it matter. I have too much to do._

He took several deep breaths, hoping his stomach would settle down. As he pulled up the sleeve on his left arm, he saw the Mark was fading. He touched it with the tip of his wand and recited the names of his apprentices. _Draco. Crabbe and Goyle. Zabini. Miss Parkinson. Theodore Nott. Joshua Avery. Charles Rosier, Miss Elizabeth Rosier. Jake Macnair._ And then the other two, the two he'd stolen from their true sponsors: _Miss Edgecombe. Percy Weasley._

As he brought the images of their faces to his inner eye, his Mark grew darker, though without pain. It felt as if he were picking up one thread, in some cases two, at a time and holding them as each one became part of a group. A clamor of feeling and thoughts echoed through his mind. Oh Merlin, he couldn't hide his feelings from them either. His own dismay at what he'd done tonight silenced the few streams of pride and malice that came from his students. _Whatever you feel, you must hide,_ he commanded. _I warned you all that this service would be hard. You are safe with me. You are mine and I will protect you._ A wave of love surged out to them, even those who had rejoiced to see such cruelty. _Even now, in the depths of the Pit, you are not lost. I will help you find your way in the darkness until you are on firm ground again. _He was telling them too much, but couldn't help it. He had to let them know that there _was_ a path out of this hell, if only they would take it.

He released the threads, now no longer totally black in his mind but edged with gold. They were young and needed their sleep, if they could find it tonight after what they had done and what they had seen him do.

Snape leaned back in the chair, suddenly exhausted. His head went to one side as weariness overtook him.

Oddly enough, the dreams weren't so bad tonight. He was in Knockturn Alley again, fetching a bottle for his mother while his father was away, again. He went across the street with too few coins, knowing he'd had to sit on the old man's lap and be slobbered over to get what Mother wanted. Folben always gave him a lolly after the Funny Thing happened and told him to be careful getting back home. Severus knew it had to be a secret, because they always went to the little storeroom behind the counter. He'd told his mother once about it, and she said that old men sometimes had trouble with wetting their pants as if they were little, and not to say anything. He'd tried to tell her it was different, that it smelled different, but she'd hushed him sharply and told him it was wrong to go around spreading tales. Then she would open the bottle and the harsh scent of the gin would overpower the lingering memory of the other odor.

Sometimes if he felt really bad, she would notice and give him a little of the liquor, too. Then it didn't bother him so much.

But in this dream the old man wasn't there. The middle-aged woman who stood behind the counter said that he had enough for the bottle he wanted to buy, because it was on sale this week. And when he got back home, his mother set the package aside instead of opening it instantly and made dinner instead.

Snape felt an odd presence overshadowing this vision, something green and silver that wound through his mind like a serpent and coiled up around it, as if keeping him safe.

Another dream arrived after that one. Severus had never had this one before. He was in a square space with a rope fence inside a building that rang with the shouts of boys and reeked of sweat worse than the showers after a Quidditch match. He felt exposed as he stood inside the ropes in little more than briefs. Everyone could see his scars.

Young Potter circled him warily, wearing puffy gloves and an odd leather helmet. Why wasn't the idiot wearing his glasses? Surely he couldn't see. Snape looked down at his own hands, but they were bare.

Even in this vision he felt odd about lashing out at the brat physically, though the boy had no trouble striking out at him. Snape merely blocked the blows. _He still blames me for Black's death,_ he thought. _I suspected he needed very little help from the Dark Lord to do so._ Normally Potter's rebellion would send him into a rage. He'd never understood it. Other students, no matter how annoying, usually met his shield of cool indifference and occasional jabs of sharp humor. Only this boy made him lose control so often.

Tonight he was so tired he didn't care any more. _I know what I look like to him now,_ he thought inside the dream. _He's not allowed to strike back against what his family and I have done to him, so he lands a blow on anything he can reach. I did the same just a few hours ago. _

He went over backwards onto a mat as a fierce uppercut numbed his jaw. Potter stood over him, glaring with those impossibly green eyes. In the struggle, the boy's head protection had fallen off and his scar was turning black.

Snape picked himself up and reached out towards the lightning-shaped wound with his left hand as his Mark darkened, though the blotch on his arm had a lighter colored speck in the middle of it. "It hurts, doesn't it? he said softly. He wondered if the boy ever looked at his forehead in a mirror in the waking world these days. As his fingers grazed the puckered skin, he felt pain and fury drain into his own body. "I shouldn't have forgotten you," he heard himself say in a murmur.

Potter let his gloves drop turned away with a harsh sob. The dream faded after that, and his sleeping mind returned to jumbled images that had no meaning. What peace.

When he woke up, it was late morning and his back hurt from sleeping in the chair too long. Severus stood and stretched, his mind much calmer than he expected. A thought came to him. _Albus said he was my responsibility now. The brat might as well be a Slytherin by the way he acts._ Some of his own house had families like the Dursleys, and they normally spoke little of their ordeals unless the stories were cajoled out of them, usually in their first year. He was normally able to make most of his Snakes trust him, but not always. A pity he had let his weakness drive him into rage whenever he saw the boy. He should know better.

Snape walked down to his chambers, washed, and changed, though some stains would never come out after last night. He went to his office. _All right, Mr. Potter, let's suppose you are a transfer student. This school used to have them on occasion before I became Head of Slytherin, either from outside or when circumstances demanded a re-Sorting._ Neither one had occurred in Dumbledore's tenure, which Severus thought was strange. Adjustments did occur to students while they were here that were radical enough to warrant at least a new evaluation, while the school used to receive transfers from other schools, ranging from Durmstrang from the Salem Academy in the States. What happened? When he first came here he looked through all the cabinets and saw dusty, unused forms for such additions to the roster, but had never used one.

That was about to change. He began a fresh file, took one of those forms from the middle where dust had yet to touch the stack, and started filling it out for Harry Potter. He'd ask Minerva for a duplicate of the information she kept on the boy. He charmed a duplicate of Potter's grades in Potions and the few essays Snape had thought worth keeping and put them into the new folder. He wrote his evaluation of the Dursleys, along with what he'd learned in the Occlumency lessons last year. He added the letters he'd gotten from Mrs. Dursley this summer. It might be a good idea to ask Madam Hooch what she had—she was always deeply involved in the lives of the better Quidditch players. He shuddered to think about the files she must have on Crabbe and Goyle, and he would rather not speculate on her opinion of Draco.

He stared at the folder. He almost always drew a chart of friendships and other relationships with a Slytherin student as well, both in and out of the study group they were assigned to in their first year. It made figuring out their position in the Pit easier, though naturally that changed day by day. In his cabinet, he usually kept members of the same study group together, rather than filing strictly by alphabetical order.

With a sigh of martyrdom, he added two more folders—one for Miss Granger, who was Potter's only chance to survive if the boy would listen to her, and one for Mr. Ronald Weasley. Since he was also responsible for Percy Weasley to some extent these days, and had taught all the others, the youngest Weasley boy may as well join the group. He'd long kept a special file on the twins from self-defense.

Then he recklessly threw in one more for Miss Ginevra Weasley. He may as well collect the entire set. Though the trauma of her first year appeared to be resolved, he knew that she could be hiding it, or might yet have a role to play in this game. The Dark Lord had appeared interested when Lucius had told him about the diary, and the chaos that had ensued during Draco's second year.

No doubt he should have done this years ago. System, that was the thing. System and logic were rarely found in the Wizarding World, even among Ravenclaws who applied them to their studies and not to their lives. He'd seen the despair on Miss Granger's face upon discovering this fact. However, that meant that anyone who made use of them had an advantage over the rest.

That reminded him of someone else who kept files. Filch undoubtedly had bulging folders on the Trio and Miss Weasley. Some of the information had already passed his way through casual chat. The game of 'pick one student to hang in chains' rarely palled, though Argus had finally made him choose someone besides Potter. Snape had informed him that most Gryffindors generally made past Hanging in Chains to Personally Strangle before their third year, though Mr. Longbottom had advanced to Mince Slowly and Simmer by now.

Admittedly, the Great Bouncing Ferret Incident had required fifteen minutes behind a closed door and a Silencing Charm for both of them before either were fit to take points from students. It had taken Snape an additional half hour to vent in regards to 'Moody' before it was safe for him to venture out to the evening meal that night, and he'd replaced Filch's tea set shortly afterwards.

A pity that Draco hadn't learned anything from it, at least judging by his conduct afterwards. No doubt he was merely following his father's orders, but sucking up to Umbridge all last year was not going to help the boy during this one.

He left his chambers and visited McGonagall. She didn't seem surprised at his request for a copy of her file on Potter, but blinked a bit when asked about the others. He pointed out that the boy's associations were quite important. "Since all of them will likely be key in some way, I need to know more about them myself," he said. "If nothing else, Percy Weasley will be anxious for news of his younger brother and sister. No doubt being cut off from his family is harder for him than it might be for others."

Minerva turned sober with that observation. "It will likely be easier for you to pass that information along than it would be for me to talk to Moody," she said.

He nodded. He didn't tell her that the retired Auror might want Percy isolated from anyone but him. Moody had always preferred his operatives to be single and unencumbered with other alliances; he had certainly protested against two of them marrying during the first time Voldemort rose. Snape had long made it his business to find out all he could about his former interrogator, including Mad-Eye's activities during the Grindelwald War.

That taken care of, he went to the noon meal and pretended to have an appetite. Dumbledore mercifully left him alone. Professor Sprout was back from her stay in the country and expected everyone to share her enthusiasm. Even Flitwick was overwhelmed by her good cheer, which was saying something.

She spotted him, unfortunately. "Severus!" she said. "You're looking better than usual. Have you actually been outdoors this summer?"

"Once or twice," he said acerbically. He tried not to think about all those shattered branches. He'd changed his walking habits since to take in the Forbidden Forest, where the trees could manage for themselves. "I survived anyway."

"See? I told you the sun wouldn't melt you!" Sprout laughed.

"It was a near thing once or twice," he riposted. She, along with Minerva, could hold her own at the table.

The plump Herbology professor smiled. "You'll have to bring me your brewing schedule for next year fairly soon, so I can get what you need started in the greenhouses."

"That depends on the Ministry," Snape said, glancing at the Headmaster. Albus was staying quiet tonight. How odd. "It's a little complicated. But I'd appreciate it if you could get some aconite growing for the Wolfsbane Potion, and mark which greenhouse it's in so Mr. Lupin doesn't go in there by accident. The potion is supposed to work as well with the dried plant, but I have always thought fresh ingredients better."

Dumbledore sat staring at his tea, and wouldn't meet his eyes. Severus tried to ignore how much that hurt, though he knew he deserved it. _I'm trying to do what you want,_ he thought. _I'm trying to be what you want me to be._ After last night, though, he knew the Headmaster would never forgive him.

He tried to participate in the conversation even after that, though he really wanted to crawl off to his quarters and never talk to anyone again.

After he'd eaten what little he could, he rose from the table and began to head down to the dungeons. Poppy intercepted him. "What's wrong with Albus?" she asked. "I heard you came in late last night. Are you all right."

"I wasn't hurt," he said. "Could…could we talk privately?" He tried to keep his voice from cracking.

They went up to the infirmary and back to her office. She closed the door. Once they sat down, she said, "Now tell me what happened.

He told her as much as he could of last night's events. Snape was afraid she'd be revolted as well, but she needed to know the truth. It wasn't really the Headmaster's fault. "I did lose control," he whispered, and let his dark hair fall in front of his face. "I shouldn't have let the Dark Lord manipulate me like that. I know Dumbledore is disappointed in me. For that, and everything else."

"What do you mean, everything else?"

He couldn't tell her what the Dark Lord wanted of him. He couldn't. "Albus found out how I got the Order its information last year," he said, almost mumbling the words.

Madam Pomfrey leaned forward. At least she didn't try to pat his shoulder, or anything like that. "I'm so glad you were finally able to tell him."

"I didn't. He knew I was hiding something. I offered to show him last night's meeting in the Pensieve, but he used Legilimens instead." He swallowed. "The Dark Lord…he knew about Lucius, he has all along, and he, um, talked about it a little bit." It was humiliating to remember what Voldemort had done to him through the Mark. "Because the Headmaster knew how I felt, he realized it was true."

"Oh dear," Poppy said.

"He was disgusted with me. How can I blame him?" Poppy didn't need to know what the Dark Lord wanted. It might not ever happen anyway.

"Perhaps Dumbledore was angry with himself, or at what happened to you," Pomfrey said quietly. "It was hard for me the first time I had to heal you because Lucius Malfoy plays too rough. I want—I still want to do things to him that no mediwitch ought to dream of. It's hard to see someone you care for endure such horrors and not be able to help."

"I wish it was like that," he said plaintively, and then was ashamed of himself, but couldn't stop talking about it. "Legilimens can go both ways. I killed someone last night, Poppy, and that made him sick, too. He was like that when I first opened my mind to him. He almost threw up both times. He wouldn't even look at me at the table today." He wanted to curl up on his bed under a mountain of blankets and pretend he could hide from it. _I hope she doesn't try to hug me,_ he thought, knowing he was being childish again. Even Dobby's touch would be too much right now.

"I wish I knew how to help both of you," Pomfrey said, her voice thick. "I know some therapists work in this field now. It's a relatively new one for the Wizarding World, but some progress has been made."

He glanced up and saw she had taken off her glasses and was wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. "None of them are in the Order, are they?" he asked wistfully.

"No. After what happened with your blood tests, I wouldn't dare recommend anybody out of it." She sighed. "You can always talk to me. You're not the first to come to Hogwarts with a family like yours, or been hurt so badly here. How do you think I saw through that farrago of lies you tried on me that first time last year? I'm just surprised I didn't figure out what Malfoy was doing to you when you were a student."

"He was more careful not to hurt me then," Severus admitted. "And if he did, he was always careful to heal me afterwards." Besides, what Lucius had asked of him long ago hadn't been much different than what he'd done for Folben once he'd gotten a little older. True, the summers he'd spent at Malfoy Manor had been unpleasant. Snape knew that he had to take more responsibility for what happened last year, though. He had, after all, finally gone back to the older man after avoiding Lucius for so long.

"I'm glad I was able to help, though I have to admit that you were the one who brewed the potions," she said in a brisk tone of voice.

"I probably won't be able to either brew or use many potions once I start on that wretched regime," Snape said, more than happy to change the topic. "I'll just have to be more careful and not get hurt as much."

"I hope it's that easy," the mediwitch said gently. "I forgot to tell you, an owl came with more detailed instructions about the potions you'll be taking. Both of us are to be familiar with them by the time actual formulations arrive."

"I've been thinking about that," Snape said. "If I manage the side effects without the extra potions, the whole process could take a couple of months less than scheduled."

"I don't think that's a good idea. You're lighter than you should be already, and you're still sleeping badly, even after being at the clinic for a week."

"I made it through last year, didn't I?"

"To be honest, I'd like you on the sedative, the mood-enhancer and the appetite encourager by themselves for a month before you start the rest of the regimen," Poppy said flatly. "You want building up after everything that's happened."

He bit his lip, and hoped Poppy wasn't going to talk about Lucius or the Headmaster again. He had to keep the woman talking about the regimen. "If I were on them and stopped, the backlash is said to be vicious," he asserted. He had researched all the compounds out of curiosity, though he certainly wasn't going to take them all. "The reason I'm doing this in the first place is because of all the muck in my veins. Adding more seems counter-productive."

"I won't argue with you on that," Pomfrey said. "There's a Muggle theory that some illness are caused by basic chemical deficiencies in the brain, and that resolving them could be as simple as making sure to eat oranges in the winter to ward off scurvy."

"Of course." Snape rolled his eyes. "They used to cure fevers with blood-letting, too."

"You have a point," she sighed. "Let's try things your way on a week-by-week basis. I don't blame you for wanting to get through this as quickly as possible. But if you lose too much weight or can't sleep for more than two nights in a row, we'll have to reconsider."

"And to think the Headmaster believes he runs this school." Severus briefly smiled to take the sting from his remark. "I'd better see those instructions."

"Yes. You'll need to drink plenty of fluids, too. Severus, are you sure you can't spend the first week or so of the regime at the clinic?"

"I was lucky to have the time I did," he snapped. "As things are, I'm lucky to have any time to myself." He winced at the note of bitterness in his voice. The last thing either master really wanted from was the truth.

Poppy looked about to say something, then clearly decided not to.

"It'll be all right," he said, trying to reassure her though he felt little confidence himself. He picked up the papers. "May I take these with me?" he asked.

"Certainly. But bring them back once you're certain of what to do. Please keep going outside once a day. Your color really is much better since the beginning of the summer. I'm glad Dobby is helping to remind you when to go on your walk. When the students come back, I'll make sure he doesn't have to clean Gryffindor Tower all by himself."

"He said something about Miss Granger, at least that's what I think he meant." Dobby had mentioned "Miss Book-Girl."

"Yes. She does mean well. I must admit, little Winky has been much happier since she started helping you when your arm was paralyzed. I'm glad you're continuing to teach her."

It wasn't much trouble, and her technique was already better than some he knew would be in their second year this autumn. "She does try to be careful," he said. "If I have to follow the Ministry's schedule, then I'll really need her help, at least for lab preparation. But some of the ingredients she may handle later on could be dangerous, even for a house elf. How do I get her to wear gloves or a lab-robe?" His mother had brought a house elf with her from Russia, but when things had gone wrong for his parents, Duschka had been sold. It was childish of him to miss her after all these years, but he did. Winky sometimes reminded him of her.

"Oh, dear. She'll think they are clothes."

Good. Poppy had gotten away from his problems. "The size isn't really much trouble. I can always shrink a first-year set. I'll have to be careful what I call them, though," he mused out loud. "Maybe if she wears them only in the work area?"

"I'll have a chat with her," the mediwitch said. "But don't think I've forgotten about making sure you're eating and sleeping properly, on this regime or not. And when the weather gets nasty, I'm sure Professor Sprout can arrange some corner for you that won't be too cold."

"I've been venting the dungeons once a day, too," he said. Normally he'd protest about being fussed over like this, but it didn't seem worth the trouble any more. The thunderclouds of anger that normally lived inside had moved off, at least for today. Last night he'd gladly welcomed them back in. Oh, it had felt good to finally release some of that hidden fury! But he knew the price. Dumbledore would never forgive him for it, or for anything else the older wizard had found out last night.

Severus glanced down at the papers from the clinic. "I'll look at these quickly, make notes, and get them back to you as soon as I can."

Pomfrey nodded. "They want you to make notes of all your symptoms, too, since you'll be the first one on this modified outpatient regime. There should be a form to fill out each day. All that will be confidential, of course, so you might as well tell the truth."

"Why, Poppy! I'm surprised," he said, deliberately keeping his tone light. "You don't trust me."

"Got it in one." A smile lit up her wrinkled face. "Now move along. I have work to do before all the little darlings come back, especially since you send me _all_ your Slytherins to get checked over the first few days."

"That's because I know how far to trust them, too," Severus said. "It's a longstanding Snake tradition to hide any weaknesses." He got up, taking the papers with him, and headed outside to read in the shade. He may as well get his outdoor time without wasting it entirely.

He sat on a bench in one of the gardens, and hoped the angry part of himself was satisfied enough by last night to keep from breaking any more branches. He grimaced. It was like dealing with Peeves, only not even the Baron could manage _this_ poltergeist.

Snape sighed, and went over the new instructions. They were ponderously written and excessively detailed even for him, but that was normal to the Germanic mind. He skimmed through the potion composition, times of day they were to be taken, diet items to be avoided with their use, interactions with other potions, and the like. He'd take more detailed notes of those later. One section labeled Personal Life caught his eye.

"The subject is advised to avoid relations with partners while taking these potions, due to possible toxins in the body fluids. Female patients are advised to take the standard potion each month to encourage effusions from the womb, especially if of childbearing age, and to avoid becoming pregnant. Male patients are encouraged to clean the ducts on a weekly basis, if not oftener, to avoid scarring from toxin buildup." Well, he'd never heard it put _that_ way before. Thank Merlin he was a man! He knew about those potions for women and was thrilled to avoid the whole problem. Just watching over young female students was exciting enough, since their cycles tended to coincide during a year from being in proximity with each other. Actual poltergeists created by young witches were fortunately rare. Peeves hated rivals and took out his spite on the witch responsible, so it was usually easy to identify her and manage her problem.

_I wish I could manage_ my _problems so easily,_ he thought. Using a potion was clearly out of the question, but perhaps he could work with the pensieve some more. _I'll have to find somewhere else to store the memories I find most aggravating. The Headmaster will want his back one of these days, and I've already ordered a second one for the Potter boy._

He rolled up the instructions. Just as he got up from the bench, Madam Hooch walked by whistling. "You're just the person I wanted to speak to," he said.

She stopped in mid-tune and looked at him. "Now, that's a surprise! The last time you were on a broom was almost five years ago. I made twenty Galleons betting you wouldn't throw up till after refereeing the game."

"I thank you for your confidence in me," he said dryly.

"I lost five on the side-bet, though," Hooch added. "I saw how much Calming Potion you downed ahead of time, and bet Minerva you'd have to stop for a pee break before the end of the game. But she said you'd hold it somehow."

Snape rolled his eyes. There was always something adolescent about Madam Hooch, no matter how long it had been since she'd played for the Manchester Steamers. "I am always glad to exceed expectations. But the reason I wanted to speak with you was about Mr. Potter. I have been given some responsibility for him, and I'd appreciate a copy of your file on the boy."

"Follow me to my office," she said, striding off. Snape followed, and had to stretch his legs to keep up. She continued talking as they walked. "It's mostly a few pieces of scattered notes. He doesn't foul much, even with Malfoy pushing him, and he's a damned good natural flyer. I wasn't here when his father played, but he was supposed to be just as good, going by Trimmer's old notes. Now, don't cloud up like that, I wouldn't have had James Potter on _my_ team as a gift. A highly skilled pain in the butt can disrupt a whole season and make the team go sour for years afterwards. Saw it happen with the Cannons back in '87—wasn't till Alfred 'my shit doesn't stink' Mallem nearly got a skull fracture from a Bludger because he couldn't be bothered to be civil to his Beaters that the coach finally saw the light and benched him for a couple of months. All for health reasons, of course, but Mallem _did_ think things over, or why he's listed right next to Bagman these days. It would have done James Potter a world of good to have it happen to him and his little friends, but we both know why it didn't. Trimmer had plenty to say about _that_ when he was giving me the tour. At least you give Malfoy a smacking-around when I let you know he's in need of one, though that little stunt with the brooms his second year almost got him grounded permanently."

Snape knew that the Quidditch coach took her position seriously. "About Harry Potter," he interrupted once she stopped talking for a moment.

"Oh, yes. Well, it almost made me cry when that toad bounced him from the team. Flying keeps him straight when things pile up on him, and I know how _that_ feels! Now, you weren't the only one who felt like giving him a good kick last year, but it's a crime to keep him on the ground. When I was laid up for six months before I finally quit the pros, I hated everybody, including myself. When you were at that clinic, I bet they had to put a body bind on to keep you from playing with their cauldrons. Think of not getting to touch one for a year."

"That's what they're threatening me with now," he said gloomily, "unless this horrible outpatient trial works. What is the one word you'd use to characterize Mr. Potter's flying?"

Hooch thought for a second, then smiled warmly. "Joy. I'm surprised his Patronus isn't a broom!"

They entered her office, even more crowded and paper-infested than his own. "As long as I have your attention, I might as well ask you about his friends. Mr. Weasley, for instance."

She chewed her lip and sat down. "He…_thinks_ out there on the field, he doesn't just react. That got him into trouble at first as Keeper, because so much of what he should do is pure reaction. But he was there long enough to learn how to think faster than he does at chess. I'm glad nobody pulled him when he was so bad at first. See, most Keepers block the Quaffle with pure physical speed, and they start out with a much higher percentage of saves than Weasley did at first. But then I saw he was trying to integrate everyone's movements at once, and that's much harder. So naturally his error rate was horrendous there." Hooch tapped her foot. "But he's got the hang of it now. He'll be a fine Captain next year—I know he was doing half the stats that were turned in last year, if only because I had to use a Translation Spell to read them. He's beginning to _feel_ Quidditch the way he does a chessboard, and that's going to be really interesting once he gets good at it."

Hearing that any Weasley besides Percy was capable of more than raw emotion was a surprise. Then again, the twins had some of that with potions. By rights they should have killed half the school by now, and their business well on the way towards doing to the rest of the Wizarding World—but they hadn't. "And Miss Weasley?"

"You don't do things by halves, do you?" Hooch smiled.

"I have evolved a theory that there is no such thing as just one Weasley."

She laughed. "She's using up her energy in the field instead of in the Astronomy Tower. It's the smartest things she could do, given the way the fellows flock around her. Being one of the boys instead is good for her. Some girls would have turned nasty-nice after what happened her first year."

He needed to get out of the castle and speak to other teachers more often. Perhaps he ought to talk to Hagrid about the Trio as well. What Hooch said was very perceptive. "She could also have gone the other way," he said. "Miss Weasley is not the only girl who has had unpleasant experiences."

The coach nodded. "Sprout still tells stories about Molly. Sometimes I wonder…but that's not always the way it works. Some girls just fall over easy because they _like_ it, too. Besides, once she met Arthur no one else existed."

Snape nodded. Women spoke of things when they believed they were by themselves that would cause Lucius Malfoy to go into a dead faint. "Miss Granger."

"Flew competently her first year, like everything else she did, and hasn't been on a broom since." Hooch drummed her fingers on the desk. "She never did finish her second year class. Between being a cat and then petrified half the year, she somehow managed to skip out of it. I wonder if there's enough like her to run a Remedial Brooms class this year?" She grinned at him. "I'd sign _you_ up if I could. I doubt you've been on one since you refereed that game."

"No. I like it that way."

"I could promise no bucking brooms or nasty bystanders," she said. "Trimmer kept _good_ notes. Your maneuvering during that game was basic, but definitely competent. You'd never want to play Quidditch, I'm sure, but it couldn't help to get in a bit of practice."

"When pigs fly." He had enough on his plate without going out of his way for more.

"It might save your life someday to get on a broom without a gallon of Calming Potion. Imagine the surprise factor, if nothing else."

Snape didn't think Madam Hooch was in the Order, but it was possible that she was and the Headmaster intelligent enough to keep some separate. "I shall consider it," he said with a martyred sigh.

"Wouldn't want to have oh, say, _Longbottom_ better on a broom than you are," she teased.

"That was a low blow," he said, trying to work up a Glare of Death and failing. "But if you could get me whatever information you have on the two Weasleys and Mr. Potter, I would appreciate it."

"Sure. If you do get back on a broom, I've got a nice, quiet Cleansweep as calm and safe as an old mare. The practice course for the Remedials will start two inches off the ground and is out of sight of the regular one on the other side of the pitch. I don't want anybody laughed at just for trying. I thought I'd mention it in case you need to find Miss Granger, of course."

"Of course," Snape said sourly, knowing he was probably going to be told to take advantage of this opportunity. "Oh, and thank you. I think," he said before striding off to go inspect it. If the Ministry passed the new rules, he'd have to manage an hour a day outdoors anyway. He suspected a conspiracy, or would if Hooch hadn't been after him for years to get more practice. He supposed if nobody watched him the ordeal of flying wouldn't be too bad.

Severus found an overgrown pitch laid out where Hooch said it would be. Some of the tree branches would have to be trimmed off for safety before a windstorm took them down. _I know,_ he thought. _I'll come out here whenever I'm pissed off. Those branches ought to drop like flies. _

He didn't understand why he was in such an ugly mood. He shouldn't be surprised by the Headmaster's reaction. Snape knew Dumbledore would have found out about Lucius eventually. Besides, he was disappointed himself by what he'd done last night, never mind what others thought. _I let the Dark Lord manipulate me. I let my anger loose on a dying man when I could have finished him off. I can't do that. I can't let my emotions rule me. The others could be in danger if I do. The Headmaster was right to dismiss me. He probably avoided me today because he didn't want me to see how angry he was._

A branch broke and fell to the ground. _I have no right to be this upset. I could be sent to Azkaban for the Unforgivable I used last night._ Then fear struck him. He had always thought that Dumbledore would tell him if that was about to happen. _He already warned me at the beginning of this summer that I had to rule my temper. I didn't listen._ Perhaps the Aurors were coming to take him away as he stood out here in the gorse and heather.

Snape folded his arms. _At least I wouldn't have to take those wretched potions!_ He struggled with the impulse to flee now, taking nothing with him. _I am still too valuable as a spy, at least for now. If Percy Weasley survives a year, perhaps they can do without me. Till then I am likely safe. Well, as safe as I can be from either side._

He walked back to the school, his heart hammering in his chest. Despite what his mind told him, his body was still afraid. But he was used to ignoring it by now.

Harry Potter

Harry understood why Banks had directed him and his cousin to study different fighters to watch. Dudley's right cross was getting better all the time, while he was going to have learn better footwork and faster combinations just to get through to the other guy.

At first he thought Muhammad Ali was just like Gilderoy Lockhart, all boast and no follow-through, what with those stupid rhymes and all. While he watched a few bouts, though, he saw what the fighter actually did. It was sad that the man had gotten Parkinson's disease and couldn't fight any more, but in his prime he really was able to 'float like a butterfly, sting like a bee."

Something nasty and tight inside was getting better as he pounded his gloves against the bag, or sparred with other boys and Mr. Banks. His hate and anger were actually getting in the way. Thinking of every opponent as Snape made his punches harder, but he had trouble concentrating on the right combinations when filled with rage.

He wasn't surprised when the dreams changed. Harry still liked the ones where Snape was in the ring and he smashed his teacher into the ground. Or he and his friends were in the Shrieking Shack with Sirius, only Lupin changed and tore Snape apart. Well, he liked that part of the dream, anyway, because it always ended with Remus going after Sirius and devouring him as well, even when his godfather changed into Padfoot. Fortunately he always woke up before the werewolf attacked _him_.

No, he much preferred the ones where Snape was boxing without any protection and he could attack. Funny how the Potions Master never fought back. Harry had to force himself to remember the cuts on his dad's face in that one Pensieve memory after a bit to keep on hitting. It was amazing how many scars the older wizard had. Part of his mind wondered how many of them his father and his friends had put there. _No!_ his mind shrieked in denial. _He had to be doing _something_ for the Marauders to put him in his place. Why didn't Sirius tell me when I asked him about it?_

Then his father would show up outside the ring and cheer whenever Harry knocked Snape down. This time, he asked James Potter why.

"Because he exists," his dream-dad would say.

Snape would lie there, panting for breath and his eyes closed the way he had in the Shrieking Shack after the three of them had attacked the Potions Master to save Sirius Black. _He never even took points from us for that night,_ Harry remembered.

One night his temples hurt horribly even before he went to bed. Harry didn't remember taking any blows to the head, or even to the helmet at practice, and he couldn't eat anything though he'd been starving like always earlier. Aunt Petunia had clucked over him, felt his forehead, and sent him to bed early. It was almost like being in a real family for once.

That night he dreamed of the gym being attacked by Death Eaters. Everyone was running, and many were screaming, as the black-clad wizards inflicted horrible spells on the boys and Mr. Banks. He couldn't find Snape. _Probably behind one of those horrible silver masks,_ he thought.

Then he was in the ring again, fighting the Potions Master, while surrounded by the enemy. "Why aren't you down there with them, Snape?" Harry taunted. But for once the older wizard was silent, with no cutting words or sneers to answer.

Harry looked at his audience again. This time the masks were off. He recognized most of those who were standing around watching him—Malfoy, Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle, and some Slytherins he didn't recognize. Marietta Edgecombe hid behind one of the Slytherins, clearly trying not to be noticed, while Percy Weasley stood glumly over to one side.

He took real pleasure in knocking over Snape this time. But it didn't help. His head still hurt like anything, and he kept hearing someone screaming. He glanced over, and saw that someone else had joined the audience, who kept his mask on but whose red eyes gleamed.

_I'm forgetting who the real enemy is,_ he found himself thinking. He looked back into the ring. Snape's eyes were open and the Potions Master had a grim look on his face. The Dark Mark burned black on his forearm. _Maybe that hurts as much as my scar does._ Harry wasn't used to thinking like this.

Then the older wizard got up. He took out his wand and created a mist that kept the others from seeing what was going on. Harry was afraid, though he knew he shouldn't be. _If he wants to hurt me, the others will applaud him the same way they did for me. Why doesn't he want to show off for them?_

Instead, Snape touched the tips of his fingers to Harry's scar. Pain and darkness drained out, and so did much of his anger. He turned away before the wizard could see him cry.

Harry woke feeling hollow inside, as if his fury had been the only thing holding him together. He almost missed it. If he was wrong about Snape, what else was he wrong about?

Then he remembered how nasty he'd been to everyone, even his friends last year, only to find out that Voldemort was behind it all. Well, most of it. He knew some of his bad temper had been all his, especially around Umbridge.

_Why is it always Snape I dream about killing or punching about?_ Harry wondered as he dressed and hurried down to the kitchen. _It was Umbridge who had the quill that hurt me the most. It was that horrible Lestrange who really killed Sirius. Snape hated those Occlumency lessons as much as I did, but he didn't have any choice either. Dumbledore admitted he was afraid to see me with Tom Riddle in my eyes. Why did he shove that off on Snape, then? The Headmaster was safe hiding in his office, but Snape wasn't. _

It was a good thing that he was used to making breakfast without having to think much about it. He still loathed the Potions Master, of course, but that was at the normal ick level, and not the ferocious longing to tear him apart that he'd felt since his godfather's death.

He spent breakfast time thinking. Harry knew he hadn't really thought about things for a while. By rights, he should be dreaming of knocking down Uncle Vernon or Dudley. Both of them had smacked him around a lot harder than Snape ever had.

_Maybe because everyone else was so glad to see me when I first went to Hogwarts, it pissed me off more that Snape wasn't. It was such a change from here that I wanted everything to be perfect. There aren't supposed to be people like Snape in fairy tales, aren't there? Well, at least in the good ones. My story started going bad that first year when I look at it, _he thought. _Only it was Quirrell, not Snape, who had Voldemort stuck on the back of his head telling him what to do._

Maybe that was his problem. He hadn't done any of the Occlumency exercises since he'd quit Snape's lessons. Even when he'd felt Riddle inside him in the Headmaster's office, and vowed he'd rather die than give in, it hadn't gotten him to work on it. It was more fun to blame everything on Snape. It was galling whenever he learned the greasy git was right about something. But even Remus had been unhappy when the Potions Master had stopped the lessons.

He finished his breakfast. It was easier this summer, when nobody taunted him about being a freak, to want to empty his plate. This year there was even enough on it. (Of course, any time Aunt Petunia had him cook and didn't watch him like a hawk, he'd snag a few bits here and there. But that wasn't the same as eating a meal without being harassed the way he was able to this summer.)

He picked up the plates and took them to the kitchen, and had a sudden vision of Sirius laughing as Snape left without having anything to eat or drink. Harry remembered how glad they'd all been to see the spy go off and let them have their own food in peace.

He filled up the soapy side of the sink, let the dishes soak a bit, and let the running water into the rinse side distract him. No. That couldn't be right. Snape just didn't want to sully himself by having anything to do with the rest of the Order. He was too high and mighty to need anything. That had to be it. Someone as nasty as the Potions Master surely didn't care what other people thought of him. Harry tried to forget just how thin the man was, compared to Sirius once his godfather had had a chance to fill out a bit.

By the time the dishes were drying in the rack he'd convinced himself that they hadn't done the same thing to Snape as the Dursleys had done to him at meals. It couldn't be like that. They were the good guys, right? Anything the Slytherin got he probably deserved.

_"Because he exists",_ his dad had said.

Harry was glad to work on his chores that day. Anything was better than considering that maybe Snape was right, and that he _was_ like his father.


	13. Chapter 13: What Have I Done?

The Birthday Present

By excessivelyperky

Rowling: Her pitch, her Snitch, her Quaffle. I'm just refereeing this time..

Author's note: HBP did not happen! "I reject this reality and substitute it with my own." Then again, that's pretty much what writers _do_. I thank you all for the many reviews you've sent me. I want to continue to thank Snape's Nightie for Britpicking (and for writing many amusing e-mails and keeping my spirits up etc.).

Chapter 13: What Have I Done?

Albus Dumbledore

He looked out the window and watched Severus come back towards the castle from the other side of the Quidditch pitch. Albus knew he ought to be grateful. After all, Poppy had told him the Potions Master blamed himself. She'd lectured him about it a caustic way very unlike the calm mediwitch. Dumbledore turned his back and gazed at his office instead. He could easily use Snape's guilt, as he had before. He was the head of the Order, after all, and ought to use any weapon that came to his hand to win it.

The Headmaster caught himself, and frowned. That was the way Moody thought. That was the way _Tom_ thought. What was the point of defeating a Dark Lord if the society that resulted ran on the same principles? It was not easy to go back to peacetime. The Wizarding World was far less free now than it had been a century ago, while The Wizengamot accepted restrictions that were unheard of even fifty years ago in the name of security. Of course the Ministry had to be carefully guided, or their regulatory fervor would eat away at the few portions of the magical world that were still free.

Yet, was that very guidance just another symptom of decay? _Don't you know there's a war on?_ was the constant cry during the Grindelwald crisis. Some regulations still hung on from the emergency declarations during the Plague of 1918! Were they changing into a society ripe for a dictator just using the name of Minister? Fudge, though suspected of being corrupt, would rather govern as little. A replacement might be more energetic—supposedly a good thing in this present crisis, but possibly a disaster later on. A gentler, kinder Tom Riddle could easily be swept into office under the guise of Reform, the way that Robespierre had become the bloody-handed leader of Muggle France.

Albus sighed and sat down at his desk. Anything to keep from thinking about what he'd done to Severus! _I can't talk to him yet,_ he thought. _I don't know what I would say to him. We need the information he gets for us, and I despise him for the way he goes about it. He has every right to be angry over that, but I've told him he has no right to be angry at all. If it weren't for his students, whom I have made it obvious I've written off, he has little reason to stay here at all. Between the two of us we may end up pressing him so hard that he leave us anyway._ _And I must find a way to remove that nightmare hex. I never meant it to hit him so deeply._

He took a deep breath. _No. I can't lie to myself. I did mean it to go that deep. I wanted to punish him for hurting Harry so much over the years. I was tired of hearing his complaints about the boy and his constant calls for expulsion. I was tired of hearing how my 'special privileges' were turning Harry into a copy of his father. I wanted him to see and feel what the boy's life was really like._ The Headmaster tried to forget that Snape had left stinging notes about the Dursleys as soon as he'd given Harry his first Occlumency lesson, or that the boy's summer this year was far better than any of the others.

Damn that Magister for being right! He had to talk to someone who would understand. Albus sat down by his Floo and left a call for Lowenstein. The plump wizard's head showed up in his fire in less than a half hour. "So, you have read the instructions I have sent?" he asked.

"Not yet, but I will soon," Dumbledore said. "I called for another reason. As it turns out, I need to speak with your great-aunt. I find that I agree with you that some problems can't be dealt with alone. If she doesn't mind, of course."

The Magister nodded. "I will ask her to Floo you. It may be she will not care for this. She is not your age, Headmaster, but she is not young, either. Is there something you can tell me that may help her decide?"

"My reaction to something Professor Snape found necessary to do may cause trouble," Albus said. "I…I am not managing things well. I probably made the situation worse."

"I am sorry to hear that. You do not have to tell me, of course, but you need to talk to someone. This must be resolved soon, for when the regime begins the Professor will not be well for several weeks till he adjusts. Afterwards he will have to deal with the effects of expelling the toxins on a periodic basis till his system is clear again. He should not be an outpatient."

"I wish he didn't have to be. Other lives are at stake and I cannot risk them."

"And if this man falls under a burden too heavy, they shall be threatened anyway."

"You see my dilemma," Dumbledore said. Surely the regime couldn't be that bad, though. All the studies said that brewers who had gone through it were much improved, both in body and spirits.

"Yes. Perhaps this evening she shall Floo you. Be warned, if she is interested she will ask more questions than perhaps you like. It will do no good to hide things from her." Lowenstein looked vaguely disapproving. "Do I have your authorization to let her read his files?"

"I'm sorry, I must speak with her first," Albus replied. "I need to protect what little privacy Severus has left. You are sworn and protected somewhat magically by your position overseeing his care, but she isn't."

"That makes sense," Lowenstein said. "And now I must leave." The connection was empty.

The Headmaster could see that the Magister was angry. _I hope his great-aunt asks a lot of questions, and is someone I can trust. I am so tired of this burden sometimes. I wish I could tell Minerva everything, but she might react the way I did instead of the way Poppy seems to have, and Snape deserves better._

That afternoon dragged horribly. Dumbledore forced himself to remember his gloves when dealing with the endless pile of paper, but couldn't help feeling the Ministry was slowly poisoning him anyway with their mind-numbing verbiage. A few hours later he couldn't stand it any more and sent the remainder off by a house elf, nearly invisible under the many scrolls, to Professor Binns.

He ate a meal the elf brought back with him, then napped in his chair till a sound from his Floo woke him up.

Dumbledore's eyes opened wide when he saw the woman's face in the fireplace. "Malachite," he said with joy. Even under the white hair he would know her.

"Alabastor," she replied. "It has been a long time since we heard either of those names. All we need now is to bring in Tourmaline and listen to him shout 'constant vigilance!'. Are those times returning, do you think?"

"If Tom Riddle has his way, they will. Britain first, then Europe, then the rest. I must destroy him now before he becomes another Grindelwald. He came very close almost twenty years ago. Fortunately we have a Child of Prophecy among us."

Of course he tested her first before he could trust her completely. People had been known to change over so many years. Some of his preliminary comments set up a resonance spell that would shake her composure if she bore the Mark in secret. But nothing changed, not even after he'd silently cast a spell to designed to remove any glamour.

She sighed. "Now that we have established that I am really me and you are really you, shall we get on with it?"

He smiled back at her. He'd felt the edges of her own magic through the Floo, no doubt testing _him_. "I fear I have to follow wartime protocol," he said. "I can tell you haven't forgotten anything, either. I am certain I would have turned into a walrus sometime in the last couple of minutes if I had been an imposter."

"No, a sea lion," Malachite said with a laugh. "I still remember your silly houses and all their animals. I would never be so rude as to force you into a shape you do not like. Now, about this Professor Snape my nephew worries about, what is his role?"

"Manticore. But with a difference. He fell under Tom's spell for a short while, but he came back to us, and has been a teacher at Hogwarts since."

"Surely he was honored for that choice? It is hard to come back from such a thing."

"I barely got him out of Azkaban in time," Albus said. He took a deep breath. He could tell her things that Lowenstein would never understand. "I know what you sacrificed yourself during the war. You'd never betray him or what I'm doing here. I'm so glad it turned out to be you."

"You may not be," she said with a smile. "Now, speak, and I shall listen."

He started telling her everything, then, from the time Severus had been a disruptive, brilliant student to the present day. He caught himself a couple of times trying to leave things out. Yet it had been his own amusement at the Marauders' cruel pranks and his desire to keep Remus Lupin from being expelled for something that wasn't truly his fault that had probably driven Snape to take the Mark.

Albus especially didn't want to mention the horrible things that had happened to the Potions Master as a child, or as Malfoy's dependent, but some of Snape's conduct made no sense otherwise. He felt his face turning red as he stuttered that out. In his day, such things simply were not spoken of, and definitely not to a woman of breeding, yet he had no choice.

He wiped his forehead as he finished with the events of the previous night. "Even now he's trying to do what I want him to. He came to dinner today and participated in the general conversation, even though I gave him no encouragement. Under the circumstances he would rather hide in his dungeons and I would have to ask Dobby to make sure he ate. I can't help thinking I should have been stricter with him all along, if this is the result."

"He sounds like a very irritating man," Malachite said.

Dumbledore breathed a huge sigh of relief. Madam Pomfrey had not been so gentle. "He is. Prickly, oversensitive, prone to rages, and harsh to the students. He's like a vicious hawk that won't come to anyone's arm but mine."

"And aren't you proud of that," she said flatly. "I was flattered when people told me that I was the only one who could manage my Manticore. You have choked the jesses on this Snape so tight that I wonder he can fly at all. In the guise of protecting him from your Ministry you have kept him in leading-strings worse than any pureblood paterfamilias." Malachite shook her head. "You must decide how you will proceed from now. If you are only the controller, then be professional. If you are father figure, then treat him like one. If you cannot decide, then tell him. You cannot expect him to get the information you need and then be set down for not being a proper gentleman about it. Women used his methods all the time in our war. It was expected. They had to release their fury, too, though we hoped not at the wrong time. It is normal for him to behave badly. He does not dare do so around anyone else. And now you have put him in fear, what is he to do?"

Albus blinked. He hadn't thought of it that way. "I don't know."

"In a way you did know this, Alabastor, or you would have dismissed him years ago over this Harry Potter. You should have set the rules at the beginning when this boy first came to the school, if this was so important to you. Snape would have had time to adjust or get help when it was much safer to do so. But then, he would have spoken to others how he was treated as a student, and you would have had to answer questions, I think. He did save this boy's life that first year, yes?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "And several other times as well."

"Is he ever rewarded for it, or only told he should be grateful to be out of prison?"

The Headmaster didn't dare answer that one.

"I see. Every time you make a change that hurts the professor, it is because of this boy?"

He sighed again, and looked back. "Yes. Potter is a Child of Prophecy, though. Without him we would have lost the war already."

"It is hard for such a boy to respond to ordinary discipline if he knows of his position," Malachite said. "There is some history, I think, that you are not telling me."

Albus was glad she didn't know everything about Harry. He had better admit some of it, or she would be right to think he was covering his own tracks. "His father was leader of the gang that tormented Professor Snape as a student, and the boy resembles him greatly. James Potter also married a girl that Snape had strong feelings for."

"And you do not try to make sure this boy has a different teacher?"

"It wasn't possible. Potions is a required subject." That sounded feeble even to his ears. "It wouldn't be right to make such exceptions."

"Not even when it would do both of them much good? I suspect many exceptions have been made for this boy already, one more would not have surprised anyone."

"I did try to get them to understand each other better," the Headmaster protested. "When Snape found out through Occlumency lessons last year about the boy's home situation, he sent me several protests."

"How very interesting," the old woman said. "This is, of course, all at the same time an interloper came to the school, you were not able to help, and the professor out gathering information through activities that disgust you?"

Put that way, it sounded much worse than it had been. Malachite continued. "And what is this boy's home situation? The story is that he is being raised by Muggles. Yet he looks smaller than someone his size should be in pictures when he is standing next to those his same age. I look at the photographs of his parents, and they are not so thin or short that he would take after them in that way, though of course there are always other ancestors. Have you been playing 'lost prince' with this boy to make him more grateful to go to Hogwarts and more happy to do as you ask him?"

Dumbledore flushed red with anger. "It wasn't like that! The boy's safety depended on blood magic, and his aunt and cousin are all that are left."

She raised an eyebrow. "He could have been raised outside of England," she suggested. "Riddle was gone for many years. In fact, he is weak now. What game are you playing, not to destroy him while his followers are so few? I suspect your professor would count his life a small price to pay if he could help with this."

"It…it is a gamble I think worthwhile," Albus said. Voldemort had to die. But did Tom Riddle have to die with him? He remembered an old story he'd once read—_Begin again, Bianca…_ He had failed Tom as much as he had Severus or Harry.

"I think I begin to see," Malachite said. "You would have all three brought into your circle as they should have been, to erase the mistakes that were made. You gamble for a big prize indeed! But we are neglecting the professor again. It is easy to do that. He is contentious, and when he complains no one wishes to hear it. He has been taught that his wishes mean nothing, and that he owes his very life to you. Not even his body is his own. And those who receive the most benefit from him despise him the most, for if he finds friendships elsewhere, he might not have to rely so much upon your will only. He must be truly devoted to this cause, Alabastor! If I were him I would tell you all to go to hell!"

The Headmaster bowed his head. He had always _said_ that Severus should develop more friendships, but even today he'd wanted to pounce into the conversation, purely for the Potions Master's own good, of course. All of the old witch's stinging indictment was true. "I know," he said softly. "What am I to do?"

"If you cannot love him, tell him so. Too many have played games with him for their own benefit. Decide what you truly feel. Perhaps he has not searched hard for others in his life because he trusted you. If he cannot do so, then he must find others or die alone, the way the Manticore did. You see, I am not so wise as I look. This man loved me, and I could not love him back, but I pretended because we needed him. After the war was over, I stopped and he knew that it was all a lie." She paused. "And you have a responsibility as well to see he is protected from his own side. You must have a lieutenant who can at least warn him that he must escape if you cannot do so. This is bad, very bad, that there is no one on _his_ side. There is no safe place for him but death. For now it seems he will live for these other students he protects. Yet there are many ways of committing suicide that do not look like it."

She gazed directly into his eyes with dark greenish-brown ones brimming with tears. "I know your plans are deep ones," Malachite said. "If you must sacrifice him, you must, but you will lose something of yourself. We all have. We pretend to others that all is well, because to them it was a long time ago. But it never is. Now you must play the game again, and it is never easier."

"No." He was so tired, so terribly, terribly tired.

"There must be one person who knows all that you do, old friend. That is the first rule. Even when we were younger, we knew that we could die. If something happens to you and another steps into your place, that rule holds for them as well. You _must_ be Alabastor again, or people will die who should not. It would be wrong for this Manticore to be destroyed by those he protects. I shall talk to my nephew. There are many places to hide a man if he does not mind where."

A sob of relief escaped Dumbledore's lips, though he hated showing any weakness. So many depended on him. Hogwarts itself stayed in its uneasy balance only by his will. "Oh, Merlin!" he said. "I've tried to look into the future as much as Sybil has, but I can never see anything but death at one set of hands or another for Severus. I keep trying to see him here at Hogwarts once Tom is no longer a menace, but the Potions room is always empty, or holds a stranger. I've never known what to do about it." He looked at his old friend. He had rarely seen her in person, but years of struggle against Grindelwald formed a bond that had never been broken. "I'll find some way to save him, Malachite. I'm not so old I can't learn. You are right about all of this. I've taken Snape's loyalty for granted. Voldemort is wise enough to sense it and that's why he's using the lure instead of the lash."

"Do not give him false honors or lie to him," Lowenstein's great-aunt said, clearly not ready to let the subject go just yet. "I suspect he knows the games of power. If he can tell this Riddle is lying to him, then he will detect it in you. Whatever you do, it must be real, and it must be something this new Grindelwald cannot provide for him. He will believe you are only turning around because of what the other side is doing. He is right, of course, but he is likely willing to accept far less from you if it _is_ real. He must feel like a Bludger between two Beaters."

"I'm sure he does." The Quidditch simile hit home.

"And one last thing that I am sure you would rather forget. Men and women who have been forced will never be the same as others in many ways, no matter how they pretend to forget. Do not ever expect it. If you cannot keep your feelings from him, then do not do Legilimens at all. He hates himself enough because of what he cannot help without you adding to it."

"I know. I was so disgusted that I nearly threw him out of my office," he said, his head bowed. "What's worse, I found out later that he still blames himself."

"You have—oh, what is the Muggle phrase?—some eating crow to do. He will not tell you anything now except what he must. How does he keep this new Dark Lord from invading his mind?"

"He's a natural Occlumens, but I can get through his barriers." He looked back up.

She gazed at him with sorrow in her eyes. "So not even his mind is safe from you. He must love you dearly indeed to tolerate that. How can he bear it? How many times has he tried to harm himself?"

Albus was taken off guard and answered honestly. "Twice that I know of." Then he bit his lip. "I got there in time when Fawkes warned me. But there have been a lot more times when he's gone into situations he shouldn't." Snape had gone out to rescue Harry and his friends after just being healed of his head wound, with all the other teachers busy guarding the students. Dumbledore could name others as well, many from last year. "We're all used to him enduring more than we ask of anyone else. If he was really so fragile, he'd be dead already."

"It does not take long to let one's guard down," she said softly. "In years before, perhaps he still hopes that you cared for him. Now he knows the truth."

He hadn't thought of it that way. Albus grimaced. "Well, I was soundly taken down for it earlier today by Madam Pomfrey, our mediwitch. I had hoped you'd be on my side, since you were in the war and understand a few things that the younger generation simply can't."

"Well, you were wrong," said Malachite. "But then, I did much the same thing to my Manticore. It is easy to see the mistakes of others after that. I want to help if I may. It is hard for you to be Alabastor again after all these years. You cannot give what you do not have, and the sooner you face this fact the better. From what I have heard, this professor honors the truth even if it is what he does not like. Tell it to him, however distasteful."

"I did that with Mr. Potter and he wrecked my office," Dumbledore said wryly.

"And perhaps you deserved it, depending on how you lied to him earlier," she said. "If he ever believes you chose his home so he would like Hogwarts better, then you are in for more than just broken furniture. From the tales I have heard, he behaves as one who receives too much discipline in one place and not enough in another. This is why I mention you playing 'lost prince' with him. He is getting old enough to learn whatever truth there is, so you had better come to him with it first." She sighed. "Again we forget the professor. If you cannot be the person who comforts him, then just be his controller. From what you say, this mediwitch is concerned enough about Snape to tell you when you are wrong. Perhaps she ought to be the primary to him, and not you. She probably knows a great deal more about this new war than she is saying anyway, so what he confides to her should be safe."

That was a thought. He hated adding to the woman's burden, but given her scolding of him earlier today she was already acting as Snape's advocate. He would have to have a long talk with her first. Perhaps it was past time to hire an assistant for her as well. Dumbledore frowned to himself as he thought about the security implications. "You've given me a lot to think about," he told Malachite.

"Good. One thing I used to do when I was in a dilemma was to write down everything I felt and knew about a situation, even if I have to burn it. I wish I had done it for the Manticore. He might still be alive if I had used my mind on him, and not let things go as they would."

"This has been a fruitful conversation. May I call you again?" he asked.

"Of course. You need someone who can judge who is not in the middle of things. I will not always scold, I promise. I cannot imagine being Malachite for real at my age, and I sorrow that you must be Alabastor again." She gave him her home Floo coordinates, and the hours she would normally be available. "But if it is important, call my nephew and he can find me at any time. He is quite concerned about your professor and thinks highly of him. They talk shop for hours when Snape was at the clinic. I hear they even have a bet about some potion and your professor's students."

"Yes, McGonagall told me about that," Albus said with a smile. "I suspect your nephew had better start getting his Galleons together."

"And I am Francesca to my friends," she said in farewell. "I shall call again soon."

"Thank you," he said, and broke the connection.

He sat and thought. He certainly hadn't expected what he'd heard today, either from Poppy or from Malachite. Dumbledore brought out a quill, ink, and a piece of paper. He must write down what he truly thought, and as quickly as possible. Nearly all his actions would be ruled by that, no matter what he told others.

_Voldemort gone._ That was the first wish. And then he added _Tom Riddle to begin again._ The boy had once been the most brilliant student at this school, with Minerva a near second. He could have been Minister of Magic now, if he had not been so impatient with the strictures of Wizarding Society. But villainy was in the shortcut. Riddle had wanted to change everything at once in the name of restoring the world to the glory that it had in the past. Tom did have a point. Muggles were not waiting to change, and with their numbers so great were forcing the magical world to adapt to them, instead of the other way around. But the boy had never seen that this was a normal process, and had been for millennia.

If that had been all Riddle wished, the young man could have been dealt with. Pureblood politics was a swamp from which few emerged unchanged, especially a half-blood with no visible sponsors. Yet the greater families could have managed him if they had wished, or so Albus thought. Instead, the more conservatives ones had used him, or tried to use him as the Muggle Junkers had thought to use Hitler. Now they were the ones in thrall. Had that been Riddle's aim all along?

The Headmaster was uncomfortably aware that Voldemort's wish to murder those he considered inferior or in the way had probably begun quite early. Moaning Myrtle's ghost attested to that. Professor Binns' death had long been considered natural, but it was certainly unusual even for a Hogwarts that a teacher's ghost remain active for so long. Both deaths had occurred before Riddle's expulsion.

Dumbledore occasionally wondered if Tom Riddle had faced the same sort of unnatural vice that Severus had suffered from. Last night, Voldemort had appeared to understand the Potion Master's pain all too well, if only to use it to torment the younger wizard. Life as a half-blood in Slytherin could not have been easy, especially as a charity boy.

And yet, and yet…Albus still felt an essential brightness in Riddle, buried so deep perhaps only he could see it hiding underneath the smoldering darkness. How Tom must hate being the twisted snake-thing he was now! Somewhere in his heart, he might welcome the chance to start over.

But that might be easier said than done. According to Snape, the Dark Lord was now speaking of patience and outliving his greatest foe. That froze Dumbledore's heart, because Tom was right. Severus must goad his fellows into action, action that would expose them to the Order.

_And what will Moody think when he hears of this from Percy Weasley? He'll believe that Snape has chosen the Dark for good. I'll have to have another talk with Mad-Eye, I suppose, and make sure he knows that Snape is doing this on_ my _orders._

If Voldemort decided to go into hiding, there was little anyone could do till it was too late. The Ministry would think the menace gone and drift back into their normal coma. The only thing that might prevent this strategy from working would be if Riddle's physical shell began to deteriorate. Then Harry would be in special danger unless he learned how to close his mind to the Dark Lord. Albus hadn't wanted to mention that possibility to the boy, but now it looked as if he would have to. Yes, Harry had driven out Tom with the surge of love he'd felt for his godfather, and his willingness to die rather than to surrender. The blood magic of Petunia and Dudley Dursley ought to protect the boy somewhat, but if Harry let his love for Sirius Black turn into hatred for Severus Snape, then even that might not shield him.

Dumbledore knew he had been remiss in addressing the situation. The Occlumency lessons were supposed to have helped the situation, not make it worse. He had hoped that learning that their pasts were similar might have forged a bond between the two. Remus had told him about the incident that had led to the end of the tutoring. Harry's insatiable curiosity had led him towards an unattended Pensieve, as it had in the past. _I should have warned Severus. I should have told him about the other time the boy got into it,_ he thought. They were all very lucky that Harry had objected to his father's torment of Snape, rather than cheering it. After all, hadn't everyone but the Potions Master told him how wonderful James Potter had been? It would have been quite easy for the younger Potter to conclude that being a Slytherin was enough to deserve the sort of thing Snape had gone through.

_Can't imagine where he'd get _that _idea,_ an annoying inner voice told him. _You were the one who let it happen. And look at everything the Weasley twins have done over the years. Oh, they've never picked on one house in particular, but you've let them get away with almost as much as the Marauders have. If it weren't for Umbridge being so much worse, people might have noticed it, too. But you're fine. Everyone hated her so much even the Snakes are glad to see you back._

Albus fidgeted uncomfortably at his desk. He should be glad that part of him still questioned the status quo. Most of the times, he _was_ sure of himself. He had to be for the sake of everyone else. But here he could wobble and gloom in peace.

Time to write down another dream._ Hogwarts united once more._ He knew whose fault _that_ was. It was all too easy to let others blame Slytherin for everything that went wrong. It was all too easy for him to allow Snape to bear the burden of discipline while he played the benevolent grandfather. McGonagall was strict enough, but even she often let punishment of the guilty occur simply by allowing Snape's lost points or detentions to stand, rather than levying those of her own. Snape, and Filch, too, were the designated 'bad guys' as American Muggles would put it, while the rest of the staff either were indifferent or openly sympathetic as long as their students behaved.

That was another problem. Filch was a Squib. If he _didn't_ maintain his reign of terror, he could be in extreme danger from those ready to test their hexes. So far, only a few had dared. Their punishment had been enough to dissuade them from ever doing it again, but again, that had generally been delivered by Snape, who clearly felt protective of the stern caretaker. Also, Albus suspected that the house elves saw Filch as their chief and had laid certain protections on the man without his knowledge. Yet even the Gryffindors generally despised Squibs, and pitied them. Were it ever to become general knowledge that Filch was among their number, his days working here would be numbered.

Oh, he could unite the _rest_ of Hogwarts, if he were willing to sacrifice Slytherin, and one grouchy Squib. But Hogwarts would never be the same. He had to lead the way, now and at the beginning of the year.

_I have favored Gryffindor for too long,_ he thought. Some of the losses of the first war against Voldemort could be laid on his doorstep. Slytherin, after Lucius Malfoy left, had abandoned Snape to the mercies of the Marauders till he'd finally given up hope of any other protection and taken the Mark. How many other students had observed that and concluded that there was no use in reporting something done to them by a Gryffindor? Other students had taken the Mark from other Houses.

And then there was Pettigrew. Who knew what his friends did to their own when Snape was inconveniently unavailable? Such gangs often preyed on the lowest-ranking member when no other target was in sight. It had taken the Shrieking Shack incident to make James Potter turn around, though Poppy had hinted that that Potter was only keeping his fun and games better hidden. _I told her then that I couldn't do anything till I received an actual complaint,_ he remembered. _But why should Severus trust me enough to tell me anything? I had already forgiven those he believed tried to kill him. I should still be amazed that he came to me with news of the Potters' betrayal._ He remembered the despairing young man, wanting only to be believed just this once. _He never asked anything for himself, though. He only wanted Lily safe._ But then, why should Snape believe that he could receive anything for himself? After all, he'd paid for staying out of Azkaban by risking his life spying for the Order. He had ended up in the prison anyway and in Moody's hands till it was almost too late. He'd served Hogwarts well at a position he loathed for years, and once again endured the worst that life could throw at him for the sake of the Order again.

_Why should he believe he can receive anything for himself?_ Albus thought numbly. He wrenched his attention back to the question at hand.

Yes, he did favor the Gryffindors. Fortunately the Trio were no Marauders, though young Mr. Malfoy did seem to end up holding the short end of the stick in almost every confrontation. How many times had the young Slytherin ended up in the infirmary or badly hexed because he would not keep his mouth shut?

_And doesn't_ that _sound familiar?_

He was glad, then, that the idiot at least had those two thugs around him. The parallels were striking, and Dumbledore would rather not follow them that far. Besides, even Snape grumbled about his godson's idiocy. It wasn't as if Draco had no protectors at all.

Yet most of the Slytherins weren't like the Malfoy boy. It was a good thing he read the files for that house at least once a year, and discovered what terrible pain lay behind their behavior. Oh, there was always a scattering of pureblood snobs convinced of their superiority, but Snape watched them carefully. They soon learned his particular kind of discipline. But Albus had to admit that the majority of Slytherin students had a past history that would crack a heart of stone. In fact, it would be a good idea for him to go through the files again, just to remind himself that being chosen for the House of the Snake wasn't a mark of shame.

The Headmaster wrote down another goal. _Help Harry fulfill the Prophecy._ That one, by rights, should have come first. So much had been heaped on that boy's shoulders. He was glad beyond words that Harry had chosen Gryffindor, but by now he knew that it had mainly happened by chance. If Draco had succeeded in getting Harry to shake his hand in Madam Malkins, Harry might have listened to the Hat more when it had suggested Slytherin.

In some ways, Harry's life might have been easier. Snape would have thrown a tantrum requiring a team of house elves to clean the debris, but then he would have buckled down and done his usual thorough research on the boy's home. He would have found out about the cupboard, the cuffings, and the semi-starvation much sooner. Dumbledore smiled as he imagined Snape's first home visit to the Dursleys.

Then his smile faded. Severus would have stopped hating the boy much sooner. The Potions Master never allowed outcasts in his house, even with Slytherins he didn't like. Harry would have ended up in a 'study group' as Slytherin first years normally did. He might be friends with Draco now, and the Snake Quidditch team unstoppable.

It might have been a different Trio that saved the Philosopher's Stone, Dumbledore speculated. Yet Hermione Granger might be dead, killed by a troll in the lavatory after young Mr. Weasley had teased her. Ron Weasley himself would be a wholly-owned subsidiary of the twins with no real identity of his own. And in Slytherin itself, it would become known that Harry was a half-blood, in the one house where that really mattered.

Yet Snape would have protected the boy, if only for Lily's sake. Albus realized that given Harry's home situation, he might have thrived better under the strict rule of Slytherin House, rather than continually being whipsawed between the Dursley household and the indulgent atmosphere of Hogwarts. Last year, of course, had been a complete disaster for the boy. At least Umbridge had showed Harry that there _were_ people out there even worse than Snape! Unfortunately that lesson had been erased by Black's death,.

_I love him,_ Albus thought. _I love that boy as if he were my own._ Nobody knew how hard he had struggled to keep from blasting the Dursleys into ashes once he'd learned how the family was treating the boy. Malachite was old, but not nearly old enough to understand the importance of blood magic. Her accusations of playing the 'lost prince' game had stung, as they were nearly true. It did take both a harsh and a nurturing environment for a wizard or witch to reach full potential. Too much indulgence ruined them, the way Lucius Malfoy and James Potter had been, while too much discipline twisted them, as Tom and Severus had been.

Before Harry had received his letter, Dumbledore had been afraid that he was going to have to provide the discipline the boy would need. Instead, the Dursleys and Snape had played that role, and wasn't that convenient? That allowed him to offer the nurturing instead, with the Weasley household and Sirius Black allowed in carefully measured doses.

_I hate this!_ he cried to himself _I hate treating the boy like one of Snape's potion ingredients! Damn you, Tom!_

He allowed himself a rare indulgence. Albus got up and brought out an old portfolio. It was like looking in the Mirror of Erised to gaze at these old photos. He sat down and flipped through the pages of the album. _Elspeth. Roger. Andrew._ The faces of his third wife and his two adopted sons, all dead at the hands of Grindelwald, smiled and waved at him from the distance of half a century. Both boys were dark-haired and muscular, but had his wife's coloring, so few knew that the children had been taken in from a family overseas ruined by some catastrophe in the late 1920's. He would owe Binns a debt of gratitude forever. The History of Magic teacher had been the one who had arranged the double adoption when the real parents had died. Elspeth had blamed herself for barrenness, but Albus knew better. He'd never had children by any of his other wives, either. At least she had stayed rather than arranging a quiet annulment the way Mellicent had, or lingering for sour decades as Julia had before dying in the Great Flu.

Their deaths had been Grindelwald's last blow before the final battle. Dumbledore had gone into it not caring whether he lived or died, only that he must destroy this Dark Wizard for his beloveds' sake. Fortunately his heart had been given over to love for them, rather than turned sour by hatred of their murderer. And afterwards, Binns had also quietly suggested that he join the staff at Hogwarts, where he would always be surrounded by children. The Headmaster had sometimes been asked to replace the ghostly professor, but never would.

He closed the album and wiped away the tears. Minerva was as true a companion as any man could wish. If only…if only he weren't so old. Time had taken away his ability to make any woman happy. He had long resigned himself that the students of Hogwarts would be his only children. Everything would go to Aberforth and his line once he was gone.

But his children _here_ were in danger. _I can't let Harry destroy himself with hate. He still blames Snape for his guardian's death. I must work with the boy myself to fix that. I have to find a way to keep him from hate, or one of these days Tom's eyes will look out of his face forever._

Dumbledore had no doubt that Black had refused to stay in 12 Grimmauld Place once hearing that Harry and his friends had gone to the Ministry. Nothing Snape could have said would have kept him there. Convincing Harry of that would be difficult. Had there been any witnesses to that argument?

He sighed. If he had to choose between the welfare of the Wizarding World and giving Riddle another chance, he knew what had to come first. Necessary sacrifices had to be made.

Albus looked down on his paper. Sorting out his thoughts might seem like a waste of time, but this session had been well spent. Malachite would be proud of him for acting like Alabastor once again. Now to call Minerva in, and tell her what she needed to know.

Then his eyes fell on a dark, straight-backed chair normally filled by the Potions Master during staff meetings. _Oh, Severus, I hope you never find out how far down the list of my priorities you are._

He had done everything but what Malachite had asked him to do. Yet that very avoidance told him all he needed to know about how he felt about Snape. He should tell Poppy that he was putting more responsibility on her for Severus' well-being. She was one of the few people who could get through the man's emotional barriers. Snape had already confided in her more than anyone else, even him. _I'm asking too much of her. She will be stretched to the limit once school starts. But who else is there? He needs someone who will put him further ahead of the list than I will, who won't gag and turn away when he needs help. Malachite was right. I'm too busy with everything else to help him the way he needs._

Necessary sacrifices had to be made. Albus Dumbledore was very much afraid that one of them was going to be Snape.

Further Author's Note: The line _Begin again, Bianca,_ is from Tanith Lee's "Red As Blood" from her anthology Red As Blood, and is a dark retelling of the story of Snow White. I strongly recommend that everyone read it, if they can find a copy.


	14. Chapter 14: Toxic Shock

The Birthday Present

By excessivelyperky

Rowling: Her pitch, her Snitch, her Quaffle. I'm just refereeing this time.

Author's note: this chapter contains unpleasant and graphic potion reactions, a Death Eater meeting, and Snape trying to make Draco think. Harry discovers that the Muggle world can also be violent. A quick list of reasons why Snape may appear a little OOC—he's not around Harry or any of the rest of the Trio. Longbottom is not melting cauldrons. He's been made aware of radical consequences should he lose his temper (yes, Dumbledore only discussed his relationship with Harry Potter, but Snape, in his infinite paranoia, is worried about any display of temper). Also, several branches and a good deal of glassware have died as a result of repressed anger. Hope that clears things up.

Chapter 14: Toxic Shock

Severus Snape

Severus Snape grimaced as he sat in the infirmary and looked at the little bottles lined up on the table in front of him. Madam Pomfrey had carefully arranged them so that the detoxicants were in one group, while the potions to counter the side effects were in another. He'd read the instructions over and over, and hated the whole idea. "What is the _point_?" he said out loud.

Poppy sat on the other side of the table. "Because we do not know the future, Severus," she said gently. "The war could last several more years, or it could be over tomorrow. Either way you could still be alive. I know you've read the prognosis by now, even though I hid it in the back of your file. That sort of poisoning seems like a very unpleasant way to die. It has probably been so long since you were entirely well that you've forgotten what it's like."

"So now I have to feel even worse."'

"You don't have to do without the other potions, Severus. That's a choice you're making for yourself. In fact, I wish I could have you on those by themselves for a month before you start this regime to build you up. Have you eaten today?"

"A bite or two." He hadn't been able to do more than push his food around since that wretched meeting a few days ago, not even the fish and chips they made the way he liked in Knockturn Alley.

"Then you had better have something now. The instructions say that the detoxicant must be taken with food in the stomach." Poppy summoned one of the house elves, who disappeared again and came back with a pasty and a glass of pumpkin juice. "Don't bolt it. We have plenty of time." She sipped her tea quietly and didn't say anything.

Snape grudgingly obeyed. A good thing he was used to forcing himself to eat and drink. This new potion regime would destroy what little appetite he had left. He slowly got the food and juice down, waited to make sure the meal would stay, then took the first dose after the mediwitch measured it out.

It tasted foul. At first he was certain the liquid would bounce right back. _Ought to name the potion Lupin's revenge,_ he thought. But this wasn't the first time he'd fought his stomach. Eventually both he and Poppy were reasonably certain everything he'd consumed was going to remain inside him.

After a few minutes, he said, "I might as well get back to brewing."

Pomfrey looked down at the instructions. "You ought to start sweating in about half an hour. I thought you'd want to bathe and change afterwards. I know you can manage for yourself, but I want to check up on you this first time."

Sweating wasn't the only thing that could occur in a half hour, he recalled from the list of possible reactions. Severus knew it was useless to protest. Poppy had started keeping an extra set of clothes for him up here last year so he could be healed and then dress properly before having to deal with the school again.

They passed the time rereading the instructions, swapping pages as required, as both waited for any kind of reaction. After a bit Snape felt a wave of heat go through him, and found himself drenched in sweat. Poppy took a sample for a baseline analysis.

He went to the bath connected to the infirmary after that, drew the water, and lay the sodden garments down for the house elves. _I'll need to warn them to be careful when handling them,_ he thought, though he understood that his clothes and linen were usually laundered separately from the rest of the school's anyway.

It felt odd to bathe during the middle of the day, but it was certainly better than letting the muck dry on his skin and clothes. He kept the dip a brief one, though. He still had a great deal of work to do before the potions regime made him to ill to brew. So far it hadn't been too bad, but he suspected there would be a cumulative affect or the Swiss wouldn't have developed the potions for the side effects in the first place.

Once dressed again, he went back to Poppy's office and thanked her. "It's not too bad right now," he said. "If this is all it's going to do, I shouldn't worry."

"We'll see in a couple of weeks how you're feeling then," she said, relief written on her face. "I'll have Dobby bring them by, along with a snack to eat first. You'll need to take this potion twice a day. If you change your mind about the others, you'll need the appetite increaser in the morning, the mood enhancer at noon, and the sedative in the evening. Each time you take the detoxicant, you'll probably sweat enough to have to change, so I'll let the house elves know about the increased laundry requirement."

He nodded glumly. It was just as well he'd gone to Knockturn Alley yesterday to order the extra wands for those dunderheads of his. A pity that the blank ones already available had been so shoddy. Suddenly his belly rumbled, and he barely got into the lav quickly enough to avoid soiling himself. _Oh, yes, _he thought to himself. _Sub paragraph four, line fifteen. I was really hoping to avoid _this_ side effect._

Snape came back to Poppy's office feeling wrung out. Madam Pomfrey had him sit down and slowly drink more juice. "Maybe you'd better lie down for a little bit," she said. "I think you'd better stay here for the rest of the evening."

He shook his head. "You know I'm supposed to eat in the Great Hall once a day, and I've missed both breakfast and lunch there already." Then he felt more cramps and went back to the facilities. There was less this time, though he thought he'd emptied himself before.

When he came back, Poppy shook her head. "It won't be today. I'll tell the Headmaster myself that you're in no state to go anywhere. I must admit, I am really quite proud of you. I know you'd prefer not to see anyone after the kind of conversation you had with him, but you have made such an effort not to hide this time."

"I wish you hadn't said anything about it." It was much easier if he could pretend it hadn't happened.

"The more often you talk about it, the easier it will get, dear," the mediwitch said gently. "I'll drop it for now, but I just wanted you to know that I noticed. It is hard for you, and I wish more people would realize it."

He let his hair fall down in front of his face again. Oh, how he wished he could stop doing that! Madam Pomfrey only meant to help. But part of him was glad that someone cared enough to realize that he was trying to do what people wanted of him. He usually felt that they were more than happy to see the back of him, the way they'd been at 12 Grimmauld Place last year. It was odd to realize that this wasn't true of everyone, though Dumbledore would probably feel better without him around for a while.

Snape picked up the instruction papers. "There's—there's the part where it talks about this reaction," he said, his voice shaking.

Poppy smiled at him and looked where he pointed. She became more sober. "You'll need a small dose of the sedative whether you like it or not till you adjust to the detoxicant, or have it stepped down to where you can tolerate it better. I'll contact the Swiss this evening about it."

Severus would have argued with her, but he was already on his way back to the lavatory. This time there was almost nothing, but his guts cramped so much that he knew getting far from a toilet was a bad idea.

When he returned to the office, Pomfrey had already measured out some of the sedative. He grudgingly took it. His twisting bowels rapidly settled down and he felt overwhelmingly sleepy. He would rather lie down in his own bed, but wasn't given a choice as she got him into a patient gown. _And I'm supposed to have two doses of _that_ each day?_ He closed his eyes once he was in a bed. _Maybe Lowenstein was right about staying in residence. Maybe I should just stop this idiotic program now and not waste any more time on it._

He wasn't sure how long he slept, though he was vaguely aware when Poppy gave him another, smaller dose of the first potion along with a spoonful of the sedative. The combination allowed him to sleep without bolting for the toilet.

It was dark when he awoke. His left arm felt as if it were on fire. Snape stumbled out of the infirmary bed and looked for his clothes. The Mark hadn't burned like this since he'd taken on too many apprentices. He dressed quickly, wobbled down to the dungeons to fetch his Death Eater gear, and headed out towards the Forbidden Forest. Madam Hooch had a point. He could have gone much faster to an Apparation point on a broom, with less effort.

He arrived at another anonymous dell. Snape wondered which Death Eater was in charge of setting the ever-present bonfire. He walked up past it to his apprentices, knowing he was dreadfully tardy. He knelt before the Dark Lord, though he knew it wouldn't help much. "My lord," he said.

"You are late," Voldemort hissed. Nagini lay coiled by his side, obviously soaking up the warmth from the fire. Lestrange and Pettigrew stood to one side, each one with an apprentice.

"Yes, my lord. I beg your pardon."

"You know the punishment!"

Snape prepared himself as much as possible for the hex. Bella stepped forward, her wand up already. "Crucio!" she shouted.

He fell, unable to withstand the agony that tore at his bones and muscles. The remnants of the sedative kept him curiously calm mentally despite the pain. One of the apprentices, Goyle he believed, pulled him away from the fire as his convulsions almost sent him into the flames. _Don't do that, you mustn't do that,_ he thought, though he couldn't help being grateful that someone cared enough to keep him from greater injury.

"Enough," said the Dark Lord. Lestrange stopped, but Snape couldn't get up. His muscles twitched a little while after the agony left them, and then went entirely limp. "Apprentices, you may raise him up if he cannot stand," Voldemort said after it became apparent what the problem was. "Bella, perhaps you were a bit over-enthusiastic."

"My lord, I gave him no worse than I did that Muggle at the last meeting."

Riddle's eyes flashed red. "I shall speak with you later," he said. He turned his attention to Snape, now upright but supported by Crabbe on one side and Goyle on the other, while Draco pulled out a vial. The Potions Master shook his head. He dare not mix something unknown with the witch's brew now inside him.

"Have the practice wands been obtained?" asked the Dark Lord.

"Not yet, my lord," Severus said in a whisper. "They were ordered yesterday from a supplier in Knockturn Alley." His belly cramped again, though it had nothing in it.

"Why didn't you get a dozen of the standard blank ones?" Pettigrew asked.

"Their cores were worthless," Snape said. He'd been able to tell that as soon as he'd touched the ones the proprietor had offered. Amazing the fellow had had so many…but then, denizens of Knockturn Alley did not trust Ollivander not to report their purchases to the Ministry, and times were becoming dangerous again. Fortunately he had a tiny bit of wand-gift from his father's grandmother, who had been an Ollivander. "I gave him a week to find something better." He had been tempted to buy the useless wands, but it would have become clear how bad they were the first time the apprentices tried to use them.

"This meeting is a waste of time, then," Voldemort said angrily. "Notify me as soon as the wands are ready."

_We must still be in Britain for them to matter,_ Snape thought, who had expected more practice casting Unforgivables tonight. After a few moments he could stand on his own. He quietly reassured the Slytherins that he was all right before they were sent back, though he didn't know how he was going to find the strength to Apparate back to the Forbidden Forest on his own. No doubt both Bella and Wormtail would enjoy watching him beg for help.

"Stay for a moment, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, while sending the other two Death Eaters and their apprentices away. Snape tried to ignore the jealous looks that Lestrange and Pettigrew sent him. Any special attention, even punishment, merited jealousy from others here.

Since he wasn't going anywhere as it was, Snape bore the prospect of an additional chat with Voldemort with resignation. He went to his knees and bowed his head. "What is your will, my lord?"

Nagini wound her coils around him once again and sniffed him. She hissed, licked his face, and withdrew. Then she looped herself around Voldemort's arm and rubbed her head along the Dark Lord's left ear. He nodded as if the snake was giving him a message. Perhaps she was.

"Why didn't you tell me you were ill, Severus?" Riddle asked.

"That is no excuse, my lord. I was weak enough to need a sedative after the first dose of the potion the Institut compounded for me. The detoxicant reacted badly with my digestive system. Fortunately your summons woke me, though I was late. As for the wands, I will contact the supplier tomorrow and try to speed his delivery." He was still trembling, but didn't feel the pain of the Cruciatus the way he normally would. The remains of the potions kept him detached. Detached…what a kindly word, what a kindly way to feel.

Not even Voldemort's hand stroking his hair bothered him the way it ought to. "A pity your brewing has almost ruined these raven wings," The Dark Lord mused. "One hopes your hair will become the way it was when you were younger with this treatment. I shall not summon you for a week, perhaps two. Your apprentices can learn from Bella or Pettigrew."

"I would rather see to their training myself, my lord."

"I know. I think you may be a bit too protective of them. A few sessions without your hovering presence shan't do them any harm. Let us hope these Swiss do not accidentally poison you in their effort to heal you."

"I have the same hope, my lord." Snape wondered how he was going to rise from his knees when he was finally given permission.

"I apologize for letting Bella have her head this evening, but she does wonder what we speak about in these private chats." Voldemort moved closer to the fire and warmed his leathery, inhuman hands at it. "She'll be pleased you have been weakened, of course. So will Wormtail, though he'll hide it better. I must maintain a balance among the few mature followers I have outside of Azkaban. Now Nagini and I must depart. Rest as long as you wish till you're strong enough to Apparate without splinching." The Dark Lord and the snake disappeared.

Snape struggled to get to his feet, only to feel as if he were going to fall once he stood. He pulled out his wand and made a sloppy job of transfiguring some wood and moss into a chair. McGonagall would have taken points from Slytherin if he'd ever done this badly in her class when he'd been a student. Yet the chair held under his weight, and it was certainly more comfortable than the ground.

He dare not stay too long, though. If any Aurors came upon the site looking for Death Eaters, he would almost certainly be pulled in for questioning. How long it would take the Headmaster to get him out of the Ministry's clutches this time was anybody's guess.

Severus rested in the 'chair' for only a few minutes. His bowels seemed calm for now. This meeting had accomplished nothing, except possibly to appease Lestrange and Pettigrew with watching him flop around on the ground. _What fun it must be to try to keep such people in line,_ he thought. _Not to mention me. No doubt the Dark Lord and the Headmaster could compare notes on 'how to manage a Snape'._

As much as he would normally look forward to a week or so without worrying about a summons, he couldn't possibly leave his Slytherins to the tender mercies of the other two Death Eaters. He frowned. From the Dark Lord's words and from what he had seen, the remaining numbers of active members was low. Were there separate meetings that didn't include the new apprentices or himself? Severus sighed, and levered himself out of the chair. He was able to stand without shaking much now, though Apparating would take a lot out of him. He returned the chair to its natural state, then concentrated on a spot in the Forbidden Forest not far from Hagrid's hut.

Snape landed in there all in one piece, but that was the best that could be said. He collapsed on the ground and his muscles shook without him being able to control them. Severus didn't understand it. He'd never been quite so ill after what was really a mild Crucio before. No doubt the interaction of the detoxicant, the sedative, and the curse was causing this. He groaned with disgust when his belly cramped again and he was unable to keep from voiding. Fortunately, he didn't have much to get rid of.

He kept trying to get up, only to have his body betray him. The remnants of the potion kept him relatively calm under the circumstances—at least till he heard heavy steps nearby that weren't Hagrid's. By the sound the creature was two-legged.

Then he found himself being lifted in two huge hands. "Still bones. No meat," Grawp said. "You smell funny."

No doubt he did, between Nagini's embrace, the potions, and his illness. As they approached the groundskeeper's hut, Snape allowed himself to slip into unconsciousness.

Madam Pomfrey

Poppy went to Dumbledore's office as soon as she was certain that Snape was asleep. She was let in quickly and told Albus, "I need to use the Floo to contact Magister Lowenstein or one of his researchers. Severus has had a bad reaction to the first dose of the detoxicant."

The Headmaster looked worried. "How bad?"

She sat across from him. "He kept it down, though it was a near thing, but that didn't stop everything from trying to come out the other end. He didn't even argue when I made him take a half-dose of the sedative and put him to bed. A bed rather close to the lavatory, I might add. I don't know if I ought to give him a second dose at all, at least not tonight, till I talk to someone there at the clinic."

"Dear me. I'm very sorry to hear that. We can both talk to one of them."

Albus managed a connection to the Institut fairly quickly. Lowenstein appeared and didn't seem surprised to hear about Snape's trouble. "This is why a potions maker at his level needs to be in residence," the Swiss wizard said. "The dosage obviously needs to be adjusted. I was given the sense that there is some urgency to his treatment, but if he cannot tolerate the detoxicant at this level, then the treatment will take as long as it takes. Give him only a half-dose later tonight, along with more sedative. He should start the other potions first thing tomorrow morning for the other side effects. In a week the sedative will not make him so sleepy, though for now it is good that it does. I can still find him a place here if you change your mind, Headmaster."

Poppy noticed that Dumbledore shook his head, probably not for the first time. She jumped into the conversation before the two men started a long debate. "Thank you, Magister," she said. "He had some bee in his bonnet about shortening the treatment time by not taking anything but the detoxicant, but perhaps this will help change _his_ mind."

"He must be an interesting patient, Madam Pomfrey," Lowenstein said.

"Oh, yes," she said. "That has always been true." She listened to the Swiss wizard's recommendations and took notes. Of course, Severus was perfectly capable of throwing them into a cocked hat if he pleased. Maybe it was a good thing that illness had kept him from arguing tonight.

The Headmaster broke the connection. Poppy sighed. "I know it's not possible, but Severus really needs to be at the clinic for the full course. He couldn't manage his schedule last year. How will we survive this coming year if we keep adding more to his plate?"

"I don't know." Albus looked tired and sad. "He's been training Winky to help, and I hope he continues with that. He's going to have to start brewing the Wolfsbane Potion soon as well, since Lupin will be here in just a couple of weeks. Perhaps putting him on this regimen was a bad idea after all."

Pomfrey bowed her head, thinking how she'd led Remus out to the Shrieking Shack each month when he'd been a student, and then had healed the boy of the exhaustion and pain from each transformation. The potion had helped him a great deal when he'd taught here, _when_ he'd remembered to take it. "Severus can't go on like this, Headmaster. He has to have this treatment. You showed me all those old papers on Brewers' Bog and even you had to admit that he fit the profile. It's just as well he's beginning this before school starts. By then we might have a better routine worked out. But we have to help him through this." It worried her that he hadn't argued with her. That wasn't like the dour Potions Master at all. He was only this compliant when he was ill enough to go to St. Mungo's, not that he would, of course.

"So what do you recommend?" Dumbledore asked.

"He should go to the clinic and stay there for the next six months," she snapped, then forced herself to calm down. "But I suppose there are all sorts of reasons that he can't. Those poor students of his can't be left to those…those _others_, if nothing else. As for tonight, I'll do what Lowenstein said and give Snape only half a dose of the detoxicant, along with more of the sedative. He might be better tomorrow after a full night's sleep. I'll try the same amount of the first potion split up into smaller batches and given more often, along with the sedative. I may just give him the others for the side effects along with the sedative while he's too groggy to object."

"Do as you see fit," the Headmaster said. "I know he's in good hands."

She stood up, and was surprised when Dumbledore didn't follow her. "I'll let you know how he's doing," she said.

"Please do," Albus said. "When you get time, you and I need to talk about his care. I—we need to manage things better."

"I'm not going to argue with that," she said crisply, and left. It was odd that the Headmaster wasn't going to look in on the Potions Master when Severus was this ill. _Maybe he still feels guilty about how he reacted to Severus the other night! He ought to! _

Snape was still asleep, the way he'd been when she'd left. A quick sniff told that he hadn't voided since she'd left, and a wand-scan gave her assurance that he wasn't going to wake up soon. Pomfrey glanced at a clock. In three hours she'd give him the next set of potions, then retire to bed herself.

She gently brushed the hair off his face. _Oh, Severus, if only you could believe that people did care for you._ Even in sleep he flinched a little at her touch. _But people have told you before that they loved you, only to do horrible things to you. No wonder you have a hard time thinking anybody is telling the truth about that._

Pomfrey decided to update her files for the coming year, but left her office door open so she could catch any change in sound. Fortunately it was warm enough to allow her to leave the windows open as well. All too soon the brief summer would be gone, and she'd have to use venting spells of her own to keep the infirmary air from getting as bad as the dungeons.

The time passed quickly. Poppy elevated Snape, woke him a little, and gave him the last potions for the night. She waited a half-hour to make sure he wasn't going to have untoward consequences again, and was reassured by his resounding snores. She closed the windows, made sure Severus had enough covers, and went to bed. She'd start him on the appetite enhancer first thing in the morning.

Albus Dumbledore

Dumbledore sat at his desk, knowing he ought to visit the infirmary. He'd seen the reproach in Poppy's eyes, both a few days ago and this evening. He had to remain objective.

It had been a mistake to force this treatment on Snape. It was too late to back out now, though, without occasioning protests from the Swiss or from the mediwitch. _I thought this was going to be a rebuilding year, as the Muggles put it. I thought the Order was going to have more time. Then again, if Riddle really does decide to keep out of the public eye, the Order will have a hard time convincing anyone that he's still a menace._

His heart ached. Pomfrey wouldn't be the only one to accuse him of abandoning Severus just when the Potions Master needed help the most. But Malachite was right. He needed to keep his relationship with the Slytherin more professional. _I do need to speak with the Ministry and get rid of some of those idiotic legal restrictions. Neither Snape nor I need to fill out a report every time he leaves Hogwarts, nor should he be forced to give me an accounting of any funds he's earned from his potions outside of his teaching salary. I have been using those strings, and that should stop._

Malachite was also right about keeping his successor more fully informed. Dumbledore stood as McGonagall swept into the room. "Ah, Minerva," he said. "I hope you're prepared for a long night."

She smiled grimly, and flourished her stack of paper. "We all want to think we're going to live forever," she said. She brought out a quill and a fresh bottle of ink.

They both sat down. "I must agree, though it looks like Marchbanks is going to manage it without the Stone. But I would be a fool to assume that about myself." Albus pulled out a number of papers from a drawer he normally kept locked, and began the long process of telling Minerva everything. That included what he'd recently learned from Severus, both at the most recent Death Eater meeting, and how he had gathered his information last year. McGonagall said nothing and had a blank look on her face, but the way she scratched the paper as she took notes spoke volumes.

It was quite late when they finished. In fact, the sky was beginning to grow lighter. "Dear Merlin," Minerva said. "No wonder you were glad to leave the school to Umbridge last year. How are _you_ going to find time for what must be done?"

"I don't know," Albus said. "Yet two heads are better than one. I am going to depend a great deal more on you this year than in the past. I am making mistakes that I should not, especially with Severus. He trusts you a great deal. I suspect he trusts you now more than he does me."

"I stood by and let the Marauders make cats-meat of him, too," she said quietly.

"But you tried to discipline them. I undercut that several times, just as I have with Harry. It's so easy for us to let Snape and Filch be the ones to hand out detentions, isn't it?"

"I've taken points from the Trio before and I will again," Minerva snapped.

"I know. Maybe that's one of the reasons Snape trusts you more than he does me." His sweet Minerva strongly believed in justice. "If only Severus believed in the system enough to take points from his own."

McGonagall grimaced. "Not as long as Mr. Potter is at the school. I do the same thing as you do now. I gave the boy and his friends hundreds of points to make up for those taken by Snape when Harry was all set to hex Mr. Malfoy. I didn't see all that went on before, of course, but I'm certain that Draco had pulled something to deserve it." Then she wiped her eyes. "But we believed that about Severus, too."

"Unfortunately, the Malfoy boy really is like that. Even Snape will admit it if you ask him politely. But he's blindly protective of his godson."

"Of course, we're never like that for our Gryffindors," Minerva said. "I actually _encouraged_ the Weasley twins when I could not bear that woman any longer. I…I encouraged _Peeves!_"

Albus held his tongue. He'd heard about the incident with the chandelier, but decided that giving Minerva points for 'it unscrews the other way' would be taken wrong, somehow. "As you can see, we have a lot to do. At least Lupin will actually _teach_ Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"True. And I have always liked him. Snape seems fairly resigned to his arrival. But then, he has to be, doesn't he?"

"I know, Minerva, I know. I hope those Swiss know what they're doing. I am going to ask Madam Pomfrey to watch Severus more closely, and to warn us when we are asking too much of him. She, at least, never played favorites."

McGonagall stood up. "Good. Well, I shall sleep on all this, read my notes when I wake up, and start making lists. Albus, you are the dearest man in creation, but there are times I could hit you with a sack of your own lemon drops for your lack of organization."

"Good. I need help," he sadly admitted, and pushed himself up to his feet to see her off.

He should go to bed. He really should. Instead, he wearily walked down the hall, around the corner, and up some stairs to the infirmary. _I keep telling myself to be more detached, and here I am about to hover over him again._ With luck Severus would be sleeping without any nightmares.

In fact…he was tempted to use this quiet time to finally go after that hex. He would sleep easier himself knowing he'd finally done what he should.

The infirmary was empty. Madam Pomfrey's door was closed, which meant she had retired to her quarters for the night, while the door to the lavatory was open. The bed was somewhat rumpled, but its occupant had escaped. Albus couldn't help smiling. Severus must be feeling better. This wasn't the first time he had left without bothering to check with Poppy.

Dumbledore absent-mindedly straightened the covers and gazed out the window. He couldn't blame the man. The beds here were closer to student-size, barely long enough for the tall Potions Master, and narrow as well. Poppy usually remembered to transfigure them larger, but not always. If Snape was ill enough to stay here, he wasn't in good enough shape to transfigure anything. On a whim, he stretched the bed out in both directions and charmed the mattress to be softer.

Then he spotted two large figures coming across the grass from the direction of Hagrid's hut in the predawn light. How odd! He wasn't used to seeing the half-giant dwarfed by anyone. That was strange. Grawp never left the forest. And if that was Hagrid's brother, he was carrying something dark over one shoulder.

_Or someone_. As they got closer, Albus saw long legs covered by dark trousers. His heart froze as he realized what must have happened. He went to Pomfrey's door and softly knocked on it. "Poppy," he said quietly, "Poppy, you must wake up now."

He heard movement on the other side of the door and waited. She opened it and appeared in night-robe and slippers. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"Just very tired. But your patient was called away last night. He's being brought back now." The others had disappeared from sight of the window, but he knew they were on their way. "I think Grawp was carrying him, and Hagrid was showing him the way." Dumbledore hoped there wouldn't be a next time when their newest resident would have to know this, but his heart knew better.

Poppy disappeared again and came out fully dressed. "Albus, sit down. You won't help by standing there till you collapse as well. Better yet, lie down over here. You can see what I'm doing and still get some rest. I can manage this."

Dumbledore obeyed. Soon a knock sounded at the door. Hagrid came through it with Snape in his arms, while Grawp waited outside. "M' brother found him out in the woods not long ago, Poppy, and brought him to me. I thought he could rest in the hut for a bit, but then he started shaking. I can't get him to wake up, and he smells like he's been sick."

"Thank you," said Pomfrey, who looked calm and serene. "Lay him down here." She rapidly raised a magical barrier around the side of the bed as Snape went into convulsions and would have toppled to the floor without it.

Dumbledore lay still as Poppy chanted a quick _Stupefy_ that held the Potions Master still. She then ran her wand over to diagnose what was wrong.

"Are you all right, Headmaster?" Hagrid asked anxiously.

"Yes, but apparently I'm up too late and Poppy didn't have time to send me to my own bed yet," Albus said. "I'm glad your brother was looking out for Snape. Tell him he did well. In fact, I'll tell him myself the next time I see him. Severus will be all right now that Madam Pomfrey is taking care of him." He wished he were so certain.

The half-giant looked down at the floor, muttered his thanks through his beard, and shuffled back out. By the time Dumbledore was able to see the other bed again, Snape was already in a gown and smelt better. Poppy quickly put some blankets over her patient and put a Warming Charm on the cloth.

"What's wrong?" Albus was afraid he could guess.

"He was probably summoned while I was asleep. The pain likely woke him up. At best guess, he's had a Crucio put on him. I hate to Stupefy him, but convulsions can tear the muscles even worse than the original curse. When he wakes up, we'll learn more. I want to get more liquids down him then, too. Judging by the feel of his skin, he's a bit dehydrated. I'll take the spell off in an hour and see if his muscles are rested enough."

"Has he ever reacted like this before?" This was as bad as in the last days of the first Voldemort War. Dumbledore remembered how the Longbottom couple had looked when they were brought to St. Mungo's. Snape had also taken damage, but was younger then and had healed faster. Moody had used other means than spells to get the Potions Master's attention while the young wizard had been in Azkaban. But Albus knew there was only so much that human flesh could endure.

Poppy smoothed Snape's hair. "Not like this. But then, he was able to take the potion he developed for it last year. A good thing he found something, too, Mr. Potter would have been in much worse shape at the end of his fourth year without it. I can't give Severus any other potion till the ones I've given him already have worn off. I wish Lowenstein would hurry with that list he promised me of compatible substances. As it is, I don't know all the interactions. I suspect you don't want to ask Lowenstein how his potions affect someone under Crucio."

"You're right," he said. He didn't get up just yet; one thing he had learned in a long life was never to argue with a mediwitch when she had a wand in her hand. "Let's see how this works out first. At least this time he'll have to listen to you when you prescribe bed rest."

"And so will you," she said. "You can't keep these kind of hours at your age, and neither can McGonagall at hers. That reminds me, she should have another helping of that potion Severus developed for her." Poppy rummaged in a cupboard, and closed the lid sharply as she obviously didn't find it. "She must have had the last of it when she came in a few days ago. I hope she sleeps most of today. You, too," she added. "And no, you are not toddling off to your own bed, you are staying right here till I think you should get up. I swear, you're just as bad as Severus that way!"

The Headmaster accepted an extra blanket and glumly wished he'd transfigured this bed larger and softer, too. He wanted to stay awake to find out if Severus was going to be all right, but his eyes closed of their own accord. By the time he awoke, it was near noon. After allowing one of the house elves to serve him a late breakfast in bed, he managed to convince Poppy that he was strong enough to make his escape.

"Don't worry," she said just as he was at the door. "The Stupefy worked. Severus is weak, but should recover completely. This time."

Albus sighed with relief. He wasn't as detached as he thought. "I'm glad he's in your hands, Poppy," he said. _Better hers than mine._

Severus Snape

He woke up in the same bed he'd been put in before, judging by the familiar cracks in the ceiling. This time it was wider, a bit softer, and with the shimmer of a magical guard around the side. He had no strength at all, and was barely able to raise his head as Poppy walked into his line of sight and helped him drink some water. They both waited to make sure it didn't bounce. "You were summoned, weren't you?" she asked.

He nodded, then lay his head back. Even that little effort tired him.

"How bad was the Crucio? Let's use the number system from 1 to 10 again."

"Three," he whispered.

"Really? I would have thought it much worse. You went into spasms like I've never seen except with the really bad ones."

"It felt strange," he said, his voice coming back a little. "Hurt, but didn't matter. Potions and curse together?"

"Perhaps that's it," she said. "The sedative might keep you from being able to resist the spell, while making it easier to tolerate mentally." The mediwitch looked thoughtful. "I spoke with the Magister last night after the first dose. Till they can formulate a milder version of the detoxicant, you're to have only a half-dose of it along with the sedative. You need to start on the other potions for the side effects as well." Poppy peered down at him. "And don't give me that stubborn face. You saw what happened without the sedative. But you aren't getting any potions till you get something to eat. It's soup for you this afternoon."

"That late?" he said. "Talk to Headmaster." Even though the meeting had been a waste of time, nobody knew that but him. Well, and Moody by now. The Order didn't have as much intrigue between individual members as the Death Eaters did, but some days it tried.

"Can it wait till you've eaten a little bit?"

"Better now. Get it over with."

"All right," said Poppy, "but I won't let him stay long. I hope it's a short report." She helped him drink some more water, then summoned a house elf and asked him to fetch the Headmaster first, then go to the kitchens and bring up a bowl of thick soup. Snape closed his eyes and waited.

"Severus?"

He opened his eyes and saw Dumbledore standing by the bed. "Not much happened last night," he said. "Disciplined for being late. Dark Lord angry because the practice wands weren't ready. Accepted my excuse that cores were bad. Probably will check with my supplier. Will find out that's exactly what I said about the blanks on hand. We must have been in Britain, or it shouldn't have mattered. No practice. Dark Lord kept me back, pretends to fuss over me. Said Lestrange and Wormtail are upset over private meetings. Thinks he wants them that way. He said I won'tbe summoned for a week or so because of this new regime. But my apprentices probably will."

The Headmaster's expression didn't change during any of this recital. The old wizard nodded gravely. "Is there some way to warn them?"

"I don't know. It helps to be in the Slytherin Common Room if I use the Mark," Snape said. This apparent detachment on Dumbledore's part was actually helping. It had been foolish of him to hope for comfort last time, or some assurance that he wasn't as vile in soul as he was in looks. It was easy to accept that their relationship wasn't what he'd once imagined it was.

"I will have you taken there tomorrow if you cannot get there under your own power," the Headmaster said.

"Thank you. Oh. He says few mature followers outside of prison. Don 't know if true." Snape was too tired to say much more.

"Sleep if you can," Dumbledore said matter-of-factly, then left the room.

By that time Pomfrey had the soup and fed him. He managed about a quarter of the small bowl before his stomach clenched. He shook his head, and hoped he wouldn't vomit on her.

"I'll put a Warming Charm on it and you can have some more later. Part of this is my fault. After talking with Lowenstein I gave you a half-dose more of the detoxicant with a full one of the sedative."

"You didn't know…summons," he said, hoping she'd understand. Fortunately Poppy was intelligent enough to figure out what he meant nearly all the time. He ought to be thankful that she was here, and not one of the hard-faced harridans at St. Mungo's who had given him the bare minimum of care when he'd left Azkaban, and that grudgingly. He really ought to be kinder to her, and not fuss quite so much.

"But we do now." She ruffled his hair. Fortunately he was too weary to flinch. "Rest."

He obeyed that command and closed his eyes.

Snape felt much better the next day. He gagged down the little food his stomach would allow, and even let Pomfrey give him the detoxicant and the sedative, though he balked at the others. "Let me adjust to these other potions first, Poppy," he said gently when she offered him the appetite enhancer just after breakfast. "All of them combined will really put me flat on my back. Just ask Minerva what she thinks of the effects of the one I've made up for her." Normally he would have thrown a tantrum, but he owed the mediwitch better behavior.

"That actually makes sense," the older woman said. "That's probably why the clinic wants you in residence anyway. I hate to think what would happen if you were summoned again while you were adjusting."

"So do I," he said wryly. Severus dressed with only a little help from Dobby and was able to walk without help to the Slytherin Common Room. His muscles ached, but the Crucio had actually been a fairly light one as the residual pain wasn't nearly as much as he'd expected without being able to take the proper potion for it. Pomfrey had done well to stupefy him, though the idea behind it still bothered him somewhat. He hated being that helpless. But if he couldn't trust Pomfrey, he was out of luck. _Perhaps that ought to be part of the standard treatment for the Cruciatus,_ he thought, _especially if the potion isn't available or can't be used for other reasons._ That spell might even help with the mental distress of a really bad one, since the mind of the victim was allowed to rest during the worst of the physical after-effects. He'd have to talk to Poppy about that this summer. There were effects from the Stupefy spell itself if used too many times, but if anyone underwent _Crucio_ to that degree, that would be the least of their problems.

He shuffled into the Slytherin Common Room and settled himself on the couch closest to the pillar. The upholstery smelled faintly of spilled tea, not-quite-removed sticky candy, and just a touch of sweat from snogging sessions over the years.

Snape touched his Mark with his wand. For some reason he couldn't reach his apprentices today. The acrid taste of the detoxicant mixed with the sweeter one of the sedative in the back of his throat told him the probable reason. He kept trying anyway, till a severe headache warned him that he needed to stop. He finally gave up and went to his own quarters. Dobby had left the fire going; even though it was full summer, the dungeons were chill in contract and Severus welcomed the warmth for once as he wearily sat in the chair closest to the hearth. Perhaps the Dark Lord had meant it when he'd said the apprentices were on their own for a week or so. Was there some way Voldemort could interfere or block the master-to-apprentice link?

He contemplated going to bed and letting Dobby bring him any food or potions he might require. Surely the Headmaster wouldn't ask him to go up to the Great Hall or go out for a walk when he felt like this.

Then Draco's head appeared in the flames. "Professor, are you all right?"

Snape could kick himself. He'd been concentrating so hard on contacting the children through the Mark that he hadn't thought of more mundane means. "Better than I was," he said. "If you recall, I went to the clinic in Switzerland to be tested. They decided I required a regimen, and I started the first dose on the day we were summoned. That, and your aunt's curse, was not a good combination. I hope you realize that you, and probably the rest, will have to suffer a Crucio or two for the sake of discipline."

Young Malfoy looked dismayed. Understandably so. "Is…is that really necessary?"

"That is not for you to decide. Since you are my apprentice, I would normally be the one to determine that. However, I am currently not as powerful as I wish I were. In fact, you and the others may well be ordered to discipline me someday, should I displease the Dark Lord."

"But you weren't that late!"

"That has nothing to do with it. The Dark Lord must balance the factions in our group, especially when it is as small as it is now. Mrs. Lestrange and Mr. Pettigrew are more valuable to him now than we are, and must have that acknowledged from time to time. You sound like a Gryffindor, Draco. Surely you know that justice or fairness have nothing to do with power." Oh, this was better than he dared to hope! The boy might actually think about this situation instead of blindly following his father. It was worth taking a Crucio or two to teach that lesson.

His godson looked mulish. "It's still not right," he said softly.

_Perhaps you should have thought of this before you took the Mark, you dunderhead!_ "It is the path that the Dark Lord has chosen to our goal. I might add that it would be well to keep dangerous thoughts out of any meetings."

"It's _still_ not right. None of it," Draco said in a whisper.

"Especially that one," Snape said tartly. "Anything but public loyalty is extremely perilous. I suggest you might want to talk things over with Mr. Zabini if you persist in believing that mistakes have been made." He chose his words carefully. "I also suggest that such conversations be held away from portraits, ghosts, and house elves."

"I've got a new broom I want to show off…"

Snape hid a smile. "I'm certain you do. Mr. Zabini, as you know, may wish to practice keeping the Quaffle away from a goal to improve his percentage as Keeper. If you wish to assist him, I'm certain he'll be grateful. Also, you and the others may be summoned to the next meeting without me. I suggest that all of you present a united front should that occur. One or more of you may be disciplined anyway to show me that I cannot protect you, but try not to give the Dark Lord an excuse. There is much more to serving him than torturing helpless Muggles or watching them be slaughtered."

Draco looked terrified now. Good. "I…I owled Father about what happened. They let him answer a lot more quickly than I thought they would. He said you must have deserved it somehow. But you didn't! You weren't that late. And it wouldn't do any good for us to get bad practice wands. Even I know it's hard to get unregistered ones, especially as many as we need."

_Keep going, little dragon. Keep wondering what else Lucius is wrong about._ Snape struggled not to show how proud he was of the boy. "Your father is a strong supporter of the Dark Lord," he said. "He is rarely disciplined. In fact, he is often chosen to give reminders to those who require them." He watched the silent conflict in his godson's face for a few minutes, then offered a brief escape from the dilemma. "Don't forget about your studies, either. If Mr. Zabini is there, he may be interested in the Wolfsbane Potion as well. He did quite well, and will be in the advanced class this year along with you."

Draco nodded. "Are you going to have to take more of these new potions?"

"For the next several months. It was the clinic's opinion and someone could squeeze my liver and find out what was in my storage cabinet just from that. I am not enjoying the process so far, as their medication is not pleasant."

The boy made a face. "Mother stopped there just after you left, and said one of the younger wizards there told her that they wanted you to stay for the treatment because it's so hard. When I tried to Floo you yesterday, Madam Pomfrey told me that you were really sick and couldn't talk to anyone. How are you, sir? I mean really."

"Well enough to remind you to look at the packets and book I sent you."

"As if I'm ever going to need it. I mean, besides the bet. Mother told me about that, too."

Snape spoke seriously. "It could all go away, Draco. The Ministry would like nothing better than to strip your family bare, the way it did mine, though I will have to admit that my parents were not especially prudent in the management of what they had left. You could have the responsibility of looking after your mother with no funds to do it with. Unless you are Obliviated, the skills you learn here at Hogwarts are yours forever. They may be all you have if things go wrong. Naturally I would remember my obligation to your family, but I might not be available either."

"I could end up as poor as the Weasleys!" Draco said with real horror on his face.

"Perhaps worse. No matter what, there are a lot of them and they stick together."

"Except Percy," the boy said with a sneer.

"Are you sure that his wish to serve the Dark Lord isn't based on a hidden wish to keep his family safe by siding with the winner? Malfoys have certainly divided their families before in times of turmoil. Remember, your grandfather had several cousins who supported Grindelwald. Were they there to conquer, or to look after family interests?"

His godson looked thoughtful. _Two ideas in one day. That must hurt!_ Snape mused.

Then Draco said, "It'd have to look like he'd broken with them, wouldn't it? Just like Mother entertains people from the Ministry and swears she had no idea what Father was up to. Maybe Weasley isn't as stupid as he looks."

"I don't think any of them are," Snape said, though he still wondered about the youngest boy, chess prodigy or not. "It is always foolish to underestimate an enemy, or more to the point, a possibly ally." He closed his eyes for just a moment. He was so tired of all these games.

"Professor?" Draco's voice was anxious.

Snape opened his eyes again. Surely he hadn't drifted off so quickly. But for just this once he allowed his face to show how much love he felt for his idiot godson. "Yes?"

Young Malfoy's voice was gentle now. "I'm so sorry. You're still really sick and I'm keeping you from getting any rest. I'll have a talk with Zabini in the next couple of days. Is there anything Mother can send from the Manor that might help?"

"No, but thank you. Dobby watches over me as if I were Lucius."

"I miss him," Draco said. "He was always Father's elf, but he took care of me, too. I'm glad he hasn't forgotten that you're part of the family. I'll let Mother know that you need your rest. She'll probably send a basket. I'll tell the other apprentices about the meetings. Well, except Edgecombe and Weasley, of course."

"Tell them if you can," Snape said, gambling. "Neither one has the most diligent sponsor. Miss Edgecombe, in particular, will wish for guidance during the next school year. It would be unfortunate for her to suffer from Madam Lestrange's neglect."

His godson threw back his head and laughed, so much like his father in that moment that it nearly broke Severus' heart. "Of course I will! Oh, godfather, this is beautiful. How can my aunt and Wormtail complain if you're only helping them?"

"Don't worry, they'll find a way," Snape said. "We must be careful, and not appear to steal their apprentices. We must only be humble and wish to serve."

"And everyone will blame you for looking so weak on the potions," Draco said. "Oh, sir, please get better soon. If you can think of this when you're ill, how much better can you do when you're not?"

"If this regime works the way it's supposed to, then…with any luck at all, nobody will find out. At least not till it's far too late."

"I bow to your superior strategy, professor." His godson sketched one in the flames. "But I had best go and do as you wish. I don't know how well I can manage humble, but I promise to give it a try." Draco left the fire, laughter still in his eyes.

Severus lay back in the chair and tried to summon enough strength to get back to bed. Then he felt the small yet muscular arm of a determined house elf. Dobby helped him up, though standing so quickly made him feel faint. Somehow the elf kept him upright despite the disparity in size and propelled him towards the bedroom.

"There, there, Master Severus, you'll sleep better in your own bed. I de-lumped the mattress myself when you were gone. When are you getting a new one?"

The inane chatter distracted him, and he soon found himself in a nightshirt and under the covers in a bed that was big enough to stretch out properly. As a child in Knockturn Alley, he'd made do with a narrow pallet with a thin, hard mattress nearly flattened by age. At Malfoy Manor he was allotted a comfortable boy's bed little better than a servant's, though he'd spent more time than he'd wanted in Lucius' luxurious room. But he had never dared to sleep there. Here at Hogwarts he'd been astounded by the appointments both in his bedchamber and in the bathroom. He'd seen what a prefect's lavatory looked like when Lucius had been his protector, of course, but even those were nothing like the opulence of the bathroom here.

He supposed Dobby was right about the mattress, as it was the one that had come with the room when he'd first gotten here. He'd never bothered to change it, though, since the house elves kept the linen clean, and lumps were nothing. This was a bed he'd never had to share with anyone, and for that reason alone he would cherish it.

Severus sighed and allowed himself to relax. The pain in his muscles from the Crucio was fading rapidly, and his eyes closed. There had been no dreams with the sedative. No doubt he'd soon become habituated and the nightmares would come back, but not today.

Harry Potter

The Olympics began, and Harry forgot everything else for a short while. It felt strange to sit with the Dursleys down in the parlor and actually be a part of things as they watched the tape-delayed opening ceremonies. He reassured himself that nothing had happened, since the Muggles were showing it, and that he didn't have to worry about the Dark Mark rising over the stadium the way it had over the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Uncle Vernon had a lot of nasty comments over the lack of coordination and the gaps between the countries marching in, but Harry was amazed at how many nations there were and that everyone was lined up properly to begin with. Aunt Petunia wondered out loud about them having paper doves instead of real ones. Since Harry had spent the last Olympics up in his room with bars on the window, he had no basis for comparison. In fact, this was the first time he had seen the opening ceremonies at all.

It did shock Harry when he watched Muhammed Ali light the Olympic flame. The fighter, so magnificent in his prime, was only a shell of his former self. Even his eyes lacked the brilliance they'd shown in the earlier fights that Harry had watched on video.

A newer recorder soon appeared in the household that let Harry tape any boxing coverage that was run during the day. Aunt Petunia even went through the newspaper and underlined anything that mentioned boxing. Dudley showed him how to set the timer so the machine would come on to the right channel if Harry had to work outside. In fact, he and Dudley went jogging together sometimes during the day, though probably not as often as they should. Harry imagined what Mad-Eye was saying to the other Aurors about trying to keep up and not having any Muggles notice. In fact, he once spotted Shacklebolt in Muggle athletic gear sweating like anything pretending to be a fellow runner. Tonks took to showing up at odd times with a stopwatch and shaking her head sadly. Dudley would flush red and increase his speed.

At the gym, there was talk of nothing else but how the Brits were doing in the medal count. The Yanks and the Russians were dueling for the top spot of course, though the Chinese were doing unexpectedly well, but the UK was holding its own pretty well given the difference in total population, at least that was Mr. Banks' opinion. The coach's tape that showed the men's coxless pairs getting the gold in rowing nearly got worn to death.

One morning Harry asked permission to turn on the telly during breakfast, just so he could add up the latest tally from the night before as soon as possible. Aunt Petunia was putting on her 'no' face when the telephone rang. Uncle Vernon grumbled as she answered it.

Her face turned white, she thanked the caller, and put the handset down. "Turn on the telly, Harry," she said grimly.

He did so. What was wrong?

They quickly found out. Harry let his food go cold as people ran and screamed in Olympic Park in Atlanta. It was an old nightmare come back alive as far as he was concerned. His face flushed as he heard one of the upper windows explode as he waited for the Dark Mark to appear.

But it didn't. They interviewed a Muggle security guard who had gotten a bragging phone call and gotten as many people away from danger as he could. But it hadn't been enough. Nobody was sure how many had been hurt and how many killed at this point. In fact, there was talk of canceling the rest of the Olympics altogether.

Uncle Vernon stood up. "Well, I still need to go to work. Harry, clean up that glass. You are not to watch any more of this nonsense for the rest of the day. Dudley, you're to make sure he doesn't."

"Aren't you going to blame any of it on us freaks?" Harry said bitterly, then panicked. He knew better than to mouth off like that.

"I wish I could, lad, but this was going on before you were born. Us 'Muggles' can manage some very nasty things on our own. You might ask your coach about the 1972 Olympics in Munich." Uncle Vernon blinked. Harry was amazed. He could tell his uncle was truly frightened. "If this were a gangster movie, I would tell you to go start up the car instead of me," his uncle said with grim humor. "But there is work to be done, and I daresay I'll need to do it while everyone else is maundering about whether the Yanks will panic and cancel everything."

Once he was gone, Petunia had him clean up the kitchen while she and Dudley went to the parlor to watch the telly. "Don't come in here," she said clearly, as if for the benefit of invisible listeners. "All your chores today will be in the front garden, though. Those weeds are gaining on the rest quite fiercely. I expect them to be gone by noon, if possible. Go clean up the glass first, though. That could be dangerous."

He realized what she was up to as she 'accidentally' left the parlor window open and the sound a bit up on the telly. It was easier to listen to the commentary, actually, than to have to watch the terror on the faces of the people who'd been inside the Park that late at night.

Harry calmed down a little with the weeding. Things turned out bad, but not as bad as people had thought at the very beginning. There was talk of the Munich Olympics and the terrible things that had happened to the Israeli team. _I thought the Muggle world was safe,_ Harry mused. _I thought that was where my aunt and uncle bored each other to death and Dudley played Harry-Hunting whenever he was bored, too. Bad things only happened in movies. But it's real. It's always been real. Even if I left Hogwarts and the Wizarding World just to get away from Voldemort, I could get blown up by a Muggle bomb just for being in the wrong place, or end up in the Army and get sent to some horrible desert somewhere, the way Dudley's friend Piers said his older brother did the year before I went to Hogwarts._ Strange how he was remembering all this now. He hadn't paid as much attention to the Muggle news as he thought, because he'd been looking so hard to find out what the wizards and witches were doing. When he'd been in regular school, before Hogwarts, some elderly locals had come in to talk about what happened to Surrey in the Blitz. Even more often, he'd overhead war movies with their blasting weapons and screams from the wounded. _Maybe the Muggles aren't as helpless as everybody else in the Wizarding World thinks they are. Maybe I ought to write Hermione and ask her. She probably knows a lot more about it than I do._

He realized, then, that at least one person had died in this bombing, and several had been injured. A few people had been turned upside down during the Quidditch Cup in his fourth year, but nothing more than that, but that had been enough to get everyone quite upset. The TriWizard Tournament had been riskier, but even then less blood had been shed than during almost every night on the Muggle news. His relatives would think the Ministry Raid nothing much at all, in terms of numbers.

Funny. He'd always thought of this other world as far safer. Even Arthur Weasley, who _liked_ Muggles, spoke of them as if they were helpless. _Maybe it would serve Voldemort right if he did have to fight them!_ Harry thought. Even if electricity and electronics didn't work well, a bomb dropped from thirty thousand feet could be guided to the right spot well out of the reach of anyone who wanted to Imperio the pilot. The explosives could be stopped, he supposed, but the casing and all would still make a pretty big hole anywhere it landed.

Was the Order protecting the Wizarding World from the Muggles as well as from Voldemort? How do you fight and win a war while hiding it from everyone else?

That night, Uncle Vernon allowed both Harry and Dudley to go to the gym. "I hope all you lads have a good talk and get over this," he said, clearly thinking of the price of a new window.

Harry ducked his head. "Sorry, sir."

"We've been through worse," Vernon said morosely. "I still have neighbors asking if they really saw a flying car some years back. I've always told them it was a film company trying out a new special effect and they'd got the wrong address. We won't even talk about that horrible little green person. House elf, indeed. More like one of those nasty gremlins Pet and I saw in a cinema. I suppose I ought to be lucky it was just a window. I feel some days as if I'm in that silly Amityville movie. The contractors just laugh when they hear my stories any more."

"Didn't know it was that bad, sir," Harry said, meek for once.

"Get in the car. You, too, Dudley. Your aunt and I could use a bit of quiet."

Instead of pairing off and sparring at the gym, they all sat together and had a long talk. Many of the boys had horrible stories of relatives caught in the London Underground or in some other disaster, including IRA bombings and shootings. _My parents were murdered,_ Harry thought. But here he thought he'd best go with the story of them dying in a car crash. Once more he saw the green flash of the death-spell and the high, chilling laughter of Voldemort. Duds sat next to him all during the talk, though, instead of with the older boys.

"I remember the Dementor," his cousin said in a whisper.

"What did you see?" Harry asked.

"Mum and Dad trying to fight off nasty blokes in black robes and silver masks," Dudley said in a quiet voice. "Dad falling over dead. Mum in the kitchen, and a lot of knives flying…"

"Oh. Sorry to ask," he said.

"Nah. Just glad you got it off me. Why'd you go spare this morning?"

"I told you about Cedric dying. It was a tournament like the Olympics. I saw it." Harry heard the high voice saying, _"Kill the spare,"_ again. "It was my fault." Just like Sirius Black's death. "This last year, I thought I was going to rescue somebody, only he died, too, trying to rescue me because I wouldn't listen to anybody. I have to stop being stupid."

"Good luck!" Dudley snorted.

Harry laughed, a little. For once he knew his cousin didn't mean it the way it sounded. Then everyone perked up as Mr. Banks announced that the U.S. Olympic committee had decided that the Games _would_ go on after all. That brought a ragged cheer from all the boys. "Now," he said, "You've sat around idle for long enough. Go show those punching bags that you haven't given up either!"

Harry was glad to do so. Maybe the more he worked out, the less glass would break.

Further Author's Note: From what I recall, the marching-in of the nations at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics was awkward at best, with extra gaps. As for the paper doves, I blame it all on Jeff Foxworthy (US comedian). As soon as the IOC had chosen Atlanta, he added to his routine a bit about some good ol' boys sitting out in the parking lot with shotguns. Apparently some officials actually took him seriously, as there were paper doves being held on wires and waved around by a couple of youth groups, instead of the real doves released in previous ceremonies. (I highly recommend Jeff Foxworthy, by the way. Let's just say I know some of those people, even though I live in the Pacific Northwest).


	15. Chapter 15: Memories and Dreams

The Birthday Present

By excessivelyperky

Rowling: Her pitch, her Snitch, her Quaffle. I'm just refereeing this time.

Author's Note: Yes, it's taken this long, but you finally find out what Harry Potter actually gets for his birthday. Thanks for the patience and for all the reviews. Lots more chapters to come. Also, I would like to mention that Snape's timeline is slightly behind that of Harry Potter's.

Chapter 15: Memories and Dreams

Severus Snape

The next day he had two deliveries, one a fancy fruit basket suitable for invalids, and the other a carefully-packed ceramic dish with a cover. He wasn't really strong enough to properly deal with either one, but there was no choice. Potter's birthday would come all too soon. _Maybe I won't mind those wretched nightmares coming back so much if I know I've done my best,_ he thought. He ignored the basket, and Narcissa's note, on the fireplace mantel, and opened the box that held the empty pensieve.

Snape looked up as he heard McGonagall's footsteps coming up to her door. "Come in, it's unlocked," he said impatiently as she knocked. He tried to stifle his ill temper. None of this was her fault. He rose to greet her as she entered his parlor.

Minerva came in and looked at the pensieve. "You know, a new one always looks different to me than one that's been used, even if both are the same color. I don't know what it is, but I've never had trouble spotting the difference. What happened? Fill up the old one?"

"This one is for Mr. Potter. He _must_ learn Occlumency, and using a pensieve is part of it." If having this thing around reminded the boy of that and increased the brat's willingness to learn a few things, it would be worth the trouble.

"Won't do him much good since he's underage," she observed.

"You might be surprised," Severus said, thinking of the memory that the boy had come across last year. He had an idea. Why not hide his memories of Lily away in this new pensieve, when they would be more appreciated than in his mind or in Dumbledore's pensieve? The first thing the boy would do when he received this would be to find out what was in it.

"Perhaps you're right," McGonagall said, putting her hand on his shoulder. At least she hadn't surprised him with her touch. "This might be what Harry needs. The Headmaster was upset when you stopped the lessons, but he doesn't realize what the boy was like last year. You weren't the only one who despaired of him, though I still blame Umbridge for most of it. But the two of you have never got along, and Albus persists in making you work together anyway."

"I can but try," he said, using his most doleful martyred tone of voice.

Minerva laughed, and sat down in the extra chair. She'd long had the privilege of inviting herself down here. Snape sat down as well.

"I have to say how proud of you I am by how much you've done for the Order this summer," she began.

"Three meetings and not a word of what the Dark Lord's plans are, unless he means it about sinking back under the horizon till the latest crisis passes," Snape said. "A huge waste of time, if you ask me."

"You warned Albus about the ink. That's worth a lot right there. I've also seen how hard you've worked to hold in your temper since the children left."

"It's been hard on the glassware and some of the trees, too." Severus grimaced. "Sprout may never forgive me. I'm surprised Peeves isn't harassing me for creating a rival."

"Well, I'm really here to ask you a favor," she said bluntly. "I wrote a note to Miss Granger's parents asking them to let me know about her health at the beginning of this summer. I didn't mention the Ministry Raid, because I don't know how much she's telling them. However, I received a letter from them this morning. She fell ill with a minor Muggle disease a couple of weeks ago, but hasn't gotten over it yet. They're concerned because it's taking her longer than it ought for her to recover. Apparently she's been tested by their own doctors and can't seem to pin down the cause."

"I was afraid of that," Snape said. "The potions she needed because of Dolohov's spell kept her from liquefying, but at the cost of her immune system. There are potions to cure that, too, now that she's completely over the curse, but they have to be freshly made and consumed no later than a day after they're done brewing."

"I hate to add to your workload, Severus, especially when you're just back on your feet from starting potions of your own," she said. "Poppy told me how sick they made you."

He nodded. He still hoped he could keep the mediwitch from putting him on the full course. "As the Muggles say, wait, there's more," he replied. "She mustn't overwork this coming year. And I'm not the only one who should spend more time outside, weather permitting. Hooch muttered something about a Remedial Brooms course last week."

"I had a proposed schedule for her done up already," said McGonagall.

"Better for her to take it easy this year than be forced to do so during her NEWTS," he riposted. "This year the handicappers are putting all their money on Ravenclaw anyway, and Miss Chang in particular." The staff always made small wagers on both the OWLS and the NEWTS. Severus had lost a few Galleons on Longbottom when the boy had failed to blow anything up during his test. Nobody had wagered on the boy making an O, or if anyone had, they certainly had had more sense than let the Potions Master know about it.

"If Miss Chang's nerves hold up," Minerva said cynically.

"Quidditch apparently helps them," Snape said. "And her since her brief, ill-fated relationship with Mr. Potter has disintegrated, her mind will be on her work."

"A pity about Mr. Diggory. He was good to her and for her."

"Yes." Snape still had the occasional nightmare where he heard the Dark Lord's voice calling, "Kill the spare." He almost had to break cover entirely to save Mr. Potter. In some ways, he wished he had. But then, twelve other idiots would have no protector if he had finally gained his own freedom. He sighed. "I'll have the first potion ready to send out tomorrow after I talk with Poppy. Besides, I have a bet with Magister Lowenstein. I'll need Miss Granger to help me win it, as well as Malfoy. I just wish he would pay attention to his studies for their own sake and not just because he wants to please his father."

"I can't argue with that," McGonagall said. "And…if you need help, don't hesitate to ask. You must watch your own health these days. I'm so glad you're training Winky. It's more effort now, but she seems to be learning quickly. The other elves say she's drinking much less butterbeer these days."

"I hope it's always that simple. If she has that longing, there are always good times and bad," Severus said, who had seen his mother a prisoner of the bottle. "She still grieves for her Barty, but knows that everyone else hated him. That's always difficult. My cabinet is full of things that are much worse for her than butterbeer."

Minerva nodded. "I know. I know how you tried to talk to Trelawney last year, too. If Winky doesn't work out, let me know and we'll find someone else. Albus is giving me more to do these days, and frankly, it's about time. I hated being treated like an invalid."

"You shouldn't overwork next year either," he said. "I know you finally finished those potions, but I plan to brew another batch and have them available if you feel unwell again. I'm still sorry about the taste, but they're Soothing Draughts compared to the horrible stuff the Swiss are sending me."

"How are you managing with them now?"

"The sedative with the half-dose of the detoxicant still leaves me groggy, but I suppose it's better than the alternative. Since I have to choke down some food each time, I may end up eating enough for a change. Nothing tastes decent, though. They'd put Hagrid off his feed."

"If there is something you really want, don't be afraid to inconvenience the kitchen. You know the elves there thrive on impossible challenges like you. Speaking of challenges, Sybil will be back in a couple of weeks. It'll be interesting to see what she makes of Muggle studies."

Snape grimaced. "I suppose it'll have to be an improvement on Divination. She certainly couldn't do worse." Potter wasn't the only one tired of hearing predictions of death. He didn't care for the way Firenze looked at him, either, though the centaur had the decency to keep any gloom and doom to himself like a gentleman.

"It would certainly be an easy class for Miss Granger," Minerva said.

"She would either flounce out of it in a huff or end up teaching it. Either way the rest of us should find it amusing."

McGonagall smiled. "I'll inflict Remedial Brooms on her first. That reminds me, Miss Lovegood is going to have a conflict with her class in Transfiguration because you wanted her in Advanced Potions ahead of schedule."

"That depends on if she can pass her OWL early. I've set up an appointment with the Ministry at the first of the year for both her and Mr. Weasley, since they're making decent progress so far. No doubt Mr. Weasley's mother can provide motivation beyond my own poor abilities." Severus felt better just imagining it.

"I'll work out something," Minerva said. "I talked with Flitwick and he thought it was a good idea for her to be a little more challenged. I once thought Mr. Zabini was falling asleep in class, and grilled him thoroughly, only to find out he could recite nearly everything I said from memory, and manage the practical as well. He doesn't show off like Mr. Malfoy, or I hate to say it, Miss Granger, but he does show potential. If he would only push himself a bit—oh, dear."

Snape knew what she'd remembered. "He is fully exerting himself as far as I can tell, though mostly on the subject of staying alive." It felt odd to speak of one of his apprentices in a normal fashion, given that Minerva knew what Zabini had done. "I suspect he is too frightened to drop back into his usual apathetic exterior once he returns here, but I suppose we shall have to wait and see."

"It must be dreadful for you," the Transfiguration professor murmured. "I only had one night of fretting over Percy Weasley before you were able to reassure me that he was spying for Moody, though _that_ worries me as well."

"It should," he said bluntly.

"I also want to let you know how much I appreciate the extra effort you've taken over young Mr. Weasley. A pity that Harry's home situation does not allow him the same opportunities. The rumor is that he's taking an athletic class instead of spending that time in study," she said, obviously unhappy.

_Any time spent away from that place is probably as welcome to Mr. Potter as getting out of 12 Grimmauld Place was to Black,_ Snape thought. "I heard Moody was complaining about something," he said.

She snorted, then began to stand up. Severus followed her, though for a moment he rather wished he hadn't. "Oh, sit down," she said. "After dumping more work on you, I daresay I ought to let you go about it. Or go back to bed and get some rest. Miss Granger isn't terribly sick, just not getting better very fast, and you were quite ill yesterday and the day before. If you can't get the potions for the girl done, let me know. I have a little stash that's not on the budget. Since I made most of it betting on my team at Quidditch, it's only fair you should see some of the benefit."

"Especially since most of it probably used to belong to me," he shot back, but not maliciously. His relationship with the Deputy Headmistress was not as deep as the one he had believed he'd had with Dumbledore, but it was holding up a good deal better.

"Can I help if it you keep betting on those Snakes of yours?" she said with a laugh, then sobered. "But you need to take care of yourself before you can watch over them properly. Have you heard anything about Mr. Montague?"

"Still no change." He was stunned that McGonagall had asked. The twins were heroes to the school now, and everyone had forgotten what they'd done to the Slytherin prefect. He knew better than to mention it, though. Nobody thought the boy would recover now.

"As much as I loathed Umbridge, I don't like the precedent," Minerva said, "even though I was so angry at the time myself that I helped Peeves cover their escape."

"If it's a consolation, I doubt any punishment would make the two of them care. As for the precedent, it's a long established one, at least from my point of view. I know it's petty," he said. "And I know I've been worse with the point system than almost anyone else. But name me a Gryffindor who has been hurt so badly by a Slytherin and that student walk away with so little punishment. And I'm sure Madam Pomfrey has kept plenty of records in regards to Quidditch. She loathes the game." Then he quickly added, "But I've never blamed you for that."

McGonagall bit her lip. "I must admit, I find it difficult to class the twins being expelled as a real punishment. They certainly didn't take it that way. I wish I hadn't brought Miss Granger up, now."

"_Their_ health is Order business now, and not just that of the school," he said. "The same goes for yours." There was no point in asking any Gryffindor to care that much about one of his Slytherins. He should stop trying.

"And the Headmaster's, too, not to mention your own," Minerva added. "Please get some rest, Severus. And let Dobby help, too. He really is worried about you."

"I know better than to get between a house elf and what he perceives as his duty," Snape said as she left. Once she was gone, he sat down wearily and started making a list. The pensieve had to be prepared and sent off first. Miss Granger was not in danger, or Minerva would have said so. Once he'd put all the memories he wished in the new pensieve, he'd send the article up to the Headmaster and allow him to arrange delivery. No doubt it would be sent to the Burrow since Potter's owl was known to take parcels from there to the boy, especially during the summer. After that he would begin work on the Strengthening Potion for Miss Granger, and by the time that was done, young Mr. Weasley might have another summer lesson ready to grade. That was the Trio accounted for. He hoped he would be allowed time to worry about his own students, but that would depend on when the extra wands were done. Wait, he'd almost forgotten. McGonagall would likely need more of her own potions, especially if the Headmaster was giving her more to do.

He locked and warded the entrance to his quarters, then retired to his bedroom with both pensieves, the old and the new. In his current state, he might be weaker than he currently assumed once this memory work was done. At least he had those wretched Swiss potions to blame any illness on. Perhaps this regime would be more convenient in that respect than he'd thought at the beginning.

He sat in front of his bedroom hearth in a stuffed chair, the pensieve in his lap. After a moment's thought he placed a spell on the flames to transfer Floo callers to the fireplace in the parlor. Then Severus visualized his House of Memory. As long as he had to poke around for the memories that weakened him, he may as well reinforce his walls and build new ones. He had given up his feelings far too easily the night he'd murdered that tramp, and look at the results. Neither Dumbledore nor the Dark Lord would be blocked by a blank wall. Both only increased their power when either one met with such resistance. It was past time he set up distractions for the Headmaster, too, so the old man would see what he wanted to see the next time. That method had worked over a year with Voldemort.

But first he decorated the hall that he normally showed the Dark Lord. Full of anger and resentment, the mental structure contained many scenes from his home and at Hogwarts. Since his House of Memory was based on the school itself, it was child's play to remember so much that had happened here and leave it on display for Riddle's amusement. To reach the Knockturn Alley section of his mind, one had to step past the werewolf in the illusory Shrieking Shack. Neither one of his masters usually bothered, for which he was grateful.

Yes, there was the lawn where Potter and his friends had turned him upside down, stripped him, and nearly choked him to death while everyone looked on uncaring except for Evans—and then he himself had driven the girl away angrily, preferring public torture to the humiliation of being rescued by a girl. Fortunately he'd pulled Potter's son from the memory before his former self had been totally debagged.

It had not been difficult to fill this portion of his House of Memory with things that would bolster his apparent loyalty to the Dark Lord.

At a later date, he would have to decide how to pack some of these memories away permanently. For now, though, he needed to look for those to give to the Boy Who Lived To Hate Him. _But I brought that on myself,_ he thought. _Just as I brought Lily's anger on me._

Snape 'walked' into the Great Hall inside his mind and found the first one. Lucius had taken him as a guest to James' and Lily's wedding to rub it in that he had no friends outside of the Malfoys and their followers. Severus watched it happen again, seeing his dream-self standing in a corner and hiding from the ruin of his hopes. Once more his stomach turned when he saw the greedy look that Lucius had turned on him, as if he'd been a box from Honeydukes.

He stepped forward from his vantage point and _squeezed_ the memory, so that only a pair of golden wedding rings lay on the Head Table to symbolize the ceremony. Snape put those into his 'pocket' and moved on.

He wandered through his mental landscape of the school in search of other memories that he could give to Potter. Out on the Quidditch field James Potter and his friends flew like ravens seeking their prey. No doubt the boy would enjoy the sight. The more harmless memories of the Marauders were pale ghosts in his mind compared the ones that hurt, but they still existed. Severus gathered as many as he could, and put them together in a toy broom.

He avoided Slytherin Tower. There were too many there that no one should see. Snape knew he would have to confront them later, but not today.

Severus found the room that he'd made for himself in this construction, which physically looked like his office in the dungeons. Once he'd thought to create a sanctuary where only happy recollections were allowed, but he hadn't kept it up. The place still held symbols of things and times that he had enjoyed.

Perhaps it had been too long since he'd visited the place. It was likely the Headmaster would be distracted if led past this room the next time the older wizard decided not even Veritaserum was good enough. Snape had learned to move the shadows of his mind in front of things he must conceal even as the Dark Lord crashed through the gates. It was time he applied that knowledge to safeguard himself from Dumbledore as well.

He found himself lingering over one item or another, recalling the joy he'd once felt as he glanced around the 'room'. A silver cauldron sat in one corner, signifying the honor of being made a Potions Master at an absurdly early age. A dusty doll sat on a shelf, the outer shell of a matryoshka that held other, smaller dolls inside. A pity he'd never been able to find all the parts of the real one his mother had once owned. It appeared whole, but the tiny angel that went in its center was still missing. It had taken him years searching for the rest of the dolls that fit together in various places, mainly in Knockturn Alley, and he hadn't given up yet.

Snape was glad he'd rescued the image from the part of his mind that held the old apartment and set it up here, much like he had the real thing. His mother deserved better than to spend any time in that hideous place.

He looked at other symbols, too. No doubt the Headmaster would enjoy trying to decipher them all, especially the ham sandwich wrapped in wax paper that held the nurturing warmth of Molly Weasley's care for him last year. That had been months ago. How long had it been since he'd felt real joy at anything? But the one that Severus had really come for lay in a place of honor on the mantel. He lifted the blossoming rose that held two emeralds inside its crimson glory carefully, but some of the petals fell to the floor.

It was just as well, really. If—no, when he died all his memories of Lily would perish with him. The boy deserved to know as much about his mother after having seen some of the bad about his father. Snape knew he would take some strands of the past with him to his grave, and after, but the rest could go to her son.

The rings, the tiny broom, and the rose were the symbols he would hold in his mind till he surfaced to the real world beyond. He added some others as he wandered through the crowded rooms of the Hogwarts of his mind. From one class he plucked a beaker, used to make the Harmonia potion. From another, he took a book he'd once seen Lily Evans check out, and had later borrowed himself just to know her fingers had touched it. Severus even wandered out to the fringes of the Forbidden Forest for a wisp of black dog hair, for the moonlit night he'd once seen the mastiff chasing a stag.

It was quite a change to look only for the good memories. He decided to keep a few of them for himself. He left their symbols in his imaginary office, hoping he would have the time and inclinations to revisit them.

Just before he left, he bent down and gently picked up the few remaining petals of Lily's rose and left them on his desk. She had never been his and was gone forever, but her existence still meant something to him now. _I wish Harry had been sorted into Slytherin,_ he thought. _If nothing else, I could have helped him with those wretched Muggles. At least it appears he has the evenings away from them this summer. Besides, anything that inconveniences Mad-Eye almost has to be good._

Severus opened his eyes. For a moment he expected to find the things he'd taken from his memories in his pockets. He opened the new pensieve. It had the grayish medium required to hold the thoughts and keep them from escaping whenever the lid was lifted, but no silver threads offered any glint. He lifted his wand to his forehead and thought of the rings. He was better off without _that_ memory. Watching her go to James Potter was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. _I hope he was never cruel to her. I hope he loved her the way she deserved._

A pity that that Black had backed down when he'd confronted the dog at the punchbowl over Lily's sister. He would have welcomed an opportunity to lash out at anyone that day.

Snape sighed, and let it go as the silvery thread wound itself around the wand, as if it were a strand of spaghetti. Then he directed the point of his wand to the pensieve and murmured the spell that would direct it into the pensieve. The tiny silver snake of his thought went into the small gray sea as if heading for a burrow.

He lifted his wand again, and thought of the rose. Quite a few thoughts tried to come out at once. Severus carefully ordered them to come out one at a time. One might do damage to oneself moving too many ideas simultaneously.

Once all the memories associated with the rose were disposed of, he brought out the other pensieve and pulled back the threads associated with Lily he'd put in there already. He imagined her green eyes and they came flocking to him, though he was forced to examine each one to make sure he hadn't accidentally called any of the Headmaster's memories of her as well. Snape couldn't imagine why Dumbledore would put anything concerned with her away;admittedly, the older wizard probably wouldn't mind such a donation, but it wouldn't be right. These memories were _his_ gift.

Working with the other pensieve reminded him that he really needed something of his own to store the memories that he'd had to keep hidden from the boy during the Occlumency lessons. Snape knew why it had taken so long for him to think of removing his own thoughts from another's pensieve—he'd _wanted_ Albus to see some of what he'd endured. Well, that had certainly been a stupid idea. The Headmaster despised him even more than before. Today was not the day for it, but soon he would have to remove his trash and find someplace else to store it.

Now it was time to put more in the Potter boy's present. He set down the older pensieve and picked up the newer one, then put the wand to his head and thought of the tiny broom. That was slightly more unpleasant, as even the thought of James Potter, no matter how inoffensive at any given moment, forced other recollections to crowd in. He was tempted to add those as well, but that was unnecessary. No doubt the brat had heard plenty from his beloved godfather about the glorious Marauders and their triumphs against the evil Snivellus.

It was surprising that Harry hadn't started using the nickname again. Snape knew he could have put a stop to it being used in public, but that wouldn't keep it from circulating behind his back. Severus put his wand down for a moment, overwhelmed by the past. _I wish I'd hidden better on the train back to Hogwarts just after my parents died. I wish I hadn't gone back to Hogwarts at all._ At the time he'd thought it was a miracle he could go, and after that terrible year was over, how lucky it was to be taken in by the Malfoys. Wrong on both counts.

He hadn't expected to be caught weeping by the Marauders on the way in on the train ride. He had almost retreated back to the ghastly silence he'd been trapped in after his parents' deaths, and to that little white room in St. Mungo's he'd been taken to once the reporter had found him there in the apartment. The people there had been kind, at least in comparison to his later treatment. And the reporters at the Prophet had let him stay on a couch once he'd been released. The staff had even passed the hat for books and a second-hand robe that didn't rise above his ankles.

If only the Marauders hadn't found him on the train when he'd been missing his parents, no matter how much they'd fought.

Snape wiped his eyes. _Only happy memories now,_ he reminded himself. _I found out for myself how few the boy has of those. Damn, it was easier when I could tell myself he was just another arrogant princeling the way his father had been!_

Visualizing the wisp of dog hair, unfortunately, also brought back the Shrieking Shack. Severus had to get up and walk around to clear his mind. Nobody deserved that memory.

Once he remembered the beaker and the book, things went better. The recollections of the classes and the library weren't too bad most of the time. Sorting through them brought back a few other good times as well. Snape dropped them all in. The ones he wanted to keep were already in a safe place.

At last he was done. He closed the pensieve and carefully wrapped it, while putting the Headmaster's one away in a cabinet. He felt shaky and empty, as if he'd had too much of the detoxicant again. Severus lay down, feeling he had better rest before starting on any potions. The way he was now, he'd likely fall asleep during the long part of the Wolfsbane Potion.

Just as he was dozing off on top of the bedcovers, of course, Dobby showed up. No wards in this place or any that he knew of could keep a determined house elf out. Perhaps he ought to follow that thought further once he could think more clearly. He grimly ate and drank, then took one of several daily doses along with the sticky sedative, though Snape only sipped at that. Dobby stayed, on Madam Pomfrey's orders, to offer assistance if needed. Unfortunately, this was one of the times. No doubt it was because he'd tried to skimp on the sedative. The house elf escorted him to the bathroom, though he stayed on the other side of the door.

After Snape was done purging himself, he sat for a little while longer. He'd taken up the American habit of leaving something beside the toilet to read, since he was going to spend so much time there. He sipped from the carafe of plain water also left nearby to keep from getting dehydrated.

Dobby knocked. Severus reassured the elf that he wasn't that sick, just tired. After he thought he was through, he left the lavatory and went back to the bedroom. Fresh water also stood in a carafe on the small night table. It was just as well that Dobby was there, though, as Snape became dizzy and was lucky to have the bed so close. _And this is just the first phase,_ he thought. _How am I going to manage once I begin expelling the poisons?_

After a moment of lying across the bed, he was able to sit up and get his clothes off, as they were now dripping with sweat. Dobby helped him change into a fresh set. "Thank you, Dobby," Severus said. "When you go, please take the package on top of the chest and give it to the Headmaster. It is a birthday present for Harry Potter. It will probably go to the Burrow so it can sent to him with all the other gifts."

The elf took his right hand and kissed it. "Oh, Master Severus! Dobby is so glad! Dobby must tell the wonderful Harry Potter how grateful he should be to you!"

"No. It's supposed to be a secret," Snape said, vaguely disgusted by the hand kissing. "Mr. Potter might not accept it if he knew it was from me."

"Master Severus is right, as always: Dobby said, looking sad. "Master Harry is angry all last year. Angry boys do stupid things."

"So do angry men," Snape said. "In about an hour, please ask Winky to come here. I must begin work on a potion soon. One of the students is ill and isn't getting well. Miss Book-Girl was hurt badly last spring and still has problems, while Mistress Green-Eyes must stay strong so she can help the Headmaster more." He knew he shouldn't use the elf nicknames for people he knew, but some of them were _so_ apt. The one they had for Mr. Longbottom had almost slipped from his own tongue a couple of times.

"You should rest longer than that, Master Severus," Dobby said reproachfully.

"Winky will be the one doing the work. I will merely direct her." He hoped he was right about that.

"Oh, good! Winky is happier these days, tells the other elves what she does for you. She practices cutting things up with the food."

Snape thought he'd noticed some rather odd shapes on the vegetables lately. "She is doing the right thing, and you may tell her so." Despite his oddness and unusual air of independence, Lucius' former elf had somehow ended up with a certain amount of authority over the other house elves. He planned to take advantage of it.

Dobby snuffled with joy and took the pensieve with him as he disappeared.

Severus lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes. _I'd better wait till I become stronger before I do anything about the memories I must get rid of. I still don't know where to put them. I'd like to have a _few _secrets from the Headmaster. I must put them where neither one of my masters will bother to look. Is there such a place?_

With that he allowed himself to fall asleep.

Harry Potter

And then it was his birthday. Aunt Petunia actually made him a cake this year. It was out of some diet cookbook, but it was still a cake. He couldn't believe it. And he _really_ couldn't believe it when he opened a box from them with a pair of boxing gloves in it that were almost new. Uncle Vernon didn't even get mad. It felt weird, as if he'd stepped into the wrong house, or something. Without thinking about what he was doing he gave each one a hug.

Then, of course, Hedwig showed up with three different packages. He knew that was going to ruin everything. But Uncle Vernon turned only a little bit red, and Aunt Petunia pursed her lips, but didn't say anything. Dudley just said, "Open them! I want to see what they are!"

Harry really didn't want to do that, and wished the owl had come up later to his room. But Duds hadn't been too awful to him this summer, so he supposed it couldn't hurt.

The first one was from Hermione. _Oh, goodie, my very own version of Hogwarts: a History_. That would guarantee him hours of boredom. Well, it'd certainly help him to get to sleep at night. That is, if the summer homework still up in his room didn't work.

The second package was from Ron, and it was a huge box of sweets from Honeyduke's. Dudley opened his mouth for a moment, but closed it when Aunt Petunia gave him a Look. His cousin seemed frightened for a moment, and Harry remember the Ton-Tongue Toffee. Harry had thought it was pretty funny at the time, but it hadn't been for Dudley. Still, if it kept his whale of a cousin out of his stuff, he wouldn't mind talking a bit about what the twins were up to and see if Dudley got the hint.

The third, and last, turned out to be a beautiful ceramic dish with a lid. _Oh, Dumbledore didn't forget me after all,_ Harry thought, _even after I yelled at him and broke everything in his office._ Considering this was the first present from the Headmaster ever sent to his home, maybe he should have done it years ago! But he couldn't get mad about that now. He lifted the top and a silvery goo churned inside. _It's a pensieve. But I won't be able to learn how to use it till I get back to Hogwarts._ Just knowing that Dumbledore had thought about him lifted his heart.

"What is it?" Dudley asked. "Is that something to drink in there?"

His aunt put the top back on the pensieve. "No," she said softly. "Take very good care of this, Harry. You had best take all this up to your room."

Uncle Vernon began clouding up a bit, till Petunia suggested turning on the telly and seeing more Olympics. "Perhaps they'll show some of the gymnastics tonight," she added. "There's an Italian lad on the rings that's said to be very good."

"I don't see why you like looking at those nancy-boys, myself," Vernon said, though he seemed less angry than he was a moment earlier.

"Nothing wrong with their muscles," she said. "Why do you think I've been watching the boxing along with you?" Petunia leaned over and patted her husband's hand. "Now let's have a nice evening. Besides, both boys have to go in less than an hour."

That cheered up his uncle quite a bit, Harry noticed. He picked up all his presents and took them up to his room. He raised the plank and put the book and the pensieve in the cubby, but left the Honeydukes box out. If Dudley got into that, he wouldn't search for anything else.

That night at the gym something fell together and the techniques he'd been taught so far became real, not just something to practice. During the sparring, he felt as if he were covered in ice and watching himself fight. None of the blows the other fellows landed made much impact, while his anger was finally channeled into combinations of punches, the way he'd thought of combinations of spells last year with the DA. _Kill or be killed,_ he thought. _Voldemort won't give up, but neither will I._

For a moment he saw someone with green hair out where some of the parents and onlookers sat. That really got him going. He definitely didn't want Tonks to see him screw up!

Afterwards, Mr. Banks took him aside. "I have to say, Mr. Potter, that you have improved a great deal, as has your cousin Dudley. I don't normally do this with walk-ons, but I've sent both your names in for a little amateur bout. Here's the paperwork that you need."

"Wow." Harry looked at the forms. Releases, blank medical certificate—then he realized that he'd need to be away from the Dursley house for most of a weekend. He'd need to talk to Tonks, Shacklebolt, or Moody to find out if he was still protected if he stuck around Dudley. That hadn't stopped the Dementors—but it'd been sent by the Ministry, not Voldemort. So far there hadn't been any problems. He'd always gone to the gym with Dudley in the car, and straight back again to the house. Well, except for a bit of standing around and devouring ice cream, but Dudley was the only one risking trouble there.

Oh, how he wanted to go! He thanked the coach and decided he would anyway. After all, most of the Death Eaters, including Malfoy's father, were in Azkaban. He'd heard Umbridge was on extended leave by reading a gossip column in the Quibbler. If he could talk Moody into this, he shouldn't have any trouble with the rest.

Aunt Petunia looked sad as she ruffled through the papers that night as the two of them sat in the kitchen. "You know you can't, Harry." Uncle Vernon was watching the telly, while Dudley had his computer on, his speakers loud enough to let the world know he was mowing down orcs.

"But with Dudley there, too, then you'd be able to watch him without having to leave me with Mrs. Figg," he said, "or worry what I'm getting into while I'm by myself. Let me talk to a couple of people first, and find out if it'll be all right with them." He thought he was doing well to consider the possible dangers first. "The coach thinks both of us are good, Aunt Petunia. If you and Uncle Vernon are there, too, then we should all be pretty safe."

His aunt stared out into space. "We haven't had a weekend away all summer. Maybe if we all stayed in the same hotel and some of your friends watched out…"

"That would be great!" It felt funny to talk with her like she was a real person. Even Uncle Vernon hadn't been too awful this summer.

"Now up to bed, Harry," Petunia said. "And you, too, Dudley!" she shouted up the stairs. "You're both to get enough sleep."

He obeyed. At least he _was_ sleeping properly for a change, unlike last summer or the first of this one. It was a surprise, really. He'd expected nightmares about the raid on the Department of Mysteries the way he'd had nightmares about Cedric the year before. Losing Sirius Black still weighed heavily on his heart, but he didn't want to cry all the time any more.

True, he still had the occasional dream where Snape got what he truly deserved, but he didn't count those as nightmares.

Harry got ready for bed. He was really excited about the chance at a real bout, and couldn't sleep right away. He was already full, so left the sweets alone for a change. What a strange summer to be treated almost decently _here_!

He wasn't quite desperate enough for Hermione's gift or any homework. He took another look at the pensieve. It looked a lot like the one he'd seen before. Maybe it already had some stuff in it? Then again, he had no idea what an empty one looked like. After all, he'd only been around one twice in his life—once, with the Headmaster, and the second time, with Snape. But there wasn't anyone here to stop him from exploring. For a moment he wondered if he knew how to get out by himself if he ran into something nasty. _I'll find a way somehow,_ he thought.

If he'd remembered to look at Sirius Black's present, his godfather might still be alive.

He sat down on the bed and placed the pensieve next to him, but carefully, so it wouldn't spill, then stared into it.

Nothing happened at first. Maybe it was empty after all. Then Harry found himself standing in the Great Hall, only there were a lot of benches and chairs. The only tables were in the back. He recognized some of the people there. Aunt Petunia hadn't been bad-looking when she was younger, though Uncle Vernon was still beefy and resentful. _Goyle's Evil Twin Skippy,_ he thought. Only, his uncle was smarter. Sometimes.

Some other people from Hogwarts stepped into the hall. Professor McGonagall looked younger, but no less regal, in her dress robe, while the Headmaster seemed much the same. Hagrid appeared uncomfortable in a suit, but his hair and beard were so neatly combed that Harry knew it had to be held together by magic. Professor Sprout looked nice in a flowered long dress, and held hands with a weedy older man more than a head taller than she was. Flitwick could have been used to read by in the dark, he was so covered in spangles.

Arthur and Molly Weasley stood towards the back of one side. Mrs. Weasley was a lot thinner than she was now, with only three children around—Bill was starting to get tall already, while Charlie was jumping up and down. The baby must be Percy, Harry realized. Then he felt embarrassed when he found himself checking out his friend's Mum. She never wore anything that low cut any more, probably.

The young man with silver hair and a gorgeous blonde woman on his arm must be Lucius Malfoy, not Draco, as Harry first thought. The young Narcissa Malfoy was stunningly beautiful with her nose not so high in the air. It was weird she looked so different from her sister. He recognized the dark young woman as Bellatrix Lestrange. No, she must have been Bellatrix Black then, since she didn't have a ring on any of her fingers.

He almost missed Snape. He was standing in a corner by the Malfoys and wore shabby dress robes, along with a look of misery. In fact, Harry would have skipped over the dark-eyed man entirely if Malfoy hadn't glanced over towards with a strange avid look.

_Bad fairy at the feast,_ Harry thought flippantly.

Then the music started. Two young women Harry didn't recognize, plus Aunt Petunia, filed up towards the front of the room. Three young men that he thought he knew followed them. His heart beat faster, hoping this was what he thought it was. Lupin looked dashing, but was overshadowed by the handsome young Sirius Black. Pettigrew looked ok, but nobody was probably noticing him anyway.

And he was right, he was _right!_ Harry felt tears streaming down his face as his father and mother, both dressed beautifully, arrived and began reciting their vows. _Oh, this is the best present I have ever had in my life! This is better than the photo album that Hagrid made me!_ He watched the wedding and the reception unfold before him with wonder and joy. There was a minor disturbance by the punch bowl with his godfather, his only glimpse of Snape after that, but it was the greasy git's fault for showing up in the first place, Harry was sure. It was much more fun to watch his mother and father being congratulated by everyone.

Finally, in the memory, people began leaving. Harry imagined himself following them, and suddenly found himself back in his room. He carefully put the lid back on the pensieve and placed it back under the plank.

Now he could sleep well.


	16. Chapter 16: Wolf in the Fold

The Birthday Present

By excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All situations and almost all the characters belong to J.K. Rowling et al. Not HBP compliant. Spoilers for everything up to and including OOtP. No slash (ok, no SS/RL slash.) Hail to thee, oh glorious Snape's Nightie, for your lovely comments and Britpicking.

Chapter 16: Wolf in the Fold

Severus Snape

Over the next few days it was annoying how he would begin to recover his strength, only to watch it disappear with each dose of the detoxicant. One morning he was tempted to ask Dobby to find a bed table and more pillows. If he were going to be this weak all next year, he would need both just to keep up on grading.

Severus was also worried about his apprentices being summoned without him. Draco had sworn to Floo him as soon as he was called. However, Snape knew he'd had to make another trip to Knockturn Alley to pick up the new blank wands once they came in. If nothing else, he would need to put a monitoring spell on each one.

Fortunately Winky was brighter than he'd expected. Miss Granger's potion had gone well, and he was able to send it off. Soon he would begin the new set for McGonagall. At least no one was insisting on him eating in the Great Hall or taking walks outside. He doubted that would last much longer. Poppy came down and examined him in his bedroom as she had been doing once a day just as he'd owled the first set to the Grangers' house. He sat more or less patiently on the bed, fully clothed while she chanted a diagnostic spell.

"Severus, I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but I wish you could rest outdoors for a little while today," she said, once she was finished scanning him with her wand. "Dobby or Winky would be glad to help you manage the stairs, and I could find you a lounge chair for you to lie on out in one of the gardens."

"I should start the potions for Professor McGonagall," he said.

"She'll keep. I've been watching her for overwork as well, and a few days won't make that much difference. How have you been sleeping?"

He made a wry face. "Even the sedative tastes horrible now. I gag it down anyway because of the side effects of the detoxicant, but I think my system is beginning to adjust to that." What point would it be to tell her that his nightmares were back? Last night's dream of killing the tramp, only to have the old man's corpse turn into that of the Headmaster, only meant he needed to discipline his feelings more thoroughly. Pomfrey couldn't help him there.

"Perhaps if you napped outside in a shaded area you might rest easier," she said. "I know this place has few good associations for you. I wish you didn't have to teach for a year or so."

"That's not my decision to make," he said regretfully. "Even if I were given a choice, I have the others to watch over now."

"I know. Have you thought about taking the other potions yet?"

"I'm just getting used to these two, Poppy. I'll be quite useless if I have to add any more." He hated how whiny his voice sounded.

"Maybe it's time for some people to realize that you have limits, too," she said, her face going red. "But think about resting outside for a little while today. I'll help you set up wards if that makes any difference."

Oddly enough, that did. He turned his face away to try to hide his weakness. "Thank you," he said gruffly.

"I'll even tell Albus so he can find you," she said. "I dare say he's been hovering, but you have to realize that he means well."

Snape blinked. He didn't know how to tell her that the Headmaster hadn't been to see him at all. "Actually, he's been letting me rest," he said.

"Oh." Poppy looked unhappy.

Severus thought it was just as well. He was sick of pretense. It was obvious that Dumbledore didn't really care for him, and had decided his show of concern was no longer necessary. He had to admit that he missed the illusion he'd once clung to so fiercely, but he would get over that. "It wouldn't hurt to lie about in one of the gardens this afternoon," he said. "After one of the doses I'm no good for an hour or so anyway."

She nodded. "I'll send Dobby down to help if I can't come myself." Then the mediwitch left, with a firm step that meant she had an errand elsewhere.

This time, it was Winky that brought him his afternoon dose, along with a plateful of fruit already cut up for him. It was hard to refuse either the food or the potions with those pathetic large eyes watching him. No doubt that was why Pomfrey had chosen the smaller elf this time.

He ate as much as he could, then swallowed down the potions. Snape's head swam, and for a moment he wasn't sure he was going anywhere.

"Oh, Master so sick!" Winky said, patting his hand.

For some reason that didn't bother him. How strange. "I'd better lie down and try going out later," he said.

"Oh, but Master Potions-Master can do both! Come out to hallway, Mistress Nurse has a surprise!" Winky tugged at him. Severus found himself constrained by his normal politeness to house elves not to resist.

Outside his door was a lounge chair with soft green cushions. Once he lay prone on it the chair began to rise, and Winky tugged it along with one hand. No doubt the upholstery had been made with flying carpet material, which tended towards inertia until a witch or wizard triggered its innate magic simply by sitting or lying on the cloth. The broom manufactories, though, enforced their monopoly through forbidding the importation of such carpets. However, the laws had been on the books for only fifty years or so, and this lounger was likely quite a bit older.

_He_ certainly wasn't going to ring up Percy Weasley or anyone at the Ministry about it, he decided, as he soon found himself under a low shade tree that would keep most of the sun off him and allow him to doze without fear of turning into a roasted turnip. "Thank you, Winky," he said in a tired voice. "Perhaps a nap out here will be a good idea after all."

Poppy showed up just then. "There you are, Severus. Do you want me to set up the wards now?" Her kindly face was full of concern.

"I think…don't think I'll need them," he said. How much sedative had been in his dose this time? It hadn't tasted that strong, and he could usually tell.

"May Winky stay and watch? Will be so quiet, promise!" piped the tiny elf.

"I would feel better if she were here, Severus," the mediwitch said. "The weather can change suddenly, even in summer, and I'd feel better if I knew someone could help."

He was so tired that the thought of someone else watching him sleep didn't bother him as much as it usually did. "I can't think why you want to, Winky, but stay if you like."

She burbled her thanks in a high-pitched voice that hurt his ears till Poppy said, "He needs quiet, dear, just like you promised."

"Oh, Winky so bad!" Then the house elf clapped her hands over her mouth.

"Winky is a good assistant," Snape said. He let his eyes close and barely heard the mediwitch quietly step away.

He was amazed he could relax like this. Usually being outside at Hogwarts meant he was on patrol, on his way to a meeting, or as a student, a potential target. Letting one's attention slide for any reason was normally a prescription for trouble. _If anything happens,_ he thought, _Winky will be loud and high-pitched enough to make the bats in the Forest move their nests to France. I'll surely hear it, and wake in time to deal with whatever it might be._

He awoke a few hours later, judging by the angle of the shadows. Snape was refreshed enough not to need the lounger to return to his quarters. Winky promised to bring it to him whenever he needed it before disappearing with the piece of furniture. Merlin alone knew where elves kept everything, and they probably liked it that way.

His appetite was a little better, though he still didn't feel like eating in the Great Hall, and took advantage of his current state to ask for a tray for dinner. That night, all was quiet. It was time he took the next step in resolving his difficulties. He'd be able to work more easily with other members of the Order such as Lupin and Moody once he was done. Such memory work had helped him focus on Mr. Potter's very real problems without letting foolish anger get in the way. Maybe other things wouldn't hurt so much if he dealt with the rest of his weaknesses.

Once more, he locked and warded the doors. He got out the pensieve he had used last year to store the more unpleasant or deadly memories that the Boy-Who-Annoyed-Him should not be exposed to. As if _that_ had worked!

He knew he'd reacted badly, though. His nightmares reminded him of that any time he forgot.

It was time to remove some memories from his life permanently. He couldn't store them in the pensieve for much longer; Dumbledore would want it eventually for his own use. It was possible that the Dark Lord would find out about the purchase of one new pensieve; it would be much too difficult to hide the acquisition of a second one.

The absolutely worst memories of his life were still hidden in the Ministry's Justice Department. Some kindly soul had decided that no one needed to retain the vision of both parents' deaths, and for that he would be forever grateful. Fortunately he had thought of a place for the rest of the ones he no longer needed.

Snape stared down into the silver-gray medium. Dumbledore obviously trusted him immensely, as so many of his own recollections were stored here as well. Severus had been tempted to find out if the old wizard remembered some incidents from his student days the way he did, but had, on the whole, fought against it. Once he had removed what was his from this bowl, then he could hand it back to the Headmaster and never have access again. Besides, he could guess how much fondness Albus retained for the Marauders and how little he thought of any Slytherin. Snape would rather not endure having those suspicions confirmed. A few peeks had shown him the blazing love the Headmaster felt for the Potter boy. There was no point in enduring the contrast between that and the exasperation and annoyance felt towards him in the couple of memories that Severus had been unable to resist looking at.

He took many silver strands back from the pensieve, hoping he wasn't missing any. Snape shook with rage at being faced with these visions of the past, as if they had recently happened. It was just as well that he'd warded this room. The glass carafe with a quarter-inch still remaining shattered, leaving shards and water on the floor. He quickly cleaned up the mess with his wand once he'd regained enough composure to trust himself with magic.

Once that was done, and the pensieve empty of his trash, he mentally walked into his House of Memory again. His first chore was to set up a lure for the Headmaster. The next time the old man performed Legilimens, he might be distracted long enough for Snape to hide his true feelings. Severus didn't mind offering facts. That was his stock in trade, and the reason he was still outside Azkaban and unKissed. But why couldn't his soul be his own?

Only Dumbledore came through the front door of his mental Hogwarts. The Dark Lord always broke through without noticing exactly where he came in. Snape carefully arranged the symbols of his memories in a way so the Headmaster would tend to follow their trail to the 'room' in the dungeons that held only joy. The older wizard would most likely spend time there puzzling out which memento held what, and enjoy basking in what little stored happiness lay in his mind. _It probably wouldn't hurt to gather more,_ Severus thought. _There's so little there he'll get through too quickly. I'll need all the time I can get to put up the right kind of barriers and pretend to feel what he wants me to, the way I can with the Dark Lord so far._

Once the false trail was laid, Snape knew it was time to face the memories that gave him the most trouble with members of the Order and store them away permanently. He would not forget the facts behind them, since he was not about to play Lockhart and blast his mind into pudding with a powerful Obliviate, but removing the actual memory would help heal the hurt it had caused. Without those mental thorns, he could not help but seem more cooperative to the other members and to the Headmaster.

He glided to his construct of Slytherin Tower. He would have to leave most of the memories here, since the Dark Lord was used to seeing his recollections of Lucius. It was odd how part of the Tower turned into some of the rooms from Malfoy Manor, but his image of the older Slytherin was likely the key. Snape took some of the worst ones though, and reduced them to symbols the way he had his memories of Lily and the few neutral ones of the Marauders. After that was done, he traveled around the castle and its ground to gather more. He was careful to choose nothing from the last seven years. Dumbledore and the Dark Lord would continue to monitor the ones he had of Potter, and he dare not erase any of those. He still had a few from Moody's interrogation of him in Azkaban, but those would only remind him never to trust the old Auror.

There were still plenty he could get rid of. He left the false trail that he had installed for Voldemort alone. Many of the classrooms and certain spots on the grounds that weren't part of that façade were crowded with bad times that he could dispose of, though. He mentally reduced them to symbols and put them in his cloak pocket the way he had with the memories he'd given away. Fortunately there always seemed room for more no matter how many he took up like that.

His mental picture of Hogwarts looked emptier now. Yet there was one more before he could take all of them to the one place nobody would ever want to look. After all these years, he was still terrified of the Shrieking Shack. He forced himself to walk towards it and opened the door.

Severus nearly slammed it again as the hot breath and howl of a wolf roared out. _It's not real,_ he reminded himself. _It's only a memory. It can't hurt me any more._ He'd managed to go into the real thing just a few years ago even knowing that Lupin might be there again, as well as Sirius Black. _Who thought then that the dog was telling the truth?_ It had taken almost a year for him to confirm the children's story, a year and the return of the Dark Lord. _Why didn't the Headmaster just tell me what was going on, instead of letting me make a fool of myself in front of Fudge? I was the one who went out to look for his precious Trio when nobody else would._ He certainly hadn't expected the three of them to attack him so. When he'd woken up, the Dementors were fleeing, while Black and the children were unconscious. He had struggled with the dreadful temptation to leave the escaped criminal to the tender mercies of his werewolf friend, still loose in the Forest, while taking the children back. Merlin, his head had hurt! He'd nearly been sick to his stomach just seeing those damned Dementors though they were fleeing at the time, and had felt the chill in his soul that meant he'd been far too close to them. But he'd been a good boy instead. He should have realized what his reward was going to be. That should have told him right then where he stood in the Headmaster's regard.

In fact, Dumbledore had even been upset when the parents had finally learned the truth about just _what_ had been teaching their children. At least, he had been till Snape had pointed out that Lupin had allowed Black on the grounds _before_ finding out if the man were guilty or not. At the very least the wolf had put other children besides just the Trio in grave danger by allowing his friend access to Gryffindor Tower. After all, Black's treatment of the Fat Lady certainly showed that the man was showing his usual cavalier disregard for the welfare of others, and since the portrait was a valuable member of the most noble house of Hogwarts, Albus actually paid attention for once.

Perhaps he had been lucky that he'd shouted so loudly in the infirmary after learning of Black's escape. Poppy had come over to him, clearly determined to toss him all the way to the greenhouses for disturbing her patients, when apparently something in his face had caused her to stop and examine him. Of course, throwing up on her shoes had probably also given her a hint that all was not well. She'd quickly healed the crack in his head, which had undoubtedly been the result of the children's attack on him, and put him to bed. Fortunately she had seen the wisdom of allowing him to rest in his own quarters. She had clearly doubted he would be attacked again, at least not on her watch, but given the existence of Potter's Invisibility Cloak and the nasty things James Potter had done with it, she had allowed him the security of his own rooms.

He had never blamed the other members of the staff for not leaving the security of Hogwarts to search the grounds for the children when they had been discovered missing, though. Between Dementors on the grounds, a wolf without his potion, and an escaped murderer, only McGonagall had been willing to accompany him, and she had been needed to keep the other students from attempting rescue on their own.

Of course he had never gotten any credit for saving the students, or even Black's worthless life.

Snape slowly re-opened the door to his memory of the Shrieking Shack and reduced the wolf to a symbol, too. A silver wolf's pin lay on the ground, which was cold to his touch when he picked it up. Black was gone. Lupin could be trusted now. The wolf had been a good teacher, and reliable about taking the potion till his friend arrived. That wouldn't happen any more.

Severus couldn't feel anything but happiness about that, though he dare not put _that_ memory into his 'office'. But he refused to grieve for the man, no matter how much the rest of the Order disapproved of his attitude. Since they didn't care for anything he did anyway, why bother trying?

That wasn't quite right. Molly Weasley had been unhappy over her cousin's death, in spite of, or perhaps because of the many arguments they'd had. He'd respected her grief, though he'd had little contact with the Order at all since the Ministry Raid. Perhaps it was just as well.

He stood in the middle of a nearly empty Shrieking Shack, inhabited only by the shadows of the Trio, Black, and Lupin in his human form. They posed no threat; if he had not been careless, all five of them together should not have been able to hurt him.

Snape opened the door in back, that did not exist in the real world. That let him out into all memories he had of Knockturn Alley. Most of the ones in the street weren't bad. Since he'd had a home, however ill-maintained, he had a sanctuary the other brats didn't. He'd only slept out a few times, generally in summer or when his parents were fighting so hard he couldn't stand to be in the place.

Severus vaguely remembered they'd once lived in a nicer home. He remembered grass and trees, but something had happened and they'd moved here into increasingly worse lodgings. It had broken his heart when Father had sold Duschka, the house elf who had come from Russia with Mother. But he had never been able to find her in the landscape of his mind. A soft voice, a pair of gentle hands, and some lullabyes not in English were all that were left.

At last his family settled in the apartment near the top of the building that held Nora's now. That was where the memories had to go. The Dark Lord never strayed outside of 'Hogwarts' in his searches, while the Headmaster would certainly shun a place so distressingly lacking in cheer.

He stopped by the gin-shop across the street from his old home. Folben was there behind the counter. Snape walked in and reduced the man to a symbol, too. The wriggling white worm was slick to his touch, but went into his pocket with all the rest. After that, he stepped over to Nora's and went up the outside stairs to the first-story entrance to the apartments over the shop.

The hallways still stank of urine and other, less pleasant substances. He negotiated the maze and went up the inside stairs to his floor several stories above. He found the right door, and it opened easily.

His parents were always there, trapped like flies in amber in their conflict. Fortunately the very worst memories he had of them were gone. He shrank the images of his mother and father into symbols, too.

Now he had to lock everything away so none of it would ever bother him again. Severus fiddled with the mechanism that brought down the folding stairs that led to the attic hideaway which had been his room. He trudged heavily up the stair-ladder once he finally got it to come down, ignoring the dried bloodstains on it.

The windowless upper cubby had just enough room for a shabby bed and a chest to store his clothes. Over to one side was a narrow storage area holding a bit of rubbish. Amazing to think that he had once fitted there for a few days the summer he was fourteen.

Snape opened the chest. It was empty. He took the symbols of his memories out of his pockets and put them away. He hadn't realized he'd brought so many till he saw the chest was full. It was difficult getting the lid to close all the way. He actually had to sit on it before he could bring the hasp over the lock. Since this was all in his mind and he could anything, he charmed the trunk to be wrapped in chains.

He breathed a sigh of relief. The memories had gotten so heavy as he'd carried them around, but now he felt quite light in comparison. Snape went down the stair-ladder into the rest of the apartment. He not only closed the trapdoor that settled back into the main ceiling, but he put a spell on it so that nobody could see that the door was even there.

Severus left the Knockturn Alley part fairly quickly, walked back to the shades still populating the Shrieking Shack, and allowed himself to return to the real world.

It was disconcerting to wake up with the large, concerned eyes of a house elf staring directly into one's own.

"Master Severus must be careful," Dobby said. It was morning now. "Should have asked for help to change for bed, not sit up over silly pensieve. Master must eat and take medicine, and then change clothes. Master must have fallen asleep without thinking."

Snape nodded, and listlessly did as he was told. Normally he'd become angry at such relentless supervision and lack of privacy, but he didn't feel even the shadow of anger inside. He glanced uneasily at his lab, though its shields were still up, and was pleased not to hear the tinkling of breaking glass.

Nor did his normal bad temper return during the next few days. Between the potions and the memory work he felt more tired than anything else, but that was a welcome relief from before. He found Winky's eternal good cheer restful for a change as she assisted him. Severus discovered he got more done than he thought possible simply by pacing himself. He'd work for half an hour, the potion permitting, rest for the same length of time, and then start over. In fact, it was rather like a game to discover items having the same colors as some potions in order to show the elf exactly when she should notify him to come look at something in a cauldron. Perhaps he ought to extend the use of them to his beginning classes. A student sometimes turned out to be color-blind. There were ways to work around it, but finding out which children needed them often turned out to be fairly exciting.

Once more, he found himself going outside for a short period of time each day, though he really didn't have time enough to sleep in the lounger the way he had. Besides, he _was_ getting stronger, though only a little bit, as he slowly adjusted to the potions. With luck, he might not even need the others. Though he had trouble with the larger regular meals, he believed he was eating better than he had a couple of months ago with the smaller amounts coming more often. Fortunately Poppy didn't insist that he come to the Great Hall, though she continued to examine him once a day.

As he sat outside on his favorite bench each afternoon, several of the other teachers would pass by and offered their best wishes. He was glad, then, to have the ability to return their greetings in a civil manner. How odd not to find their interference annoying. In fact, he felt little at all these days. Earlier this summer he'd often been aware of simmering rage not far from him, though he hadn't been affected inside as much. But now there wasn't even that, and no more branches broke. What a blessed relief!

One morning four days after he'd emptied his memories into that make-believe chest he received an owl notifying him that the wands were ready to be picked up. He reported to the Headmaster's office and left a note with the gargoyle about his brief trip to Knockturn Alley. Dumbledore hadn't spoken with much lately. _Probably because I haven't been summoned yet,_ Severus thought as he began walking slowly across the grounds to the Forest. _I should really practice with a broom the way Hooch suggested. Since I'll be outside for part of the day for most of the next year, I might as well make use of the time._ The grass and trees looked slightly unreal to him, but that was probably because he hadn't been sleeping that well. He was gradually tapering himself off the sedative as his gut got used to the detoxicant.

He stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. Snape felt odd without the sour note of resentment he knew he'd felt three weeks or so ago when it was clear the Headmaster disapproved of him. It was nice not to have it bother him any more. _Perhaps I'm better off when he leaves me alone. I always hated being so dependent on him anyway._

Once he walked past Hagrid's hut, he Apparated to Diagon Alley first, and then strolled to an apothecary shop whose back door was open to anyone he considered reliable, generally based on the color of a Galleon. Snape had no trouble slipping out that way and went on to Knockturn Alley. Such measures annoyed the Aurors, and that was worth the cost all by itself. The fact that Dumbledore would later tell the Ministry the truth was only icing on the cake.

Severus Snape strode down the Alley. Knockturn Alley was more than just one narrow lane; in fact, it was a separate district not much smaller than Diagon Alley to those who knew the place. It also felt pleasant not to be pricked at by his memories as he conducted business here. Oh, he'd kept the knowledge required to manage here; only a fool would throw out the cauldron with the bungled potion. Now he could look at things objectively. He should have weeded his memory years ago.

He went to the shop three doors over and one floor up from Borgin's and waited in the hallway after he knocked on the right door. Once it was opened, he gave the correct password. The dealers here had long thought to take precautions against Polyjuice or a glamour. Many had learned the hard way what happened to sellers of certain merchandise who dealt with the wrong people. Snape inspected the bundle of wands offered him. They _felt_ more powerful than the others, but he carefully tested each one to make sure it would work, and didn't have any unpleasant enchantments on it either. He paid for the wands with a draft on a dummy account at Gringott's that he'd set up just for this transaction, and which would vanish into the goblins' account books as soon as it was closed out. That was safer by far than carrying a large sack of Galleons in a place like this, and Snaptooth was known to have a sloppy attitude about conveying reports to the Ministry if the right people were involved. Goblins were also notoriously resistant to Veritaserum, and nobody in their right mind would even attempt to develop an equivalent for the owners of Gringotts. Well…he had put some thought to it, just as a potions puzzle, of course, but he knew better than to follow up on it.

He decided to wait till he was back at Hogwarts before applying the monitoring spells. Moody, and some of the other Aurors, had a fascinating way of detecting such work. Better manage it behind strong wards. In fact, he had better get on his way. Just the testing process might alert someone sensitive to the process.

Snape returned to Diagon Alley and made some purchases at the apothecary's. If anyone kept a record of his movements, the trail would stop there. Since he ended up with a small chest of specialty items from the store, the proprietor had nothing to complain about. Severus had reason to not feel particularly well, and the old man who ran the place had already commented on it, so if he had decided to rest a bit before buying anything, that was his business. Nothing had happened that would allow anyone to use Veritaserum.

He wished that he didn't tire so easily, though, when he ended up having to use the Floo to get back to Hogsmeade rather than having the strength to Apparate back closer to the school. He had to rest there in the village, when he would much rather be on his way. Snape stopped at the Three Broomsticks and ordered some tea and something more solid than the snacks he ate with each dose of potion. Rosmerta would let him stay as long as he liked without buying anything, but food might taste better untainted by that swill the Swiss inflicted on him.

As he sat down, a shabbily dressed man entered. It was a few moments before Severus recognized him a Remus Lupin. Now that was _very_ odd. Normally he bristled the moment he saw the wolf, though he tried to present a calm front. Today, seeing the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher didn't bother him at all.

Lupin noticed him in the corner and headed his way, though Snape couldn't think why. The Potions Master smirked to himself. Dobby would try all next year to feed the poor man up, just as the elf did with him. He decided to give his new attitude a trial. "Have a seat, Lupin," he said. "I made a practice batch of the Wolfsbane recently. It should still be good, though I don't know for how much longer." Winky had been good as gold about waking him at the right time during the most complicated phase, once she understood what colors to look for. Perhaps brewing it wasn't going to be the ordeal he feared.

The wolf looked at him wide-eyed. "I'm surprised you don't have a Rememberall with the phases of the moon in it now that you know I'm going to be there."

"If I must, I can start a fresh batch. I attempted a slightly different method of brewing it this time, so that batch might not work." Now that he thought of it, the next full moon was a day or so from now.

Lupin sat. "I hope you don't have to. You don't look good, to be honest. Albus said something at the last Order meeting about you and potions."

"You should be happy I'm making your Wolfsbane, and not the Swiss. Vile stuff." Snape took a small bite of his hot noodles with a cream and meat topping. That went down well enough. _Now, will it stay?_

One of the waitresses passed by, but Lupin didn't order, though he was clearly hungry given the way he stared at the noodles. Snape finally remembered why. Black's will, which left a small fortune to Lupin and everything else to Potter, was still in probate. He'd filed the paperwork for Narcissa Malfoy's challenge just after getting back from the clinic. However, he'd examined the terms of the will, or at least listened to Snaptooth ramble on about it. The wolf was allotted barely enough from the estate to maintain the house, let alone himself, as prices had risen since the dogfather had made his will nearly twenty years ago.

He knew what that was like. Lupin hadn't lifted a finger to help him last year, but…oh, damn. Molly Weasley hadn't expected any return when she'd given him those ham sandwiches, either. Snape inwardly cursed himself for a soft fool and gestured for the girl who was serving today. He ordered a meat pasty.

Lupin's eyes followed it once she brought it ought and set it on the table on a small plate of its own. Severus kept working on his noodles, rather enjoying the wolf's stare. It was cruel of him to make the wolf wait, but he ought to get some fun out of this. After all, the other man had eaten with good appetite while he'd been forbidden to last year.

He realized that he wasn't even going to finish the food he already had. Snape lay his fork down. "My eyes were bigger than my stomach," he said. "I can't even clean this plate, and the pasties here aren't good enough to taste twice. Lupin, if you have any appetite, you may as well have it. They'll just throw it out if I don't eat it. The grease will get over everything in my pocket even if I wrap it. If you'll excuse me a moment, I need to visit the facilities." He wished he were faking. The noodles tasted quite good, but were sitting poorly. But his sadism didn't extend to watching Lupin snatch at the food.

Fortunately his digestive system had offered a false alarm. When he returned the smaller plate was empty, so at least his new colleague had _some_ sense. "Did you have any errands to run, or were you planning to go straight to Hogwarts?" he asked. Of course the house elves would feed Lupin as soon as possible. But Snape had learned last year that endurance sometimes ran out before reaching safety.

"To the school," Remus said morosely. "I suppose you'd rather go back there first, though."

Severus could not believe he was doing this. "I could manage company," he said reluctantly. "As long as you don't chatter all the way." He really wanted to get on the other side of Hogwart's wards before someone sensed all the wands he carried in a bundle underneath his cloak. Besides, even Moody would hesitate to grab him in Lupin's presence.

He suddenly realized he wasn't afraid just now, a rare thing around the wolf. Of course he'd brew the potion, and take precautions during a full moon. He'd be insane not to. But just being around the new DADA professor didn't worry him the way it used to.

Lupin followed him on the way to Hogwarts. He said nothing as Snape walked more slowly than usual, and stopped to rest along the way. He even offered to help with the chest of potions ingredients from the apothecary's. Snape firmly refused. "I'd normally levitate them, but magic will affect their utility, and I paid too much to have to replace them. Since you're a werewolf, you have a magical field somewhat different than most people, and the insulation in the chest might not work if you're holding it." He had no idea if that was true, of course, but it sounded well enough without being too insulting.

At last they reached the castle. Snape sat down on the bench closest to the gates and got his breath back.

Lupin continued standing. "You're not afraid of me any more."

"No," he said.

"Why is that?"

"Too much on my plate already," Severus said, slightly annoyed by the wolf's curiosity. "Besides, you'll be taking the potion."

"Why do you trust me to take it?

_Good question._ "Because I will watch you every time. Most of all, Black isn't coming back to talk you into breaking your promises."

Lupin grimaced. "You're probably right. I…I have to go see the Headmaster now. I hope you feel better soon."

"Not on this regimen." Snape stared down at the ground, then looked up to watch the new DADA teacher go. No doubt he and Dumbledore would have a pleasant chat about the coming year, two Gryffindors together united against the horror of Slytherin. He supposed he ought to resent anyone the old wizard favored these days, since he clearly wasn't one of them. He probably never had been. There was a dull, empty ache where his fury once had been whenever it was obvious almost anyone came ahead of him in the Headmaster's regard. _I'm better off without the anger,_ he thought, _since Albus was only pretending to care anyway. No doubt that made it easier for him to get me to do what he wanted. Now he doesn't have to bother, because I have so little choice._

And now Dobby brought a small tray of food and two little vials of potion out to him. He stood. "Unless you want to levitate me back to my rooms, we had better go there first," he said, lifting the chest full of potions ingredients. It shouldn't feel that heavy, but it did.

Once back in his quarters, he was finally able to lay the burden down. He got the baked apple down fairly easily, then drank his medicine. This time he took the full dose of the sedative as well. It was a good thing that the elf was there to help him change again, this time into a nightshirt. He had worn out his strength. Pomfrey could bring in the St. Mungo's Marching Band for all he cared just now. He would have to deal with those blank wands later.

Remus Lupin

He chatted briefly with the gargoyle, and then remembered the password. "Milk Tray," he said, and was let through. His encounter with Snape had gone much better than it could have. True, a potion that was a few days old might not be as effective as a fresh one, but he wasn't going to force someone as ill as the Potions Master clearly was to sit up all night over a cauldron just yet. Snape had once told him in a speech full of scathing invective just how much effort brewing the Wolfsbane Potion truly was.

_How am I going to manage if Snape is this sick for all of next year?_ Remus dismissed the thought as selfish. He already felt guilty enough adding to the man's burden.

But he was so tired of locking himself up for his transformation! He knew he was going to use the latest batch, no matter what the Slytherin had said about it. He could feel the moon calling him.

As he greeted the Headmaster, he convinced himself that everything would turn out all right. Snape was a survivor. He'd manage somehow.

Dumbledore smiled. "Professor Lupin, I am so glad to have you back. Perhaps you can take the curse off the DADA position once and for all."

Lupin remembered that the Headmaster hadn't been quite so friendly the last time he'd been here. "I hope so. I'll be glad to see Harry every day, if nothing else." He would have worked for nothing, just for that.

The old wizard's smile faded. "I do hope nothing happens this year to endanger the boy. I realize that it was important to have a witness besides Black to what really happened with Pettigrew, but you must take your potion this year. And if you are tempted to allow any old friends to visit the school, please speak with me first."

Remus nodded. Nobody had known Sirius Black was innocent when he'd first entered the school, yet he had let it go anyway, despite the possible danger to Harry, and to the other students as well. The Fat Lady had shrieked at him after the attack on her. Well, it had been good practice for dealing with Mrs. Black at 12 Grimmauld Place, but he had deserved it from the Gryffindor guardian. "I met Professor Snape when I was on Hogsmeade," he said. "He wants me to drink the potion in front of him each month."

"If he is unable to do so, then you will drink it in front of me," Dumbledore said. "He's on a regimen developed by the Swiss for potions overload. Unfortunately, their cure seems much worse than the disease thus far. Please make allowances for his temper these days. From what I'm told, things aren't going well at all with him."

Lupin was surprised the Headmaster wasn't checking in on Snape every hour. Moody had offered several improbable hypotheses about why Albus continued to trust the Slytherin. Nobody believed them, of course, not even Moody, but Remus had heard them all from Sirius already. Obviously, things had changed. "Actually, he was quite civil. Well, for him anyway. But he had to stop and rest several times coming here from the village. I had no trouble keeping up with him, either, and he can usually out walk everyone but Hagrid. Is that why he hasn't been at Order meetings?"

"Partly. No one believes what he says unless I'm there to back it up anyway." Dumbledore looked unhappy. "I realize that Black had his reasons for suspecting Snape, but it did not help the Order. His pettiness in not allowing Severus to eat, drink or sleep there at his house could have been dangerous. Fortunately, other arrangements were made."

Lupin felt embarrassed then, considering the hot pasty he'd eaten from the Potion Master's plate. "I wish…I wish things had been different." But there was no going back now. Black had spent most of last year challenging everything that Snape had said. In fact, Sirius had only stopped openly accusing the Slytherin of betraying them in public when the Headmaster had told him to. His friend had held back only when Dumbledore was actually present, though. So much loud insistence and Moody's silent agreement had poisoned the atmosphere at 12 Grimmauld Place. Black had boasted of stopping Snape from filling Harry's mind with nonsense at wandpoint once. Who knew what else had happened out of Lupin's hearing?

The Headmaster looked unhappy. Remus didn't want him to think that everyone had fallen in with it. "Molly Weasley was unhappy at what Black was doing, and yelled at him for it. She stopped nagging Snape about eating there anyway, and started bringing packages with her from home. I tried to tell him it was wrong…" He knew how feeble that sounded. As usual, he'd let Black take over. Of course Harry wouldn't listen to him about the Occlumency lessons. Black had told the boy it was a pack of nonsense, and that no Gryffindor should ever apologize to a slimy Slytherin. Harry had been only too happy to believe _that_.

Even when Harry had confronted Sirius with what his own father had done to the Potions Master, Sirius had only been worried that the boy might think less of him. After Harry had left, Black had even regretted that James had bothered saving the greasy git's life in the first place. Lupin had blown up then. "So you wanted me in Azkaban for killing him? Or put down the way Umbridge would like to see? Even if you don't care about a Snake's life, try thinking of _mine_ for a change!"

Of course that hadn't altered the way Sirius behaved around Snape. In fact, things had gotten worse, because for a little while his friend thought that even Lupin had turned against him and had dived into the bottle again.

"Are you all right, Remus?" asked the Headmaster.

"Sorry. Just a little woolgathering. I wish I had been able to actually _do_ something about the situation for once. I should have known that talking to Sirius wouldn't work. Now Moody is taking up the cry. Mad-Eye sees Snape's absence as a sign that he really means to betray us. Of course, if he attended it would be only to gather more information about the Order to give to You-Know-Who."

"I can't believe things are that bad." Albus looked distressed.

"They always have been. You just don't want to see it." Remus was frightened by his boldness in speaking so bluntly to the chief of the Order. "Molly doesn't even try any more, just clamps her mouth shut and slaps the food in front of us when Moody goes off on one of his rants. Oh, he's quite clear that something ought to be done about the Potions Master, especially now that he's got someone of his own with the DE's. He won't say so around you, of course, but nobody cares what I know. But if Snape's health is this bad, you have a perfect excuse to send him away till he gets better. Maybe no one will ever know how badly we need him till he's not here. At least this way, if something goes wrong we can get him back. But if Moody has his way…well, if I were Snape I'd have shaken the dust off my boots and moved to Italy."

The Headmaster looked stunned. "You'd have to go without the Wolfbane."

"I've done it for years. I don't like it. Nor do I care much for that bloody cage in the basement of 12 Grimmauld Place, or for the Shrieking Shack, but I've done it. Besides, when is Snape going to have time to brew it this year? He was run off his feet last year without it, and with all those apprentices it'll be worse once school starts. I have never wanted anyone to die because of what I am, even though I was an idiot the last time I taught here. But if he's as sick as he looks, one more burden could be too much."

Then Albus smiled. "McGonagall told me that Snape made a bet with the wizard who's overseeing his care. By the end of this school year you may never have to worry about the Wolfsbane again." The Headmaster filled in the details. "The word is that a thousand Galleons are at stake. And Severus cleverly, and reluctantly, allowed himself to be talked into teaching it to his _sixth_ year class."

Lupin laughed. "Granger. And I hate to admit it, Malfoy. The ferret would do anything to help his Head of House win that much. How long does Snape have?"

"Till next June. The sixth year class won't have either OWLS or NEWTS to deal with, so Professor Snape will have more time with them."

Remus breathed a huge sigh of relief. "If—if he can do that, I'll match the pot. Black's will ought to be probated by _then_. Snape deserves to swim in gold if he can pull this off."

"A good thing Sirius didn't stay as a ghost," Dumbledore said. "He'd be at the foot of your bed screaming blue murder if he thought you were helping Snape, especially with his money."

"Too bad." Black had always said that if he'd had proper access to his vault that he'd buy the potion, but somehow he'd never gotten around to it, despite being able to draw enough to maintain the house and feed Buckbeak. Sirius had risked capture to see Harry at the train station. Lupin especially didn't want to remember the time when his friend had once _wanted_ it to be the full moon because he was bored.

"Your next transformation is quite soon, isn't it?"

Even changing to that subject was a relief. "Yes. I wanted to be on patrol duty over the Dursleys for Harry's birthday in a couple of days, but the full moon is the night before, and I'll be out of things tonight and for a few nights after. Snape told me that he has a practice batch made up already. I'll probably be using that."

"How are things with the boy?" Albus asked wistfully. "I was so afraid for him this summer."

"From what I've seen and heard, much better. They have conversations that include Harry, and not just yelling. One evening during the weekend I thought that fat cousin and Harry were fighting in the back garden, but they were just roughhousing like a couple of overgrown pups. They were _laughing_. I've never heard the two of them do that before.

"Moody swore he was going to put both of his eyes out one night when he said the aunt and uncle were, um, having a bit of fun on the sofa. Harry hasn't written me much, but I think it's because he's having a decent summer for once. I received a few ugly letters at first, but then something happened and he cheered up. Whatever you said to Mrs. Dursley must have done the trick."

Dumbledore smiled. "One can but hope."

"I wish I could be on evening patrol for his birthday," Lupin said. "I wouldn't come in to say hello or anything, but just to see him. Well, can't be helped. But it'll still be wonderful teaching here, even if I have to use the Shack."

"Don't worry, Remus, you'll get the potion," the Headmaster said briskly.

_Easy for you to say, when it's Snape who has to brew it,_ he thought unhappily. "I suppose I should go see to my quarters," he said.

"Where is your luggage?"

"Oh, it's coming separately," Remus lied cheerfully. What few items were truly his now fit into his cloak pockets. He had less now than the last time he taught here. Black had a closet full of robes that would likely fit him, but Lupin took his duties as guardian of the house and his friend's estate quite seriously. He hated living on charity, and had quietly sold most of the personal items that had been his rather than live entirely out of his fellow Marauder's pockets. _My underwear will likely go as gray as Snape's was back then before my first pay date. But that shouldn't be long, and then I can do a bit of shopping._

"When Professor Snape began teaching here, he told me the same thing," Dumbledore said. "Here's the first month in advance. Oh, yes, you'd best see Filch and let him know you're here. Since you don't have to hide that you're a werewolf any more, he'll have more information for you this time."

"Who will be substituting for me, when I'm er, under the weather?" He was anxious not to cause extra work for any of the staff. He could just imagine what the Potions Master would say the _next_ time he lectured a Defense Against the Dark Arts class. In Snape's present state, making the Wolfsbane along with a regular teaching schedule would likely put him in the infirmary.

"I'll set up a rotation," Albus said, who suddenly looked glum. "I am going to have to revise the schedule again, I see."

Remus hated doing it, but he took the offered pay packet and the lemon drop that came with it, shook hands, and left the office. He went to the kitchen, as he was suddenly starving again despite the pasty Snape had left for him. A little house elf named Winky made a big fuss over him and fetched a big plate of food, which he enjoyed immensely. He had a nice chat with Dobby, who had made him welcome in years past.

"Glad to see you, Master Wolf," the older house elf said. Then he twisted his ears in his hands and wailed, "Oh, Dobby shouldn't call you that!"

"No, that's all right. Everyone will know I'm a werewolf this time." It felt so good not to hide what he was. He finished cleaning his plate and asked for more.

Winky smiled at him. "You smell funny, but you are nice. Wish Master Potions Master could eat like you."

Dobby grimaced. Winky turned to him. "I's _respectful_, not like _some_ elves." She scowled, which to Lupin looked like a perfect, tiny replica of the one on Snape at times.

"Well, Master Severus was a boy like Master Lucius when he lived at the Manor," Dobby said. "And he gave me permission, so there! But Master Wolf needs feeding up, too, so let him eat!"

"Of course, Dobby," Winky said, bowing her head. "But is still not _right._"

Lupin did justice to the second plate, too. His appetite always increased this close to the full moon. Then he went see Argus Filch.

The hall-master greeted him cheerfully in his little office. "Glad to see the curse is finally off the position," the older man said. "Have a seat. You heard about the mess we were in last year, I suppose."

"Pretty much. I haven't seen Peeves yet. Has something happened to him?" Despite the rumors of the poltergeist's role in driving Umbridge away, Lupin had never liked the fellow much. Too many encounters with the imp as a student had soured him.

"Nah. He had his fun when the Weasley twins left, but calmed down after that. He was twitchy not long ago, like there was another poltergeist around, but the Baron set him down right proper when he started harassing Snape. Never directly, not even Peeves is that stupid, but the Baron finally got tired of the little bastard breaking all those branches. The Baron's sweet on Sprout, you know, and hates to see that much damage to the trees. But don't you worry about Peeves. Without those horrible twins to encourage him he won't do that much. I won't miss _them,_ let me tell you!"

"I heard all sorts of stories about Madam Umbridge, too," Remus asked delicately.

"Oh, she was a fine figure of a woman! But even I have to admit she changed too much at once. She and I had quite a few talks about proper discipline. Damn, I wish I'd thought of that Quill of hers!" The caretaker sighed. "Here, have some tea. No matter how hard she tried, things just kept getting worse, poor thing. I kept telling her that she should leave Hagrid alone. Grubbly-Plank is probably a better teacher, but no one can manage the Forest the way he can. He's already spent a couple of weeks getting the Acromantulas to behave themselves again. Snape and Flitwick had to remove some nests from the trail to Hogsmeade."

"What other duties will I have besides teaching? I remember you put me on night patrol a couple of nights a week, well, except when I couldn't of course."

"Well, you'll have to do more this time. Snape is too busy being sick. I don't see how he's going to teach, let alone anything else. He's sleeping badly unless he takes his proper doses, and then he's dead to the world, but he shouldn't be out of bed at all if you ask me." Filch drank some of his own tea, and Lupin took a sip of his to be polite.

"I suppose I'd better pull my weight, then. If I want him to be able to brew the Wolfsbane, he'll need as much rest as he can get."

"Sometimes I wish you didn't have to take it. I'd love to see you on grounds patrol during those nights. Those little brats might actually stay in bed then. Except for Those Three," Filch added darkly. "If Dementors won't keep them in, nothing will."

Lupin grinned, then let it fade. "I know they seem a great nuisance, Argus, but they mean a lot to me. I wouldn't hurt them for the world, not even accidentally. I'm better off taking the potion or being locked in the Shack."

"You're a good man, Remus," Filch said with a nod. "But if it means defending Hogwarts, forget about either one and do what you can. We might need your wolf someday."

"Thank you," Lupin said.

The caretaker looked down at his desk and shuffled some papers. "On another subject, what was your policy for confiscated contraband when you taught that one year?"

"Oh. Well, I kept it in my desk and threw it out when I had to resign."

"Ah. I should have told you when you started that it gets brought here and we sort it out. See, this way I can add anything new to the forbidden list. And I can add to the er, collection." Filch turned beet-red. "Some of the magazines from the boys get passed around a bit." He gestured towards a file cabinet. "If you'd like to borrow a few, just sign them out on the little card on top. If you have any, um, preferences just let me know. The magazines and such from the girls go to Professor Sprout. I think she has the same kind of arrangement with the female staff."

Remus felt his face grow hot. "Does the Headmaster know about this?"

"Know about it? True, the last time he signed any out was thirty years ago, but I think that was because Mi—er, Professor McGonagall—put her foot down."

"Why would he allow such a thing?" Lupin asked, startled.

"Some of us are younger than others, and only Sprout is married," Filch said bluntly. "Arrangements between staff have to be quiet, but better magazines than students. You wouldn't be the only one. Of course we don't spread this around, but Hagrid likes the really tall ones, of course, and Snape likes them plump. Flitwick leaves me a bottle if I find any new twin sets, and to be honest, I like mine a bit older. Any sort you want me to keep an eye out for?"

Lupin stared at the floor. He had been so ill at the first of the year he'd taught here that he really hadn't cared that much, but by spring he _had_ been noticing the more developed girls. "Dark eyes," he muttered, "and long, long hair."

"Right, then. You might try chatting up Professor Sinistra, if you don't mind staying up late—she's that type. I'm surprised Rolanda didn't taking you out for a spin the last time you were here, mind, she's always looking for a new broom."

_Oh. So that was what she meant._ The Quidditch coach had asked him out for a late tea, but it had been too close to the full moon for him to be able to trust himself to behave like a gentleman. _Maybe that was what she was after_. He felt like an idiot. She hadn't asked again after he'd turned her down. "Er, thanks for the hint," he said. "But wouldn't Madame Sinistra and Snape be friends, since they're the only members of Slytherin on the staff?"

"Oh, they tried things on for a bit, or at least had a picnic or two, but she's a bit skinny for his tastes, and he's a bit tall and gloomy for hers, at least that's what I heard from the portraits. You and she might get on better. However, better magazines than students. Yours will be fawning all over you, since you're such a gentleman. Snape saves himself a lot of trouble by his horrible greasy git routine, and even then there's the occasional Hufflepuff with a taste for the bad boys that he has to discourage. None of the little darlings takes Flitwick seriously, and frankly, that's just as well. I don't believe half that man's stories, but he's got a good imagination if nothing else. You _really_ wouldn't believe what a couple of the older female students have tried on me to get out of detentions, but there's a reason I keep my door open whenever a girl's in here, and I advise you to do the same. Hagrid is sweet on that Madam Maxime, but I've seen him taking a second look at the Bullstrode girl a few times now she's over six feet tall. But that won't go anywhere till she graduates, if it ever does. Everyone knows that Snape would use anybody who meddled with his Snakes for potion ingredients." Filch shook his head. "But that's enough about that for now. Saturday nights are for poker in Hagrid's hut. I missed that boy last year, we all did, and the games in here just weren't the same."

"Why didn't I hear about this the last time I taught?"

"After that prat Quirrell and that lunatic Lockhart, I wanted to make sure you'd last. Besides, it put Snape off his feed to have you here. God, did he whine! And…with the Dementors here, we didn't leave the castle at night anyway, especially after the poor Fat Lady got knifed when your dear friend got inside." Filch looked at him with narrowed eyes.

Lupin nodded. He had been responsible for that.

Argus continued. "I didn't invite Moody, either, fake or not. Snape didn't fuss about him, and that scared me. If someone's nasty enough to frighten Snape, I don't want him around either. Of course, Umbridge wouldn't have cared for us gambling at all. She's a bit old-fashioned that way. Flitwick rigged me a charm that rang a bell if she was coming to my office. Gave me enough time to start the tea for her if she wanted to stop."

"What was Snape like at the games last year?" Lupin asked idly.

"Even dead tired, he skinned us half the time and Flitwick the rest, unless I or Hooch got lucky. Thank God neither Vector or Trelawney likes to play. Either one of them can read our cards blindfolded, I swear. Minerva swears under her breath like a sailor when she's got a bad hand, so it's almost like cheating when she plays, but that's not my problem. Every once in a while Snape showed up on the wrong day or time, but _they_ kept him pretty busy last year. Nobody would say at what, but I can guess." Filch yawned. "It made me fair sick how Umbridge made cow eyes at him. But he knew I thought highly of her, and kept out of my way. He's a gentleman, he is, no matter what anybody else says."

Remus felt vaguely ill at the thought of Umbridge gushing at anyone. "I'm sure she misses you," he said gamely.

"I hope so," the caretaker said wistfully. "Well, let's go find your quarters and get you settled in. Let me know when your trunk gets here and I'll have it sent up.

"I hope it doesn't get lost," Lupin said, knowing he didn't have one.

"Some of the extras in Lost and Found will probably fit you. You're about the size of some of the seventh-year boys. That should carry you over till you can get some shopping done." Filch looked at him with more sympathy now. "Snape was a bugger to fit when it was his turn. Built like a stovepipe, then and now."

The caretaker showed Remus to his rooms, the same ones he'd had before. In some ways, this fit better than having all of Black's house to himself.

This was _his_.


	17. Chapter 17: Overture

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 17: Overture

Author's note: I was supposed to get further along my first draft than I did here. But Flitwick wouldn't shut up the moment he managed to sneak up on stage. Sigh. Oh, and thanks to all you lovely reviewers who put me over 200 reviews (ich bin eine Review Slut!). And thanks again to my wonderful Britpicker, Snape's Nightie. Go read her stuff!

Harry Potter

For the next few nights Harry explored the pensieve. He saw other memories of his mother in there, though not too many of his father or his friends. Well, that was all right. He knew more about his father than he really wanted to in some ways. Harry was relieved that so far no one seemed to be lying about how wonderful his mother had been. On rare occasions he wondered what else he wasn't being told, but there was nothing he could do about that in the Dursley house.

The most surprising things, though, were the memories of Sirius Black! Remus was also present at times, as well as Wormtail. It was always at Hogwarts, of course, usually in class or from a distance on the grounds somewhere. Harry gloried in the few Quidditch games where he got to see his father on a broom. Since James Potter had been a Chaser, he stayed lower on the field and was more often in sight.

Harry was a bit absentminded during the daytime, enjoying these old memories, but he got his concentration back quickly enough during boxing practice. Now he stopped hating his sparring partners, and was amazed to discover that he was just as effective going after them. His few nightmares stopped almost entirely. He still grieved for Cedric and Sirius, but in a less horrid way, if that made any sense.

One afternoon when Dudley had gone off to see his friends, he asked Aunt Petunia if she had any pictures of Mum's wedding. He backed off and apologized when she glared at him. He'd gotten used to her being halfway decent to him faster than he thought.

Then she apologized herself. "You'll have to keep quiet about it around your uncle," she said. "He's never liked knowing he was related by marriage to any of your kind."

"Do you have any pictures of your wedding I could look at, too?" he asked. "I, I saw a picture of Mum and Dad's ceremony and you and Uncle Vernon were in it. Did my parents go to yours as well?"

"Yes, of course. Lily was my maid of honor," she said, obviously pleased by the request. "My wedding pictures are in a book in the parlor. I'll go fetch it."

They both looked through it while sitting at the kitchen table. Harry really wanted to ask _Why have you hated me for so many years? Why are you being this nice now?_ But there was no point. He'd never get an honest answer. And he'd enjoyed this summer not being exiled to his room or to the cupboard.

His aunt began pointing out different people, including a still-large Aunt Marge. Then Harry's eye caught his parents, clearly a couple even before their own marriage. Lily looked like a happy imp in her wedding finery, while his father James had stood with her. These pictures had been here all these years, and only now was he getting a look at them! For a moment anger and anguish filled his heart.

"It was a beautiful wedding," Petunia said softly. Her eyes looked far away. "So was Lily's, I suppose, even with all her freakish friends. Everyone loved her, of course, from James that one tall boy hiding in the corner eating his heart out." She snorted. "And that stupid Black, the one who became your godfather, tried a bit of fun with me at the punchbowl till Vernon put a stop to it." She sighed. "Well, he tried anyway. But Black didn't budge and for a moment I was afraid we were both in trouble, till that dark-haired boy came out and made some nasty remarks. In fact, I think the fellow ended up as one of your professors."

"What?" Harry was stunned, both at finding out this new tidbit about his godfather, and learning that _Snape_ had actually helped out. He hadn't paid much attention to the scene by the punchbowl, since neither his mum or dad had been involved, and he hadn't explored all the bits in that particular memory yet.

"We get your school reports, dear. I must admit, it is intriguing to actually hear your teachers' voices in them. All of them seem quite fond of you, except for this one. It took me a while to remember where I had heard that voice before." She looked down at the pictures and sighed. "I don't quite understand why you never have the same teacher for that one Defense subject two years running, but it's said there's a dreadful amount of turnover in the teaching profession these days."

"Er…" How to explain that so far all of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professors had tried to kill him at least once during their tenure? He'd been told there was a new line in the Betting Book that the Ravenclaws had, though he'd been assured that he was always odds-on for surviving whatever they did. _Just as well Snape has never gotten (got) the post given the way people say he wants it,_ Harry thought. _He'd probably succeed. Then again, if I survived the year he'd probably be gone at the end of it._ That cheered him a little. "I don't know why, Aunt Petunia. It's been a bit of a joke ever since I started there."

She gave him a wry smile, then looked back down at the pictures. She looked less cheerful then. "Yes, everyone loved Lily," Petunia said softly. "But Vernon loved only me, no matter how strange my family was. He almost left me, you know, when I insisted we keep you."

He didn't know what to say. "Then…why did you?" Hermione Granger never said anything about what things were like at his home, but had secretly left him enough pamphlets from various children's services that he knew the Dursleys had alternatives. Sometimes he didn't know why he didn't call some of those numbers either.

"That old man!" his aunt said emphatically. "He had a talk with the two of us when you first came here. Vernon agreed to stay. But…it wasn't pleasant for a while. We got into some er, bad habits dealing with you. At first I tried to keep things as normal as possible, but things just _happened_ around you whenever I thought Vernon might calm down."

_That's right, aunt, try to justify everything you've done to me,_ Harry thought angrily.

"This summer has been much better," Petunia said, clearly trying to move on. "You've had interests that Vernon thinks are proper for a boy your age. And Dudley's never hated you for having magic the way that I hated…" She stopped abruptly.

"Only one more summer to go, and then you'll be rid of me." All the joy he'd felt at talking to his aunt was gone.

"I know." She bowed her head. "I just hope this war against You-Know-Who is over by then, and you well out of it. Sometimes I did hate you, Harry. Vernon blamed me for everything that went wrong. But I shouldn't have made that treat you the way I did."

_Oh, wonderful! Snape hates me for looking like Dad, and Aunt Petunia for being like her sister!_ Harry kept silent. Wrecking Dumbledore's office had been great, but he knew the consequences of being angry here. _You'd think I'd know better than to show it around Snape, too,_ he thought bitterly. He wondered why he'd been so stupid around Umbridge as well. _I should know better than to let down my guard against a DADA instructor by now. _But that was funny about the Potions Master. _You'd think part of me trusts him or something stupid like that. How Sirius would laugh if I ever told him!_

_But why I am so upset now? I should be used to this here. _

"Where did you put those papers, Harry? The ones for the amateur bout?"

He blinked. "I'll fetch them. I think they're in my room."

Petunia signed all the ones that required a guardian, then called the clinic to arrange for an appointment. Surprisingly, one was available the next day. Harry wondered if that had been managed for him by his friends, or he'd just been lucky for a change. "You may as well having something that you want while you're living here," Petunia said. "Vernon and I were going up to see Dudley anyway. It might be against the rules to leave you by yourself, and you really are too old to bother Mrs. Figg. I'd hate to speak to that dreadful man with the glass eye again."

Harry smiled. It felt good to know that someone was on his side.

The doctor passed him, though Harry was cautioned to fight only in legal bouts and in the proper helmet. "Since you have headaches from that scar from time to time, a blow to it could be nasty," the fellow said. "But you seem fit enough otherwise. Your X-rays are a little odd, but nothing to downcheck you on. If you fight with your glasses on, use holders even if they look strange. The helmet will cover them anyway most of the time. Have you ever considered contact lenses?"

Harry knew it was impossible to explain about Gilderoy Lockhart, a missing arm, and the wonderful properties of Skele-Gro, never mind the times he'd been hit by Bludgers, whacked his arm against gravestones trying to dodge fatal curses, or bitten by a basilisk. Besides, he was used to fighting without glasses by now. There wasn't that much room in a ring anyway, so being nearsighted wasn't much of a handicap. "Thanks," he told the doctor once his release was signed.

As Aunt Petunia drove him home, he thanked her, too. The only thing that marred his happiness was that no oversized black dog would be hiding by the ring when he fought. _Oh, Sirius, I wish you could see me! I know you'd be proud of me for trying, even if I lost._

Moisture blurred his glasses. _Maybe—maybe he can see me anyway. Oh, I hope so!_

Severus Snape

It had been still light when the pain in his arm had awakened him. He'd gone up to the Headmaster's office with the blank wands, gave a brief report, and had slowly walked out to the Forest to let the Mark take him.

Someone in Knockturn Alley must have talked. Snape had collected the wands only today, and still hadn't put any monitoring spells on the wretched things. _I'll leave that to the Dark Lord,_ he thought. _My connection to all the apprentices will have to serve._

It was dark when he landed at their meeting place, so they were probably south, and most likely east by a time zone or two of Hogwarts. He stumbled from weakness and nearly tripped over a tree root. Three shadowy figures waited for him. Fortunately it was Draco and his two friends, and they were there to help him. Perhaps it had been a good things to take apprentices after all. He remembered a few meetings where scores were settled among fellow Death Eaters away from prying eyes.

At least he had already taken his final dose for the day, so he didn't have that to face that when he returned. Severus felt quite strange, as if he were floating instead of walking. Snape entered the dell, counted off his apprentices, and went to his knees before the Dark Lord. "The mission has been accomplished, my lord," he said, proffering the new wands. "I also have a report about a new arrival at the school."

Voldemort's mind plunged through his, but it didn't hurt this time. It was as if he rode on top of a crashing wave instead of being knocked flat by it. Why, tonight he could look at Pettigrew, Lily's betrayer, and not want to strangle him. Perhaps he could make headway with the former Marauder tonight, if there were time for casual speech. Snape suspected the rat was tired of effectively being the lowest in rank, as he had been among his fellows at Hogwarts. In a formal sense, Wormtail was highest in the Dark Lord's regard, but his personal presence was less than overwhelming. As personal servant to Voldemort, no doubt he was ordered around by Bellas as well. _I ought to tell Percy Weasley to play up being subservient to Pettigrew and make what he can about being two Gryffindors among the Snakes._ Severus remembered the rat wanting to chat during the banquet at Malfoy Manor. _I know! I'll feed him a few tidbits about Lupin's arrival at the school. That ought to tantalize him._

"Rise," Voldemort said, with an approving look on his face. "You're quite right," he said in a lower voice. "My little Lion is feeling lonely these days, even with his new apprentice. As much as I appreciate Madam Lestrange's loyalty, she tends to presume if given the chance. I always thought you and Wormtail might make good allies if Lucius were ever out of the picture. Let us just say that Peter's experiences with the rest of the Marauders was not always pleasant. How do you think I convinced him to serve me? Black, and sometimes Potter, became bored when they couldn't find you to torment."

Snape felt terror flood his mind as he realized the Dark Lord had heard his thoughts. He stood and bowed his head.

His master said, "It does not disturb me to see that you are looking out for yourself, Severus. Only by being strong can you care for your apprentices. Besides, Lestrange counts on your natural rivalry to keep you and Wormtail from working together. It will be amusing to watch her reaction when you conquer it." He reached out one hand and caressed Snape's left cheek. "I won't let her hurt you, my Shadow. At least not till you are well. After that you have my leave to settle affairs between each other without my interference. She is a strong, passionate woman who misses a man in her bed."

"She is married, my lord." The touch should have put him on alert, and yet it had calmed him instead. How very strange.

"And so is Lucius. Both he and Bella's husband are in Azkaban. No doubt the potions you are taking from the Swiss eliminate desire. Regain your health, Severus, and we may have this conversation again."

"I have not forgotten what you have asked for yourself, my lord."

"Neither have I. But your fires burn low, Shadow. I can wait till they rise again."

_Then you will wait a long time._ Unless the detoxicant had long term effects he didn't know about, he suspected that his memory work had changed him more in that way than the potions had. It didn't really matter.

He raised his head and said, "Shall these wands be distributed tonight, my lord? They are entirely blank with no monitoring spell as yet."

Voldemort graciously accepted the items, and placed the spells on them himself. Each apprentice bowed before the Dark Lord to receive his or her new wand. Lestrange glared at him as this occurred, but didn't say a word. Snape didn't care. Perhaps the Dark Lord was right about what she truly wanted, but he was the wrong person to ask.

The children were given their instructions. Then Severus had a quiet chat with all but Edgecombe and Weasley. "Practice the Unforgivables you have been taught," he said. "They become more effective the more often you use them. Obviously, not all of you will have proper targets." He was a bit surprised that none had been provided tonight, actually. "However, plants, animals and annoying rocks make acceptable substitutes. Remember what the real purpose of this drill actually is. Someday you will have the right kind of prey in front of your wand. The more you practice, the better. You will learn more defensive spells when school starts. Lupin will be the Dark Arts professor this. Study his lessons well!"

He heard a few murmurs of "DA" and "stupid Potter". He glared at them "Yes, and they didn't do too badly. Despite some serious errors on their part, they held their own for longer than they should have before the Aurors showed up, or so I was told. Speak to Miss Edgecombe soonest about their organization. You could do much worse."

They were quiet, even Draco. Snape hoped the boy remembered the latest failed attempt on Potter and his friends on the Hogwarts Express, as well as others which were nearly as disastrous. "Be discreet. Even if your parents are…allies, they will not appreciate stupidity. Later, we'll have sessions where you will learn to work as a team. Madam Lestrange may be persuaded, if you're lucky, to offer a critique of the DA as they appeared to her during the ministry raid. Since she successfully got rid of that insufferable Sirius Black, she should be listened to. For all the DA's effectiveness, they apparently had some problems which you should not emulate."

Bella was chatting with her apprentice, but looked up when her name was mentioned. Severus bowed to her, then dismissed the students, and Lestrange did the same with hers. The Dark Lord sent the children back, since few of them were old enough to Apparate, with or without a license. Pettigrew then left to run some sort of errand, while Bella walked over.

"Aren't you the special one lately?" she asked.

"I shall never be as high in the Dark Lord's estimation as you are," he said, suddenly so weary he could barely stand. "And I would like you to give my apprentices your evaluation of how the DA worked from your point of view during the raid before the Aurors arrived."

She smiled. "You must be sick. What happened to the man who tore apart a Muggle with one Crucio last month?"

"Wishing he'd never gone to Switzerland and let those idiots dose me," he snapped. "But I still have ten dunderheads I must teach enough to keep them alive the first time the Master needs them in action."

"Well, Peter says you've petitioned for the Dark Arts position there at the school every year, so think of this as practice," she said callously. "At least you know who your betters are these days. You were always quite the climber, thinking that Malfoy's shirt tails were long enough to pull you up from Knockturn Alley. You deserved to have to crawl to the old man all those years I was in prison. I must send a thank-you note to those Swiss for finally bringing you down where you belong."

Snape knew he normally would have been enraged at her attitude. He was better off the way he was. "I understand," he said, after a moment's pause to collect his thoughts. "One last thing, Madam Lestrange. Miss Edgecombe may come to me for advice during the school year. May I give it on the spot, or do you want me to consult with you first, since she is your apprentice?"

Bella smirked. "You may do as you like with her at Hogwarts. She's a blasted nuisance anyway. You know, I like you this way. I'm glad you're finally learning your place."

Severus hid a smile of his own as she walked away. She had just formally given jurisdiction of her only apprentice over to him for all but two months of the year. A pity that Percy Weasley was no longer a student, or he might gain the same concession from Wormtail.

"Rather clever, that," Voldemort hissed unexpectedly from behind him. Snape turned around to face the Dark Lord. "It will be amusing to see this comedy played out. Apparently Bella is taken in by your show of weakness."

"It's not that much of a show," Snape admitted. He would rather eat dirt than crawl to Lestrange, but his apprentices were more important than how he felt.

"I know. Only a Slytherin could turn illness into advantage like that. Well done. I cannot wait to see how you manage Pettigrew."

"He is your personal servant, my lord. Besides, as a Gryffindor he is naturally suspicious of me." Snape certainly didn't want Voldemort worried for his own skin.

"I shall still watch and wait. I do not underestimate you, Severus. I suspect by the time that the others leave Azkaban to rejoin us that your power will be much greater."

"I have been dependent on Malfoy too long, my lord."

"Oh, believe me, I am merely admiring your technique. Taking the dirty work that other purebloods disdain is how I managed my own climb." The Dark Lord then spoke in a louder voice. "You are dismissed for the night, faithful servant. Rest and grow well again to serve me all the better."

Snape bent the knee and Disapparated back to the Forbidden Forest. He rested, exhausted beyond belief, but rose to his feet when he heard the tramp of Hagrid's step in the wood. "I'm—I'm all right, Hagrid," he said in a whisper. "I'm just very tired."

The half-giant offered his arm for support without a word, and Severus gratefully took it. What happened to the pride that would normally make him refuse till he literally could not take one more step? No doubt that was gone with the memories he'd put away, or drowned by that swill the Swiss gave him.

He reported to the Headmaster in a haze of weariness. He recited all he knew about the wands, the discussion afterwards, and what the Dark Lord had said. His feelings about the way Voldemort had touched him no longer mattered. Everything important was safely tucked away.

Dumbledore must have wondered if he were under the Imperius spell, as the older wizard performed Legilimens anyway. Something odd happened. Once the spell was over, Snape couldn't speak. He was trapped in that wordless space he'd visited when his parents had died, and for a short time in Azkaban. The other senses of sight, taste and touch took precedence over making any sense of what the white-haired man said. He ought to be afraid, but wasn't.

Then the other wizard stood, came out from behind the desk and put his hands on Snape's head. Warmth flowed from those hands into him.

Snape understood the spell being chanted then, and took a deep breath. "What happened to me?" he asked.

Dumbledore went back to his seat. "I am dreadfully sorry, Severus. You weren't hiding anything from me tonight, but everything you said came so easily that I wondered if Tom had cursed you somehow and then Obliviated it. Legilimens can sometimes reveal those gaps better than a memory placed in a pensieve. I didn't know that it had already been done on you, and two in one night is just too much for you in your condition. I should have known better. I thought I would have to overcome your natural barriers, but they aren't there tonight." The Headmaster turned his face away. "Go see Poppy. She may want you to stay the night."

Snape stood up with difficulty. The room whirled about him, and he barely caught the top of the chair in time to keep from falling. He closed his eyes as they threatened to fill with tears of weakness. "Help," he said. "Help me, please."

The next thing he knew he was being levitated onto a bed. "I'll have Pomfrey come here," the Headmaster said. "Sleep if you can. She's already given Lupin the potion you made, so you don't need to worry about that. There's more than enough for this full moon, but he's staying in the Shrieking Shack the next few nights just to be certain. Oh, my dear boy…"

Severus knew the old man's concern wasn't real, but he hugged it to himself anyway. What was wrong with him? He'd seen the full moon when he'd come back and had not even thought about the wolf as he'd leaned on Hagrid's strong arm.

Soon he heard Poppy's soft voice as she stood by the bed. "He can't go on like this, Albus. And whatever happened to our plan to have me examine him every time after a meeting, even one that seems to have gone well?" He felt her hands brush hair off his face. For once the touch didn't bother him. "Sleep, Severus," she said, and chanted a brief charm.

It worked. His dreams were exceedingly odd, especially the one he had before waking.

He was at a banquet at Malfoy Manor, like the one in his honor earlier in the year. The Dark Lord was there, but so was the Headmaster, along with many others from Hogwarts, the Order, and the Dark Circle.

A dish of calves' brains garnished with lemon slices was set before him. Severus grimaced, since he didn't usually like them, but everyone was watching, and they were having the same. He grimly took a bite, and then another. _You won't be happy till it's all gone, will you?_ he thought. As he ate, he felt strangely detached but proud. _You won't have to deal with the parts of me you don't like any more. I've put them away where nobody can find them but me. Maybe now you'll believe that I can be what you want._

Once his plate was finished, most of those sitting at the table applauded. A few did not. Minerva wept into a handkerchief, while Hagrid looked down at the floor. Draco, sitting next to him, patted his hand and said, "It's all right, Professor. I'll look after you."

But Lucius smiled broadly, as did the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. Just then Molly Weasley entered the room, saw the empty plate, and yelled at everybody. For some reason he couldn't understand what she said, except that she was angry with them for making him eat…whatever it was. He couldn't remember now. It didn't bother him, though, the way forgetting something usually did.

He tried to tell her that he was really all right, and that she should have a seat at the banquet like everyone else, though some of the guests had refused to eat. But the words didn't come. He was too distracted by her beautiful breasts heaving as she shouted at the company. She had yelled at Sirius Black like that, too. It hadn't changed anything, but that wasn't the point. She had cared about him, the greasy git, and had tried to do something about Black's cruelty.

Snape thought he was too tired for desire, but he wanted her next to him. _Arthur,_ a voice bellowed inside him, _she's married to Arthur. You can't have her._ He hung his head, knowing he was in disgrace again for wanting a woman who was happy in someone else's arms. He was always making that mistake—with Lily, with Molly, and every once in a while, with Narcissa. But he didn't deserve to have anyone of his own. He'd been told that a thousand times.

Severus got up from the table and left while Molly shouted at the rest of them some more. If he could never have what he wanted, he had no place here.

Only fragments of the dream remained when he finally awoke. At first he wasn't sure where he was. His beds had always been narrow and hard. This one was wide and soft, with silk hangings, though they were tied back. His nightshirt was on the scratchy side, but he was used to that. Then he noticed that his hands looked different. They seemed, oh, he didn't know, older and bonier than they ought to be. More scars and stains from making potions were on his fingers than he remembered being there before.

He was so tired, even though he'd just woken up. Then Dobby approached the bed with a small tray. "Here you go, Master Severus. Bed all day, no brewing, the Headmaster says. Can bring down wireless or bring book if you want, but stay in bed."

When he'd seen the house elf he thought he might be in the Manor, but why would the Headmaster give him directions there? He was confused now. It didn't make sense for the elf to be at Hogwarts, unless Lucius had been badly hurt and had received permission for Dobby to come here. No, that couldn't be right. Lucius wasn't at the school any more, and was married now. Snape realized that his hands were far too big to belong to someone in second year as well.

Severus ate and drank, though his stomach protested, and then he took the potions. Nasty things! But if he was at Hogwarts and was sick, why wasn't he in the infirmary? "Is…may I talk to Madam Pomfrey?" He was amazed at how deep his voice came out.

"Mistress Nurse tired, up late last night. Will come later."

He must not be that badly off, Severus realized. She never left him if he was really ill. "All right." He lay back on the pillows for a little while, but Dobby still stayed. It was nice to have the elf here, even though he hadn't really figured out why. For a moment, brief visions of funny writing on the walls here at school mixed with the odor of some kind of snake, and then Lucius stalking off in a huff. There was a boy involved, someone with the face of James Potter, only he had green eyes, a girl with bushy hair, and another boy with red hair…

No, he'd lost it. Then he began to sweat, and needed the loo on top of it. Dobby helped him changed into fresh clothing after some washing up. Even though he didn't look in the mirror, he realized something was wrong. His body was different, older than he was used to, and had more scars. The claw mark on his side made him think of Lupin. But it was long healed. Had he accidentally taken an Aging Draught?

And then he noticed the Mark. It was fading, but it was still there. He was glad to have long sleeves on his nightshirt now. What had happened to him? He lay in bed, exhausted from the brief exertion. Snape looked around the room. This place was _nice_. Not as fancy as Malfoy Manor, but he liked this better. His room there when he visited Lucius wasn't that much anyway. Dobby had left the door a little bit open, but he couldn't really see out of it.

The infirmary must be really crowded if he'd been put down here. Why wasn't he in his room up in the Tower, though? This bedroom looked like it could belong to a teacher. Maybe he'd come down with something contagious and had to be kept away from the others, and everyone knew house elves didn't catch human diseases. Severus smothered a laugh. It shouldn't be funny, but if he'd picked up something from home and given it to _Bellwood_—now, that would be worth being stuck in here. His Head of House never lost a chance to sneer at Knockturn Alley and the few students in Slytherin who had come from there. What was worse, the older wizard had said, was that almost everyone who lived there and got an owl from Hogwarts ended up getting dumped into the Pit by the Sorting Hat.

Then Madam Pomfrey walked in. She did look tired, as if the latest crisis had aged her. Severus was ashamed to cause her so much trouble. She wearily smiled at him and had her wand out. "Well, dear, you'll feel better later today, but I want you to stay in bed for all of it, and not try to do anything till tomorrow. Take your potions and try to eat as much as possible."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Snape said respectfully. He was glad his voice had finally stopped changing, though it sounded even deeper than he was used to.

She looked at him oddly then. "What, no arguments?"

"We're not supposed to argue with you, ma'am. Professor Bellwood takes points for that. Besides, you're always nice to me." He choked back emotion. He didn't want to cry in front of her, though she was one of the few people he felt safe around. "I just don't remember what happened. Was it Potter or Black or both? Or did I just get sick? Thank you for sending for Dobby. I'm surprised Lucius let him come here."

Her face went blank. "How much do you know about Memory Charms, dear?"

"Not as much as I should," he said, biting his lip. But Professor Flitwick never got on him the way he did some of the other students when they came up short.

"We have a little problem," she said. "I don't know how to tell you this, but…what year is this?"

That was a stupid question. He answered it without hesitation. "1978. Um, I think." He suddenly didn't feel quite so sure.

"Dobby, bring me the morning paper," she said to the elf, who disappeared, then rapidly returned with a newspaper. "Read this, dear."

He glanced at the front page, happy to see Rita Skeeter's name on a byline. Then he saw the date. July 31, 1996. "Is…is this a joke?" he asked. "I don't understand." His hands shook and he put the paper down. Odd visions flickered through his mind, including one of a bowl full of silver-gray goo that could only be a pensieve.

"No." Pomfrey took a deep breath. "You are Professor Severus Snape, head of the House of Slytherin. You teach Potions here, and this is your own bedroom. Dobby joined us three years ago after his master accidentally gave him a sock. McGonagall is still head of Gryffindor, Sprout for Hufflepuff, and Flitwick for Ravenclaw. Albus is still the Headmaster. I have treated you more times in the infirmary than I can count. You are currently undergoing therapy for potions overload, or Brewer's Bog as it used to be called."

That was weird! Only really old wizards got that. "Then you know what's on my arm," Severus whispered. This couldn't be true.

"Yes, dear. I do. But you haven't done anything wrong. You only pretend to be _his_ spy on us, while you actually spy on him. Last night you came back from a meeting and the Headmaster was…was a bit rough on you."

"What else is new?" he snarled. Then he remembered trying to stand up in the old wizard's office, and barely catching himself. "Too busy celebrating the Boy-Who-Lived's birthday to care what happens to me, I suppose." Where had that come from? Who was the Boy-Who-Lived, and what difference did it make when his birthday was? Then he realized he'd said too much. "Don't tell him I said that, Madam Pomfrey. Please. I didn't mean to be disrespectful. I know I have to do better this summer." But why this summer? "What wrong with me?" he wailed out loud.

"It's not your fault," the mediwitch said softly, though she had anger in her eyes. "I'll have him down here immediately."

"No!" he shouted. "No, please," he added in a softer voice. "Professor Flitwick is good at Memory Charms, I remember that. He helped me when I was at St. Mungo's when my parents died, when I couldn't talk. Maybe he can do something now."

Pomfrey nodded. "Perhaps that would be better. Fortunately he's back from vacation, and I very much doubt he'd mind helping. I want you to stay here in bed and read the paper. Dobby will hold it for you and turn the pages if you're too weak."

Severus nodded. He was terrified, but the older woman had always helped before, and had never lied to him. In turn, he told her things he couldn't tell anyone else. So he behaved himself and didn't plead for her to stay as she walked out of the room.

He looked around the place again. This was really his? Some part of his mind also supplied the fact that he had a parlor and a private lab that was also his outside the bedroom door. An ever briefer vision of a fancy guest room at Malfoy Manor also appeared to his inner eye, but that was always on loan, and he knew the price for staying there. _Me, a teacher? I bet I must be the meanest one they ever had,_ he thought with delight. (Bless him)

Snape did some calculations with the date. In November of this year, if it really was 1996, he would be thirty-six. He pretended he needed the bathroom again, and had Dobby help him get there. But once the door was closed, he looked into the mirror. _I look so old and ugly!_ he thought in despair. _I'm probably not married, since I'm not wearing a ring and whoever I would have married isn't here. Who would pick a horrible git like me? Lily probably married James anyway._ He knew that it would be up to Lucius or old Lord Malfoy to find him a bride, but that was probably impossible.

_Me, a spy? How did that ever happen? And who is the Boy-Who-Lived?_ Again he got the fleeting impression of a boy with dark glasses, black hair and green eyes, a redheaded sidekick, and a girl with impossibly bushy hair. Snape shuffled back to bed. Something horrible was waiting for him, he knew it, and the longer he could wait before having to face it, the better.

Severus read the paper, but so little of it made sense. The ad for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes brought back an image of two red-haired lunatics who tried to pretend to be each other and often succeeded, along with meticulous laboratory techniques. _How do I know that? Is Madam Pomfrey right?_ He was angry with them about something, though. There was a student who'd been hurt…Montague, was that the name? He shook his head.

Madam Pomfrey and Professor Flitwick entered the bedroom. Snape put down the paper with shaky hands and deftly folded it back up.

The short wizard greeted him with his usual squeaky voice. "Professor Snape, you seem to think that you are still a student and that it's 1978, is that correct?"

"I…I did," Severus said. He swallowed. "But this newspaper, and what Madam Pomfrey said…I keep seeing funny things in my head that I don't understand. I know I've done something wrong, but I can't figure out what it was."

Flitwick gravely nodded, then clambered up to stand on the chair beside the bed. "Close your eyes, professor, and let me do an examination here. You know I won't hurt you."

"Yes," Snape said gratefully, and did as he was told.

Flitwick's wand felt cool against his forehead, but it rapidly grew warm. The Charms professor's soft chant made him feel safe. _Maybe he'll take away the memories that hurt me so much the way he did when I was in St. Mungo's,_ Severus thought.

But instead his mind exploded with image after image that pierced his mind. They flew all over till they settled down into their proper places. The Dark Lord, oh no, he _hadn't_ done those awful things—but he had, he had, and he couldn't run away now, he had to be strong for his dunderhead Slytherins, no matter what his masters did to him.

"Better?" asked Flitwick.

Snape opened his eyes and moaned, "No! I don't want to come back to this!"

"I don't blame you," the Charms professor said softly. "I wouldn't either."

"Severus, we need to know if you're all right," Poppy added. She asked a series of questions that he was able to answer accurately now.

"You see? I'm all the way back now, for whatever good that does," he said bitterly. Snape briefly closed his eyes and saw his House of Memory intact. "Everything is in its proper place, so you need not worry any more."

"Oh, dear," the mediwitch said. "I always worry about you these days."

"And all I do is shout and complain about it," Severus said, looking at her again.

"It is hard sometimes, but you're not allowed to change so much of it," she said. "And this summer you were made to felt you couldn't complain at all. This is not your fault."

So much of it was, though. He knew that now. The only way out was forward. At least he'd removed the worst of the trash. Flitwick was limited in what he could see, since his Memory Charms could at most pull one memory at a time out into a pensieve without an owner's cooperation, but Snape was still happy he'd been able to sweep as much as he could away from plain sight. His changes had survived examination by both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore.

Pomfrey pulled another vial from her smock pocket and said, "You have been skimping on the sedative lately, so it won't hurt you to have an extra dose this morning. You should let your mind rest and not worry, and I know you will if you're awake. I also mean it when I say you should spend the rest of the day in bed, and I very much doubt you will when you're this upset over things."

He opened his mouth to say he wasn't, really, when he realized that he was frightened if his memories should betray him again. He'd already shown himself enough of a coward to flee into the past. "Perhaps you're right," he said, and took his dose without complaint. Snape's eyelids began closing. He didn't even twitch when Poppy patted him on the shoulder in farewell.

Filius Flitwick

"We must see the Headmaster immediately," the small wizard said.

"It will have to wait a bit. I need to fetch Professor Lupin from the Shrieking Shack," Madam Pomfrey said. No wonder she looked harassed, with two teachers on the sick list.

"Do you mind if I come with you?" Flitwick asked. "I enjoyed talking about the darker charms with him when he was here before."

"Would you mind waiting in the castle? Remus is often…not himself the morning after, and he hates being seen like that. I'd rather take him to the infirmary first. The potion was slightly older than usual, and if it doesn't work properly he sometimes injures himself trying to get out of confinement."

"Oh. Then I'll wait. Both of us need to speak to the Headmaster at the same time."

"I gave him an earful last night, but it couldn't hurt to try to get through to him again," Pomfrey said with a sigh. "And how is that knee of yours? You're walking like it bothers you."

Flitwick blushed. "It always will, a little bit. Once we get through with Albus, I'll stay off of it for the day." His records were not…complete, to say the least, but Poppy accepted his lies about how he'd injured it well enough. Being chased through France by a pack of vampires allied with Grindelwald and then tripping over a tree-root had encouraged him to practice his self-levitation charms more diligently. However, he'd managed to pass that injury off as having been acquired while surfing in Australia. (Now _that's _a wonderful image)

Oh, he understood Snape's problem far better than he dared admit. Perhaps the Headmaster had seen through his carefully compiled set of records, but so far Albus had never called him on it. Filius dreaded having to reveal his real activities during the last War, but for Snape's sake he might yet need to. The Potion Master's slight disorganization was typical for those under the stress the younger wizard met from both side these days; but unless the root causes were treated, or his mental structure reinforced, it would be far too easy for the poor man to slip back into the silence that he had retreated into after his parents' deaths.

Flitwick sat in Poppy's office and drank tea. He delicately failed to listen to the chatter out in the treatment area. _I hope Snape is able to make the potion properly this year,_ he thought, _or Lupin won't be able to stay in his rooms to recover the way he did when he taught before._

Soon, however, he heard the werewolf laugh and shuffle off, no doubt to sleep all day in his own bed. Poppy entered. "There you are. Let's go now."

"Once this meeting is over, you should take a potion yourself," he said.

"It's only going to get worse," Pomfrey said. "I daresay you're right, though."

They went to the Headmaster's office, and entered quickly. Albus and Minerva were having a late breakfast together, though as early as McGonagall usually awoke, it was probably more like lunch to her.

The Headmaster smiled when he saw Flitwick, then sobered when Pomfrey followed. "How is Lupin?" he asked.

Flitwick could have told Dumbledore that his attempt to avoid his upcoming lecture was not going to work. He and Poppy took a seat.

The mediwitch said, "He spent a quiet night and had no problems this morning, save being tired. I sent him off to his quarters, made sure the kitchen elves know to bring him at least two huge trays during today, and I'll give him his potion again tonight. I don't think he'll need to go out to the Shack again, and can be locked in his office instead."

"Good, good," Albus said with a twinkle in his eye, though it looked forced.

"But that's not why we're here, and you know it," Pomfrey said sternly. "Professor Snape slept well according to Dobby. The elf gave him his potions this morning, made sure he ate, and assisted him changing clothes. However," Poppy added. "When I spoke with him this morning he seemed unusually docile. I teased him about, and he said that Professor Bellwood would take points if he didn't behave himself. From what I was able to determine, he thought it odd that Dobby was at Hogwarts, and that he believed it was 1978, though he seemed slightly uncertain about that."

McGonagall leaned forward. "I know he was summoned. Was he hurt again?"

"Not physically," Pomfrey said. "However, he is quite worn down by the potions protocol. Apparently _he_ searched the professor's mind last night, or so I was told, and then the Headmaster did the same. I was brought here after Snape collapsed, and provided supportive care. I believed he would sleep better in his own quarters, and be able to orient himself better should there be any confusion. I also made sure Dobby watched him, since he's known the elf for a long time. When I realized this morning that Severus was confused, I asked him if he would like Albus to come down. He looked terrified. Then he asked for Professor Flitwick, and remembered that Filius was good at Memory Charms, even though he was stuck back in the past. Flitwick restored Snape to the current year, month, and day as far as I could tell with just a few questions. I gave him more of the sedative so he would sleep and stay in bed to get sufficient rest, both physically and mentally. He did not argue."

Flitwick nodded. Anyone who knew the Potions Master had to realize what shape he was in just from that one simple statement. "When I arrived, he appeared happy to see me. He showed that far more clearly with his expression than I am used to seeing. He was simply misplaced in time, and once I was able to trigger a memory cascade, as far as I can tell he arrived back at the present without incident. His mental structure appears quite strong, given the strain he must be under with his current duties. However, considering how much he prides himself on being able to control his feelings, there is something eating away at that structure that I am unable to determine at this time."

McGonagall's eyes flared. "I was told by Magister Lowenstein that they discovered a nightmare hex that went deeper than most, and which they were unable to extract. He asked me to consider various members of the staff, because he believed that Snape had had it inflicted on him by someone he trusted."

All eyes swiveled at once at the Headmaster. Poppy looked grim. "You tried to remove it, but you backed away because you couldn't stand how he managed to get information for the Order, or what he'd done at that meeting. Now he's beginning to crack just with your touch on his mind. I told you what I thought of that last night."

Flitwick could see a whole round of recriminations, which would resolve nothing. "We can speak of that later, Madam Pomfrey. Right now we must consider what must be done to help Professor Snape. I strongly suggest that he be examined by our esteemed mediwitch the moment he returns from a meeting, and that any debriefing afterwards include a member from the Order."

Albus sighed. "Perhaps you're right." But there was an odd look in those elderly blue eyes. The smaller wizard knew that the Headmaster had found a hole card."

"I also suggest that this member of the Order not be Professor Lupin," Pomfrey said, "unless he is called in to remove a curse. Professor Snape has an understandable phobia about him, and I can't say I blame him a bit."

Good thought. Lupin was notoriously amenable to authority, since as a werewolf he could be removed from his post at a word from the Headmaster. In fact, Flitwick wished he dared to ask that no other Gryffindor sit in, but he wasn't that brave. He hoped McGonagall would be willing to intervene should something go wrong.

Dumbledore looked rather less pleased now. The way the Deputy Headmistress looked, she wasn't going to put up with much more either. "Also agreed, circumstances permitting" Albus said curtly. "Any other conditions?"

Flitwick wondered just how soon the Headmaster planned to 'accidentally' forget this agreement. He was giving in far too easily.

"I'll have another talk with him this evening," said Poppy. "Filius, I'll let you know if there are any other problems. Albus, if you could have tea with me after supper tonight, we can discuss how to remove that hex with the least amount of damage. They can get quite nasty if they stay for long enough. In fact, I hope it's not too late now."

The Headmaster nodded glumly and dismissed them. Flitwick caught up with McGonagall just past the stairs going to Dumbledore's office. She was clearly restraining fury. "Madam Deputy Headmistress," he said formally, and hoped she understood why he used that title. She stopped and blinked.

"Yes?" Minerva's eyes flashed.

"If, as I believe, the Headmaster finds some way to get around this informal arrangement, and Professor Snape suffers further damage, I believe we should speak with Professor Sprout."

She took a deep breath. "We didn't do that last year when Umbridge was here."

"Perhaps we should have, though Professor Snape would have been placed in an unfortunate position. However, she attacked all the teachers here, including Severus by the end. Fortunately Albus was able to intervene before either Hagrid or Trelawney were affected. But things have become increasingly worse for one particular house in just the last few years, and I believe we all know the reason."

"Harry Potter," McGonagall said reluctantly. "And I've been just as bad as Albus."

"Not entirely. Last year was an aberration, because of his absence. But Professor Snape has always been more vulnerable than the rest of us given the circumstances of his hiring. I never placed much credence in his complaints when the boy came here, although at that first Leaving Feast I began to wonder. I suspect you did, as well."

They walked into a little room close to the kitchens, one that contained no portraits or statues, and sat down. Flitwick put a Silencio around them just in case. Perhaps Snape wasn't as paranoid as people thought he was. "Further Leaving Feasts confirmed many of Snape's complaints," he said. "The growing insolence of many Gryffindors over the last several years is a bad sign. I protested against that kind of thing when the Marauders dominated the school."

McGonagall sighed. "I mucked that one up!"

"You were fairly new to the faculty then, and the rest of us made allowances for that. However, during a war many other things are let go. Once it was over, things returned to normal. Unfortunately, we seem to be in the same situation again, and once more Snape appears to be the target as our Headmaster confers his favor away from him and on another. We thought it was just jealousy, but I had a great deal of trouble with the Weasley twins last year. Though Umbridge went much too far, their glorious departure means that your children will feel free to behave precisely how they please."

"I will have to crack down on them at the very beginning."

"I hope you mean during the Sorting as well. It was only the Twins who hissed everyone who Sorted into Slytherin, but the rest may take it up this year. That house has never quite recovered from what happened during the first war, and frankly, Albus was to blame for much of that as well. If you make one entire house a pariah, you should not be surprised if they react the way they did. I must admit that I never expected Snape to return from the path he chose, or to stick it out here at Hogwarts so long, given the ugly associations he has with the place."

"Now that was Dumbledore as well," Minerva said loyally.

"True. But he is backsliding again, and for the same reasons he did so last time. You and I both know how important Snape is to the Order, but you'd never know it from the way he is treated by the other members. Albus also protected him there. Moody and I have a little talk on occasion, since I don't go to meetings very often. Lupin was much too eager to bow to whatever his friend Black wanted, and Moody still thinks Snape belongs in Azkaban. If Albus withdraws his protection, as he appears to be doing right now, in favor of his fellow Gryffindors, then Severus is in grave danger, and not just from _him_. This is not the first time Snape has retreated, Minerva. After his parents died, he nearly ended up in long-term care. When he first began to talk, he took refuge in the past then as well, and it was far more difficult than it was today to restore him to the present. I had to permanently extract a few of his memories, and I have always worried since then that I took too much. However, Albus has taught Severus how to manage his mental structure much better since then. That's why I had such an easy time this morning. But if this trauma is repeated, or this nightmare hex continues to grow more deeply into that structure, I cannot guarantee we'll have him back at all."

McGonagall frowned. "We always do the Latin crossword puzzle in the Sunday Prophet together. I'll talk to you after we do it this week and let you know if he had any problems."

"That would help. I believe he's going to be all right, but he should be watched for any other memory or verbal problems. And, I'm sorry to say, I don't think we can trust Albus to hold to any agreement he made today. We didn't ask for a wand oath, and he added 'circumstances permitting'."

"But there is a war on," McGonagall argued.

"True. I suspect that he'll let us follow procedure the next few times, and then forget when an emergency comes up."

"He doesn't hate Severus. In fact, I used to whine that he was the new favorite," Minerva said, obviously looking for the brighter side.

"I don't think he does. I believe he has simply reverted to the way he was when the first war was raging, and that he has forgotten why so many in Slytherin took the Mark then. He truly loves that boy. You can see it in his eyes whenever he talks about Harry Potter. I also feel that Severus is jealous, since he's had so little experience of anyone caring for him. He probably feels that Albus is his only hope, and is reacting badly to having that taken away."

"But you said he was frightened when Poppy offered to have Dumbledore see him," Minerva said.

"I see relatively few abused children in Ravenclaw," Flitwick said uneasily. "But that doesn't mean I see none. Most of them go to Slytherin, for which I am duly thankful. But Snape's prior history is particularly unpleasant. I can't say more, since most of what I learned was through the Ministry investigation of his parents' deaths. I suspect he reacts to Albus as he did to his parents, and I fear the Headmaster has taken advantage of his power."

She nodded. "At the beginning of this summer, Albus suggested to Severus that his legal position could be threatened unless he resolved his attitude towards young Mr. Potter."

Flitwick ground his teeth. "And of course neither one wishes to discuss it. I wish I had known this earlier. I now think Professor Sprout should be told immediately. I also believe that Madam Pomfrey should give the Headmaster a thorough examination."

"Medical unfitness? You'll never get him to believe it."

"I know he's the chief of the Order, Minerva. I hate this, too. But he is nearly one hundred and fifty years old, and the strain of being either head of the Order or being Headmaster of Hogwarts is a great deal to ask of anyone his age. Doing both is probably too much to ask of anyone. How is _your_ health?"

"Better than it was, thanks to our beloved Potions Master," she said wryly. "In the last week or so, he's managed to brew the Wolfsbane, a set of potions for Miss Granger, and a new set for me. I think Winky needs a vacation, too, as she's been helping a great deal." She took a deep breath. "We depend on Severus for a great deal, don't we?"

"Something must be done, Minerva. It will only get worse when school begins. If nothing else, pay more attention to your Gryffindors."

"What if Severus isn't able to manage his Snakes?" she asked.

"Then we'll have to find someone who can," he said. "I wish I knew one we would trust, and not suspect of having the Mark. Sinistra is of that House, of course, but she barely makes it to staff meetings. I thought Snape was a recluse till she was hired. If we have someone in his place that is treated the same way, then we'll be worse off than with no one at all. Ask Binns sometimes about what happened back in the 1920's when your Lions were hated. It's just as bad no matter which House is despised."

McGonagall sighed. "I miss the days I could complain about Severus taking the Cup year after year. He used to take points from his children back then, too. It was when Draco Malfoy was Sorted into Slytherin that he stopped."

"And that was when Albus began his little Leaving Feast surprises, too," Flitwick said.

"I suppose it's been too long since I had tea with Pomona," Minerva said. "Albus has been Headmaster for thirty years. That's by no means a record, I suppose, but under the circumstances that could be too long for him. He lost his third wife and his two sons during the Grindelwald War, and I imagine that Hogwarts has been his family since."

"I know. I hope I'm wrong," Flitwick said. "But if we don't protect Snape, nobody else is going to. After all, if the hero of two wars turns against him, what recourse does he have? There is still an unfortunate prejudice against those from Knockturn Alley even in Slytherin. He's overcome a great deal to be where he is today. He deserves better than this."

Minerva rose. "Thanks for ruining my day," she said mordantly.

He stood as well, not that it meant much at his height. "If you had seen him this morning before I was able to sort him out, you'd be upset too," he said. "Please remember to keep your eyes and ears open when you do the puzzle together. I don't want to cause trouble if it doesn't exist. But something is terribly wrong, and we are the only ones who can tell the Headmaster if the strain is getting to him. If nothing else, the Ministry would be only too happy to discredit him publicly if we don't help Albus manage Hogwarts properly. Most of them are Hufflepuffs, and Diggory, at least, is still angry over the death of his son. Barty Junior confessed to putting Mr. Potter's name in the Goblet, but since he's no longer available for interrogation, I suspect many suspect that Albus is covering up involvement of his own."

"You don't believe that Harry managed it for himself, do you?"

"Of course not. I have never seen such a look of disbelief and terror as I did on that boy's face when it was announced. But some of the Badgers in the class they had with him last year still looked upset, and never spoke to him. And at the end of school, there were two wagers in the Betting Book that Miss Chang would be the next Quidditch Captain to be…removed."

McGonagall turned pale. "Diggory and Montague."

"Yes. You can understand my concern, then. I plan to speak with her as soon as she arrives, and find out if she has someone trained to fly Seeker in her place. I don't need to warn Severus about Mr. Malfoy, but I will anyway. Perhaps when you have tea with Pomona, you should have her take precautions with Mr. MacMillan."

"I had no idea…"

"I didn't either, till this morning. One of the most brilliant men I have ever known, cowering like a child…well. I need to blast some more Acromantulas, I suppose." He began to stalk off, knowing what a ridiculous figure he cut when he was angry.

"Filius…"

He turned back.

"Harry Potter isn't like his father. But I can understand why you're afraid of it. I will watch them more carefully, and not leave matters up to Albus the way I have in the past. And I will think about the rest of what you've said, too."

"Thank you, Minerva. That's all I ask." At that Flitwick left. After a bit of thought, he _did_ go out towards the Forbidden Forest, only to be waylaid by a giant bearing rock cakes and a spot of firewhiskey. He supposed that helped as much as blasting overgrown spiders would be, and was probably safer since he would have beenalone otherwise. Fortunately Hagrid didn't mind listening, even though the giant was clearly scandalized at the thought of Albus Dumbledore being less than perfect.

He hoped Minerva was having better luck with Professor Sprout.

Author's further note: Ten points to the house of the first reviewer to figure out where I stole the banquet scene with the calves' brains and the lemon slices. First hint: "Thomas Harris". Second hint: 'rhymes with cannibal'. Heh.


	18. Chapter 18: Necessary Exposition

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 18: A Little Necessary Exposition

Severus Snape 

Snape woke up much later that afternoon. He was in a different nightshirt, and his skin felt pleasantly fresh instead of sweaty, despite it being a summer afternoon with him under his blankets for most of it. No doubt he'd also had a couple more doses of those wretched potions. He supposed he ought to be upset that his privacy had been invaded so, but he didn't have the strength. Besides, Dobby had likely done most of it, judging by the house elf's mild scent still in the air.

He could almost believe that he hadn't made a cake of himself this morning till he saw the remains of the morning newspaper folded up next to his bed. Then he was deeply embarrassed that he had lost control. While in bed, he did some of the more elementary exercises for Occlumency till he was able to breathe evenly instead of in a panic. He finished reading the paper. Then Snape lost his hard-won calm when he saw the phase of the moon listed in the weather column. "Dobby," he whispered, hoping the elf would hear him.

Nobody came. He repeated his call, only to see Winky enter his bedchamber instead. "Oh, Master Potions Master," she said in her tiny voice. "Can Winky get you water, something to eat? Help to loo?"

He felt ridiculous panicking in front of her. "I just have a question for Madam Pomfrey," he said. "Professor Lupin is a werewolf, and I wondered if he drank his potion last night."

"Mistress Nurse take him to Shack. Us in kitchen told to make him lots of food because he stays in bed today too," she said.

"What about tonight?" He shouldn't get agitated about this. Surely Lupin would go out again to be locked up.

"I will ask, Master Potions Master."

"Wait." He should have thought about this in the beginning. "Look in the private lab. See if the red jar is there or not." That one had the proper doses marked on it already.

"Is all right to go in there, Master Potions Master?"

"Yes, of course." He took out his wand, which someone intelligent had placed on his nightstand, and made sure the wards were lowered. "You should be able to go inside now."

She disappeared and came back. "Red jar still there, Master Potions Master, but not full."

"Where is the level of the potion?" he asked.

"Down to mark next down from top."

He lay back on the pillows and breathed a huge sigh of relief. His wards always let both the Headmaster and Madam Pomfrey in, in case of accident. One or the other had taken one dose worth of the Wolfsbane.

"Winky will go find out how Master Professor Lupin is," the little elf said.

"Yes, please. Most of all, find out how well the potion worked for him." Winky disappeared. Good. He had a Floo call to make, while he could think well enough to do it. Surely it would not weaken him too much to put on an outer robe and make his way to the couch. Once that was done, Winky could bring him paper, pen, and his notes on the Wolfbane. His mental disorganization of this morning might just be a passing strain, or it might be a harbinger of things to come. He dare not leave these preparations for later.

Struggling into an outer robe, a brief shaving spell, and getting to the overstuffed chair by the fireplace did take most of his strength. At least Winky waited till he was settled in before popping back and fussing over him. He allowed her to bring him some tea and drank a cup before he felt somewhat recovered.

He had Winky throw some powder at the fireplace to activate the Floo part of it, and called Percy Weasley.

The young man's head appeared in the flames. "Professor," he said. "This is most unexpected."

"I won't keep you long. I know you're at work." Though young Weasley was staying late, judging by the clock in the background. "I learned a few things last night you ought to know. Your former pet is lonely among so many Slytherins. He is also quite low in status. He might appreciate another Gryffindor making up to him. You've had some practice in that field with our esteemed Madam Umbridge. The rat would appreciate it even more, since he gets far less of it. He seems to have little power, but if you behave as a proper apprentice in public towards him, that would increase his consequence somewhat." Snape was glad his conversation with the Dark Lord was so clear in his mind.

"That makes sense, Professor. To be honest, he's easier to deal with than she is."

"You are not alone in that belief," Snape said wryly. "And…and I have a special favor to ask. If I am…no longer able to do so, I would feel better knowing someone kept an eye out for those dunderheads of mine, including Mr. Malfoy. I know you don't want that much responsibility. However, I believe that Draco is beginning to think about things, while Mr. Zabini already has. I don't really know how the others feel, and I probably won't till school begins. It's not safe to ask some questions except behind strong wards. I would rather you did not speak of this to Moody, but you must do as you think best."

Percy turned pale. "I was hoping you could protect me!"

"I shall. But I cannot assume myself immortal. I would not sacrifice those idiot apprentices of mine to that belief. Perhaps I am seeing shadows where none exist, but you ought to be used to that by now."

Weasley's lips tugged upwards. "I hope you get well soon, professor. I was terrified when I saw you perform, er…that spell. I didn't know you could _do_ that with that one. But when I told Mad-Eye he didn't go into his usual rant. In fact, he looked sad and thoughtful. When I asked him why, considering the times he's gone up like a firework over something much less impressive, he just said he knew more about you than he liked some days."

"His interrogation of me before the Headmaster managed to help me out of Azkaban was quite thorough," Snape said. "I'd rather not discuss it, however." Moody had asked about everything and heard more, with as much Veritaserum as he'd used back then. The one time the Auror had cut an interrogation short had been the time Severus had told him about the old man at the gin-shop across the street from Nora's.

Percy nodded. "No wonder you were so bad-tempered the year we had the Dementors on the grounds. Bill told me about the Shrieking Shack before I went to Hogwarts, and said there was supposed to be a werewolf lying in wait for anybody who went there during the full moon. I passed the story along to the twins, who thought it would be fun, though Ron was a little scared. I wished he had listened to me. But Ron never listens to me any more." He turned his face from the fire.

"He will someday," Snape said. Mr. Weasley was extraordinarily brave to give up his family like that. Severus knew he would find it impossible if he'd ever had a real family that was anything like the Weasleys.

"I hope so." Percy faced him again. "Professor, don't dump those students of yours on me! I don't see how you manage to keep from strangling them all, if they're like some of the others that were in your class the same year I was. I mean, if they would only pay attention!"

"If they had been, they wouldn't have taken the Mark in the first place." He was still a little upset at the wretched brats for that. "But they're mine anyway."

"I hope they stay that way," Percy said. "I wish I could call Mum and have her come over to help when you're so sick. She wouldn't treat you the way Moody does."

Snape suddenly wished the same. "Madam Pomfrey and the others have been kind and helpful, even when I snap at them," he said. "I must let you go now. You have work to do."

The young man made a face. "You're right, sir. But I don't have to like it." He broke the connection anyway.

Snape rested some more, then had Winky find his notes on the Wolfsbane Potion. He might not live long enough to teach the sixth years anything. He slowly recopied them, explaining procedures as plainly as he could, in case either Malfoy or Granger had to follow them. The work actually soothed him, though, since he could sense no reduction in his understanding of the potion.

Madam Pomfrey came in when he was almost done. "Oh, Severus, I should know better than to think that you would ever listen to instructions," she said in exasperation.

"This shouldn't wait," he said. "I can't depend on being able to make it if I…if I'm too ill for one reason or another. I wish I could bring a couple of students here now to practice the Wolfsbane Potion and get their mistakes over early."

"May I take a look?" she asked, and sat down on the couch.

"Of course." Naturally the mediwitch was capable of brewing some potions, but her duties normally kept her from having any time to do so.

She scanned through the papers and nodded, though she muttered under her breath in a few places. "It does seem complicated," she said.

"If you would like to give it a try, my lab is always open," he said. He hadn't thought of Madam Pomfrey at all in conjunction with this.

"I don't think so, not unless I must," she said, appearing doubtful. "I could supervise Miss Granger or Mr. Malfoy, I suppose. I certainly understand your anxiety after this morning. However, Filius said that your mental structure is basically strong, and that it was fairly easy to set you right. I just don't want to see you wearing yourself out when you need rest. I'm not an expert in the sort of problems he's seen, but exhaustion from these potions obviously won't help. You would have been thrilled to see the way Flitwick spoke to the Headmaster this morning about the way you were treated."

Snape bit his lip. "I wish…I wish he hadn't."

Poppy looked up from the papers in her lap and sighed. "I find it hard to believe that Albus would ever retaliate against you for something Filius said. But then, I was surprised that he sent you a nightmare hex, too."

"What?" Now it all made sense. The Headmaster had said he'd wanted to help him get rid of them that dreadful night after he'd murdered the tramp. _No wonder I couldn't shake Potter from my dreams._ "They said at the clinic that I had been hexed, but I always have nightmares anyway…I thought I'd earned them by the way I treated the boy…" His voice trailed off. _How could Albus do that to me?_ He swallowed hard, stunned, though he quickly became furious. "How dare he cringe at what he sees in my mind? I'm the one who had to live it!" Now he regretted putting only pleasant memories in the pensieve for the Boy-Who-Lived. Perhaps he should have put the horrors of his past in there instead.

Instead of hushing him, or trying to calm him, Poppy merely let him rage for a bit till he wound down on his own. She even handed him her handkerchief when he couldn't hold back tears any longer.

"I don't blame you for being upset," the mediwitch said once he was more composed. "You need not fear that anything from this conversation will reach other ears, either."

"I hate to inflict it on you," he said, laying his head back on the chair. Now his temper tantrum was over, he was exhausted and wanted his bed. "I complain about those idiotic children I teach, and I end up behaving even worse."

"I know why you can't with anyone else," Poppy said gently. "Now I'm going to put you back in your bedroom, where I want you to stay till tomorrow noon, at least." She followed her words by levitating him back to the chamber, and then helping him into fresh nightwear. "Don't worry about Remus, either. Before I leave I'll take another dose of the Wolfsbane Potion from your lab and make sure he drinks it, then lock him into his office myself. As I leave here, I'll put up the strongest wards I know on both your door and the entryway to the hall, with an alarm to go off in my office if anyone besides myself tries to breach them. Besides the house elves, of course. I don't think they even notice them."

"Even the Headmaster?" he joked, as he allowed the mediwitch to help him under the covers. He was really too old to be tucked in, but for once he didn't mind.

"He will be able to get through, but I'll still know about it," she said. "I think he really wants to apologize, but he just doesn't know how. Flitwick asked that someone from the Order, and not Lupin, be with you whenever you come back from a meeting. I plan to make sure that I have to a chance to examine you every time, not just when you collapse. We…we do care for you, Severus." She patted him on the cheek. This time it didn't bother him at all. "Albus is going to receive a thorough examination as well tomorrow, when everyone has calmed down. Even though he's taking precautions with that awful ink, he may still be affected since he must handle so much that they send him."

"Perhaps he ought to be sent to Switzerland, too," Snape said, now in much better humor than before.

"I've thought about it," Poppy said. "I have to treat his problems as confidentially as I do yours, considering what the Ministry would make of any trips to St. Mungo's he might have to make. I plan to have a word with Fawkes, as well. Naturally, the silly bird can't say anything that I would hear, but he still has his little ways of letting me know when Albus isn't well. I know it seems odd to worry over the Headmaster under the circumstances, but you've managed to do so with students that I would rather feed to a hippogriff," she finished with a little laugh.

Dobby appeared with more food and potions, which Severus ingested as Madam Pomfrey fetched a dose of Wolfsbane Potion to take to Lupin.

As he lay on the pillows, drifting but not quite asleep, Snape thought, _A pity I cannot make enough Harmonia Potion for the entire staff, given how well it worked on the Dursley household. What if Poppy is right?_ It seemed a bit unfair to have to analyze his own situation the way he would a student's, but then nothing else his in life had been fair, either. He firmly lectured himself. _You're a Slytherin. Stop whining. Look at this situation and how best to deal with it from your point of view. Don't think to play the guilt card on the Headmaster. It's clearly stopped working, at least for this summer, despite what Poppy said. Decide what you want and what you need and find a way to get it. You've told enough of your students the same thing. Now take your own advice._

Anything was better than seeing that horrible look of pity in Madam Pomfrey's eyes, or feeling helpless the way he had this morning.

Minerva McGonagall

She had managed to corner Pomona Sprout just before dinner, and had told the other witch what she'd heard that morning. "Of course, I do think Albus went a little above and beyond with that nightmare hex," she confided over tea in the Hufflepuff's office. "And perhaps I should have visited Severus today to see how he is. But don't you think Flitwick has gone a bit far with his conditions?" There was not much point in keeping what Snape was up to from another House Head. There was no question about Pomona's loyalty, and Minerva couldn't understand why the woman wasn't in the Order already.

"If you're telling me everything, he didn't go far enough," the older witch said. She lifted her cup to her lips and took a sip. "I wish had known half of this during the past few years. I would have been a great deal more patient with Professor Snape."

"You already are," Minerva said, blinking.

"Perhaps that's because he dares to say out loud what the rest of us are thinking," Pomona said as she put the cup down. "And we would rather Slytherin bore the brunt than our own houses. It's not very brave, mind you, but my house is known for being practical as well as loyal. Many of my students have their own opinion of Mr. Potter, but they are far too wise to say anything out loud. We all see what happens to those that do."

"But what about last year, and those wretched Enforcers? Didn't that bother you?" McGonagall didn't understand.

"They mostly took revenge on Gryffindors. I tried talking to Dolores, because she certainly wasn't listening to anyone else, but there was a reason she used the Slytherin students. After all, we already hate them. Why not let them get the blame for doing what any of our children would probably do if given such power?"

"Oh, now, I find that hard to believe!" Minerva knew her Lions would never act in such a horrible manner. Then she realized that she had forgotten the days when they had.

"You mean, when James Potter was Head Boy?" Pomona said with a wry smile. "Oh, he was rarely caught hexing anyone that last year. But his friends certainly got a free pass, the way the twins did last year when their poor younger brother had a prefect's badge. _All_ the houses have students who would enjoy that kind of position, I think. Nobody cares what a Badger sees, but we do have long memories. The same goes for Ravenclaw. And we know the script by now. Gryffindor is always good and always wins, while Slytherin is always evil and always loses. Even you have to agree that it's not a good situation when any Headmaster has so much power over a House Head. Severus might as well have a slave collar around his neck."

"It wasn't so bad just a few years ago," the Deputy Headmistress recalled fondly.

"Before Mr. Potter came here, you mean," Professor Sprout said. "Even then it was clear that Professor Snape was not here willingly, but that he meant to do a proper job of protecting his Snakes. I think Albus was quite surprised about that. However, there was no reason not to let the system work properly till, of course, the Boy-Who-Lived was sorted Gryffindor. I suspect I won't be the only one to breathe a sigh of relief when Mr. Potter departs here at last."

"If he lives that long," Minerva said soberly.

"True. How convenient that there seems to be a prophecy that keeps adults from carrying the war to Tom Riddle instead of leaving the fight to children. No, don't fuss at me; Sybil talked a lot when she'd had her sherry last year, and a few times I stayed to listen."

Minerva sighed. She had commented on that herself to Albus, and not in a very happy way, either. "And as usual, it's Severus who gets caught in the middle."

"I've always thought it a pity that he had to come back here. He will never live a life of his own till he can leave and establish his own household. We've grown to depend on him a great deal, but look what he's had to give up. He will never be able to choose properly for himself till the war is over, if he survives it, _and_ if the Ministry doesn't decide to make an example of him."

"You really think they would?"

"We both know the Ministry loves its little headlines, Minerva. Fudge has to be seen doing something. And it's far easier to throw an innocent man into Azkaban than it would be to hunt down a guilty one. We saw that enough during the first War. Besides, if Harry Potter manages to survive, don't you think the Ministry would be happy to obey his every whim? The boy blames Snape for everything, rightly or not. If _he_ dies and Mr. Potter survives, they'll want to keep him sweet to make sure he decides to not take their power from him."

"Surely that's just speculation?" McGonagall certainly hoped so.

"Some of them used to be my students, dear, and will tell me things knowing I still care about them. Albert and I had Cornelius and his wife to tea not long after the end of school. He was quite disturbed to hear about the Potter's boy tantrum in the Headmaster's office, but promised to keep it out of the papers. It wasn't hard to make him realize that Dolores was the real target. Once I mentioned that horrible quill of hers, he would have sworn anything to keep _that_ quiet."

"Isn't anything secret in this school?"

"Not really. One of the Badgers who used to be headmistress decided I should know. I…oh, Minerva, don't get me wrong, but I wish the Potter boy had come to me with some of his troubles. You're a model of justice and integrity, but sometimes children his age just need a shoulder to cry on. I get a few of the younger Snakes that are just homesick, and in turn, I send some of my rowdier boys to detention with Professor Snape. You really don't have to do it all by yourself."

The Transfiguration teacher had no idea that the heads of Hufflepuff and Slytherin even _spoke_ to each other beyond pleasantries, if you could call them that, in the Great Hall. At most she had assigned some students to extra work with Professor Flitwick. Minerva knew she was not a cuddly person, and often left her students to themselves. After all, Albus was so very good at handing out advice and lemon drops to her Lions. In the last few years she had rather grown used to watching over the Trio and a few of their friends and leaving the rest to fend for themselves. Oh, she and Dumbledore had shaken their heads over the twins every year they'd been here, but had done little to really discipline them. "I…I had no idea," she said, still bemused by the thought of the grim Slytherin cooperating with the plump Hufflepuff. "You probably wish that Severus had gone to you when he was a student here as well."

Sprout blinked. "Yes. Unfortunately I couldn't have done much for him, really, but listen. Bellwood only spoke up for his favorites, and even he gave up when Lucius Malfoy left and the Marauders took over. I was surprised he retired so early, mind you. I sometimes wonder if he didn't actually recruit, or just look the other way while so many of his students took the Mark. But everyone forgets that there were students from all the houses that did so as well. Perhaps if Severus had felt there was one person who really cared about him he wouldn't have acted so unwisely. Then again, I failed some of mine, too."

Minerva's lips went thin. "I never would have thought Peter Pettigrew would have joined them," she said, "or betrayed the Potters in a way to place all the blame on Sirius Black." Then again, she had missed so much while basking the glory of James Potter leading the Gryffindors to victory after victory in athletics and in the classroom. The whole pattern did look as if it had begun again the year that Harry Potter and his two friends had saved the Philosopher's stone from being stolen. "But the three of them aren't like that!" she burst out.

"I know that," Pomona said. "Most of my Hufflepuffs do, too. But Albus is making the same mistake again with Severus. Snape nearly died in the last war because nobody really cared if he lived or not as long as the victory was ours. If it hadn't been for Moody's last owl we wouldn't be having this conversation, and Mr. Potter would most likely be dead by now. I do wish Severus had received some other reward than imprisonment here."

"Oh, now, really…" McGonagall expostulated.

"We're teaching here because, more or less, we want to be, though I have had doubts about Sybil for quite some time. Snape had to choose between Hogwarts and Azkaban. Sometimes I think he forgets and allows himself to be part of our little community. Now he has no choice at all, and must fight a war on top of it. No wonder his mind wants to go back to when he was younger. How dreadful today must seem to him if those years are preferable!"

Minerva sighed. "I suppose you're right. To be honest, I am a bit surprised to learn how protective the rest of the school is being towards Severus."

"Perhaps we don't value some people till we risk losing them," Pomona said. "I should have spoken up long before things came to this pass. I have been as cowardly as the rest.

"But naturally you're far more worried about Albus, and I can't blame you there, either. Yet of the two, the Headmaster is more likely to survive this war. Poppy was nearly in tears a couple of weeks ago over what Severus was going through. I know you love the old man, Minerva, but he does have his blind spots. We must pull together and take some of the burden from him, or there will be little of Hogwarts left when this is over. We found out last year that we _can_ survive without him if we must, though I would rather not see Umbridge here again save at her year's Gaudy. Obviously, much of this will devolve on you. But if you ever feel the need to howl against the ungratefulness of the world or the stupidity of your students, my door is always open."

"How do you manage?" McGonagall said.

"My poor sweet husband," Pomona said. "In turn, I believe he drinks. Not like Sybil did, of course, but I'm sure Tom the barman is quite sympathetic to overstressed husbands. I have no idea what Tom does. I suppose he takes it out on the housekeepers, and in turn they put thorns in the feather beds. It all rolls around, till it lands on a dust-heap somewhere. If nothing else, go help Filius the next time he goes Acromantula-hunting. I've found it quite therapeutic myself, when even mandrake- harvesting doesn't quite do it."

Minerva wanly smiled and finished her tea. She had not received much comfort here, but had gained in knowledge. She supposed that would have to do. It was nearly time for dinner and they both should go.

She stood up and nodded her farewell. As she walked to the Great Hall, McGonagall knew she had to face the prospect of more duties. Surely things were not as black as Flitwick painted them, but…she and Dumbledore had blithely assumed that all was well many times over the years when they were not. Pomona Sprout had been most gentle in her analysis, but Minerva feared it had been accurate.

It was so easy to blame all the trouble on that contentious man lying ill in his rooms and on his prickly, obnoxious students. For a brief moment she had a modest epiphany where she was the head of House at a school dominated by another one so smug in its superiority that it was never questioned, with a Headmaster who was hostile to any of her own aspirations, though he graciously condescended to explain to her why yet again she had to buckle down and obey. _Is that what it is like to be Severus?_ she wondered. _Seeing enemies in every corner, yet having to hide the fear under a mask of rage? Knowing your students will be ignored no matter their accomplishments, yet having to discipline them properly for their own sakes?_ If Dumbledore had treated her the way he had treated Snape, she would have left long ago for some other school. _But Severus doesn't have that choice. No wonder he was so ill tempered the year the Dementors were here, never mind the werewolf that almost killed him. We were all given medallions from the Ministry to protect us, and how it must have galled Snape to have to wear one. I could see his frustration when everybody loved Remus, when he was only trying to protect us all. And he was right. Lupin was a danger to the school. Harry and his friends almost died because of him. If Sirius Black had been the murderer that the Ministry said he was, those three children and Snape would be dead. _

For a moment she had to stop and lean against a wall. _Breathe deeply, in and out, in and out,_ she reminded herself. _I know what I'm trying not to think about. Severus is probably going to die in the next few years._ She had a queer, shaking feeling that Albus would not long survive the acrimonious Potions Master. Oh, she was no Sybil to pontificate on the Inner Eye, but all knew the Scots were occasionally afflicted with the second sight. Now that she thought about it, her old friend always became more lively in Snape's presence, as if he gained some youthfulness from the other wizard. It was a little-known fact that extremely old wizards often flourished much better in the company of younger people. It wasn't really vampirism by any means, but when the students were here, the Headmaster was always much more vigorous than when they were not. There were some odd stories about Marchbanks, too.

So. That was it. She stood away from the wall, a little shaky, and wiped sweat from her brow. Her beloved Albus would die, most likely soon rather than late. She must be ready to be Headmistress, possibly while Riddle was still around to plague them. In the worst case, Severus would already be dead and they would have no information on the enemy but what Percy Weasley could tell Alastor Moody. She must establish a closer relationship with Harry and his friends this year, so they would listen to her later at need.

_I have failed most of my students,_ she thought. _I'm very good with the brilliant and hard working ones. I manage to look after the hurt ones to some degree, though Ginevra Weasley would probably disagree. I completely missed her in the shadow of her brothers. Who else am I missing among my own Gryffindors?_ McGonagall then realized that it was only last year that she had begun to have any respect for Neville Longbottom. She had long left him to Snape's tantrums, since he so rarely stood up for himself. She had also left what little discipline the Weasley twins received to either their mother or to Severus as well, culminating in last year's disasters. She was glad she had remembered what had happened to Montague. Yet if she had worked harder at reining them in, the Slytherin might be looking forward to a career as a Quidditch player, rather than therapy in St. Mungo's. _I need to check on him if Severus can't. If I am to be an effective Headmistress someday I need the practice at looking after all the houses, not just my own_

Her chest ached a little. Instead of going directly to the Great Hall, Minerva detoured by way of the infirmary. Since Snape had gone to the trouble of making a new set of potions for her, she ought to take advantage of it while she could. _I will need to be strong,_ she thought. _Albus does have too much on his plate. Flitwick was right._

Bella Lestrange 

One evening a few days after the last meeting, the three of them sat near a fireplace in her lord's country home, while Nagini curled around the back of her master's chair. She worried about him; at dinner tonight, his appetite had been almost as bad as Snape's was said to be. "My lord, have you made more progress invading the Potter boy's mind?" The brat's body would serve him much better than the shell he wore now.

"No," her master said angrily. "Since his birthday I haven't been able to get in at all."

Bella thought she knew the reason. "That horrid family of his threw him a real party this year, or so I've heard from one of our contacts," she said. "That could have strengthened the blood wards the old fool put on the place."

"Perhaps," said Pettigrew, who didn't seem happy about speaking up. "I have a friend at Gringotts who told me that Snape withdrew a large sum of money and ordered a pensieve just the students left school this year. What does he need with one, my lord?"

"That's a good question," the Dark Lord said. "Perhaps he thinks to learn Occlumency or hide certain memories."

"If he must work with the Order, my lord, perhaps he needs to. There's always Moody, after all." Pettigrew looked serious.

Bella made a face. She'd laughed out loud, Dementors or no Dementors, when word got around about what Barty Crouch Jr. had done to the old Auror. She'd heard other prisoners down the hall whooping too, except for those already too far gone. "I hate to say this," she interjected, "but Peter might be right. Mad-Eye would make everyone live on Veritaserum, even his allies, just to feel better."

"Yet I have searched Snape's mind every time I have seen him, and found no disloyalty," Voldemort said.

"What if the old man wanted one for the Potter boy, but made Snape do it? That we'd blame him for it, and get rid of someone who's actually one of us?"

"Wormtail, Wormtail, the Sorting Hat clearly made an error in your case," the Dark Lord said with a toothy smile. "I think Dumbledore is such a Slytherin that he convinced the Hat to put him in Gryffindor. Now I wonder the same thing about you. Let's play this charade out. We must protect our Shadow, as he is our only adult contact at Hogwarts. In fact, he watched over our interests well last year when the old man had him _try_ to teach the boy Occlumency. I suspect that the Headmaster has put more wards around Potter already. Yet we are supposed to blame Snape. Perhaps we ought to pretend to."

"He's got too many apprentices," Bella said. "How can we be sure that they're all loyal? I know your beloved Shadow vouches for them, and even I have to admit they've behaved themselves at meetings. But once school starts only the greasy git will have access to them."

"You gave him permission to talk to Miss Edgecombe yourself," Peter sniped.

"Yes, I know. That was probably one of the stupider things I have done," she said. "But what if the old man gets to one or two of them? Our numbers are so few right now, but better that than to add too many and have some of them be spies."

Voldemort blinked. "You are wise, my Bella. I like it when you manage your passions enough to use your mind. Have you or Peter heard of the Fide Mort spell?"

Pettigrew chewed his lip for a moment. "Doesn't that mean faithfulness or death? I thought that was built into the Mark already."

"I wish it were," the Dark Lord said. "That is why I examine the minds of those who are about to take it, along with that of their sponsor. Only a few are naturally blank to my vision, and I am not especially surprised that yet another member of the Crabbe family has shown up with that ability."

"Oh, _Crabbe_," Bella said with a laugh. "I think Snape was right when he said once that there has to be a mind there before you can read it!"

"As I was in the process of saying," Voldemort interrupted, "the term 'Fide Mort' basically means what Peter said it did. Scholastic Latin, the language of most of our spells, is far more corrupt than the beauty of the classical speech of Rome, but it's what we work with."

Now the memory came back to her. She _had_ heard of it! "But we must be careful, my lord," she said. "Students dropping dead will get noticed. What if it's modified to become a suicide spell instead? There's always a few who give it try at school anyway, especially during the NEWTS."

The serpentine man smiled again. "My darling, I can always count on you. And you as well, Pettigrew. However, since the spell will be targeted to the apprentices, both of you and Snape will feel it. Severus more, since he has so many of them."

"That's what he gets for his greed," Bella said. "Frankly, that little sneak of mine has no loyalty to anyone, but I _have_ taught her to keep her mouth shut. Fortunately, her mother will keep her in line even if no one else does. When are we having our next full meeting, by the way, instead of these handholding ones?"

"Not for several months," Voldemort snapped. "Look what impatience did to our cause the last time we acted. Many of our hidden members have no training in combat or spying. We get some useful information from them, but that's all they good for right now. Frankly, Snape is worth a dozen of them, and I don't want him wasted."

"As you wish, my lord," she murmured quietly. She had gone too far again. All she needed to was to wait, and the tall Slytherin would tremble in the dust once more as he had not so long ago. She had really enjoyed that. But he was useful, and so she would wait till she could have more fun with him. No one from Knockturn Alley should put on airs the way he did.

"My lord, I have other news," Peter said. "The Potter brat is going to be outside of his sanctuary in about a week, in some sort of Muggle athletic competition. Unfortunately, his family also plans to attend, and I have heard he will be heavily guarded. Wouldn't that be the perfect time to release the spell? If it's targeted through the Mark, he should feel it through his scar. This way we need not risk the few people we have left in a raid, but we can still win the game with one move."

Bella gasped with joy. How delightful it would be to ruin the old man's hopes and revealing the traitors among them at the same time! "Wormtail, I could kiss you!" She followed it up with a peck on his cheek. Peter flushed red and she enjoyed his discomfort. She would have to watch him. He was getting much too intelligent these days.

Her master looked happy. That was worth anything. They spent the rest of the night working on the spell and modifying it to include a suicide command, rather than simple death. The Dark Lord would channel the power of the Dementors under his command to reinforce the curse. Using the Dark Mark as the focus also meant they didn't need any personal items from the targets, just their names.

Bella finally went to bed near dawn, content that Snape was going to have his plate full and then some when the spell was released. Neither her link to Edgecombe or Peter's to Percy Weasley was very strong, so neither one of them would suffer more than a little rebound should their apprentices prove worthless.

If the cumulative effect of several apprentices going off their nut put too much pressure on the master's dear Shadow, well, they'd just have to learn to get along without him. She thought she would manage quite well with one less rival for Tom Riddle's favor.

Voldemort 

The Dark Lord saw Bella Lestrange leave for her bedroom with a gleeful smile on her face. _I know what you want, my dear. As long as we're going to all this trouble, though, let's not make it too complicated. There may be traitors yet in our own ranks, never mind Snape's dunderheads._

He rapidly recopied the spell, writing with Nagini's venom on a fresh piece of parchment. Instead of an extensive list of apprentices, and of course, the name of Harry Potter, he merely drew the Dark Mark. _I will have to make sure that I am not alone that day because_ I _will feel the rebound of any who die. Yet that is the risk that I must take. _

The Muggles had a saying, "Keep It Simple, Stupid." Voldemort knew he would be wise to take advice from house elves at this low ebb in their fortunes. Since this spell's aura of despair leading to self-murder was to be borrowed from the Dementors, one might say this spell was sealed with a Kiss.

Author's note: As a Lord Peter Wimsey fan, I delight in using some of the terms found in the novels. A "Gaudy" is basically a sleepover reunion involving tea, gossip, reminiscing, staying over for the night, listening to a lot of speeches, and (usually) being shaken down for contributions for scholarships and buildings. You know Hogwarts has to have them occasionally--and we won't even talk about Parents' Night and say we did. I have enough plot-bunnies now to manufacture _many_ pairs of slippers.


	19. Chapter 19: The Boxer

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. The chapter title is a quote from a song by Paul Simon, with all the attendant copyright restrictions etc.

Author's Note: Thanks for everyone for the reviews. As for my own work, I currently have two stories out the door to various vic—er, magazines, and am working getting a third one out (all my own universes). I have three fantasy novels written, all the beginning of a different series (all my own universes etc.). I plan to inflic—ah, offer them to various publishers (again, she sighs) before the end of this year.

You think things are bad for Snape now? (Evil Laughter). You ain't seen nuthin' yet! Duj: You're quite right. I could try to retcon it later, but for now I shall fall on my sword for my error and let it go. Besides. Lord Thingy never thinks Snape is going to try Occlumency on _him_ (see 'Ah pity da fool' etc.). Ten points to the houses of the two people who wrote back and guessed 'Hannibal' on the feast. Five more to the one who remembered Boopsie!

I apologize in advance for any errors in my description of the world of British amateur boxing. They are mine, all mine, and nobody else's.

Chapter 19: In the Clearing Stands a Boxer…

Harry Potter

He was more excited than he had been for his birthday, as Harry packed to go to the tournament. He and Dudley drove up to London on a Friday afternoon with the coach and a couple of the other boys, while the Dursleys followed along behind. Harry wondered what it would be like to travel with a Quidditch team, like the Chudley Cannons. Banks drove, but obviously had the same kind of eyes in the back of his head as his aunt and uncle did. Unfortunately, since he was the shortest, he got stuck with the middle of the back seat.

He'd explained things to Hedwig and left the window of his room open enough for her to come and go. But every once in a while he caught sight of her flying above them. She probably caught up during their occasional stops.

Soon they were in Islington and at their hotel. It was kind of run-down, but interesting, though he hoped housekeeping had an easier time of it here than they did at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry slung his bag on his bed and started to pull stuff out. One of the other boys leaned over his shoulder. "What's that?" Albert said, reaching for the wand.

"Leave that alone!" Harry said. Then in a lower tone of voice, "It's my good luck magic wand. I won it at a carnival, and I have to have it by the ring when I'm fighting."

Dudley added, "Yeah, don't mess with it! The best boxers always have a luck-piece, everyone knows that."

"Too bad yours is a Playstation," Harry shot back.

"Actually, it's an old Nintendo cartridge," his cousin said, holding up a square gray chunk of plastic with a faded title on it. "All I have to do is pretend to be M. Bison, and I never have any problem."

They all laughed. Albert nodded. "That's probably why they're going to announce you at Harry Potter, the Wizard of Little Whinging."

"They're going to _what!_" Harry was still recovering from his cousin defending him.

"It was my idea," Dudley said. "I have to be Dudley Do-Right from that stupid cartoon. At least you get a good one."

Harry didn't know if he should laugh or scream. He just sighed instead. Then he was frightened. What if Voldemort or some of his followers found him here? He could easily imagine the rest, the way it had been in his dreams. Death Eaters invading the gym where they were to fight, the Dark Mark floating over the carnage—maybe he'd been really stupid to come here.

It was a little late now.

The next day they went over to the gym to warm up for the afternoon and evening bouts. Posters had already been printed and posted up. It was neat to see his name on them, and almost neat to see Dudley's, too. A bunch of onlookers sat around to watch the sparring, and that bothered Harry, though he knew they just wanted a free show.

Then he spotted a girl with electric pink hair, and went over to her. "Tonks!" he said, hoping it was her.

"Wotcher, Harry?" she said with a grin, though her face was different than he remembered it from the last time he'd seen her. "Be glad it's me here and not Mad- Eye. Boy, did he throw a fit when he heard about this little expedition!"

"Dudley's with me," he said. That hadn't been any protection from the Dementor last summer, but once he thought about it, his cousin was to help him against Voldemort. _I wish Dumbledore had set up some protection for me from the Ministry, too!_ "The other Dursleys are at the hotel, but will be here late this afternoon and tonight to watch the bouts."

She laughed. "Technically, you're right. But Moody's still has his knickers in a twist."

"Well, I'm still glad that you and the others visited when I was coming back from Hogwarts," he said. "This has been the best summer ever. When I get back, I'll have to thank the Headmaster for letting you know how things really were around that place."

"Wasn't him, actually," Tonks said. "It was something Professor Tall Dark and Loathsome said at the Black's place last spring. Snape was doing his weekly turn at "Muggles: Threat or Menace" and dropped some hints your relatives should be on a recruiting poster for the DE's. So Moody and I swung by before school got out and stopped while nobody was home. When Mad-Eye took a look through his magic eye at the cupboard and saw the little mattress and pillow underneath the rest of the junk…well, it irked him one, that Snape was right about anything, and two, that those swine would treat you like that." Her voice got an edge to it. "I almost had to body-bind him to keep him from torching the place. So we decided to have a little chat with your relatives instead."

It took his breath away to think of the Potions Master being helpful for a change. "What is it with Snape and Moody, anyway?" he said to change the subject. Now that he thought about it, the older wizard was almost as antagonistic to the Slytherin as Sirius Black.

"Oh, Snape was his least favorite prisoner in Azkaban," Tonks said, rolling her eyes. "It still annoys Mad-Eye that he could never break him out of claiming he was Dumbledore's spy no matter what was done to him. And when the Headmaster sprung him, that just ruined Moody's whole day. Between you and me and the lamp-post, I think Mad-Eye had just a little too much fun with your favorite teacher and mine back then. Even though he says Crouch was the one who went overboard, he says a few things when his hip-flask gets low that get erm, a bit unpleasant. I'm surprised they were able to fix Snape's hands all the way back, actually."

"Couldn't they find out the truth at the trial?"

"What trial? He had the Mark, and that was all the Ministry needed to know. If Black didn't get a trial, what makes you think that someone like Snape would? Sentencing first and trial afterward. If Moody hadn't owled Dumbledore personally, you would have had someone else for Potions, and I would have had a different House Head."

"You're Slytherin?" Harry tried to keep his surprise out of his voice.

"You make it sound like a disease," the Auror said, not looking happy now. "Come on now, Harry, it didn't _use_ to be illegal to be sorted there. Moody's given me enough chaff about it, but even he finally got over it. Mum was one, too, though a lot of her friends dropped her when she married a Muggle. Sirius was the only one in the family who went to Gryffindor."

"I, I was just um." Harry didn't know what to say.

"D'ya think I like it, knowing that my stupid little cousin and his goons are ruining its reputation? Oh, I give up."

Harry knew from his fourth year, and from what had happened to his godfather, that the Ministry sometimes went too far. It was a stretch for him to think that Snape might have been an innocent target as well. But he was having it forced on him that Dumbledore wasn't telling him everything. His father tormenting Snape just for fun, and Sirius Black pawing Aunt Petunia at his parents' wedding reception. He'd watched that part in his pensieve again later, and it had happened exactly the way his aunt had said. It was hard to think of Moody as a torturer, but it was obvious what Tonks thought. But she couldn't be a Slytherin! She was _nice!_ Of course the Headmaster called for unity among the houses at the feasts lately, but what everyone really thought was that Slytherin should disappear, or half the people in it, anyway.

"I hate having to change my mind about people," he said, staring at the floor.

"Yeah, it's easier to put them in categories and leave them there," Tonks said. She wasn't smiling any more. "But we all have to work together anyway. Hey, one of the Muggles is trying to get your attention!"

"Oh, that's the coach. Gotta go," he said, glad to go back to boxing.

Mr. Banks had them all warm up. Someone was playing "The Boxer" by Simon and Garfunkel again on their boombox, though by now everyone knew the lyrics by heart. Harry had heard a couple of parents protest the lyrics about the whores on Seventh Avenue, but someone always sneaked in a tape of it anyway. Considering some of the other Muggle songs that were played, Harry didn't see why anyone made a fuss.

After some exercises, they had a break for lunch. Once that was over, they had to stay out of the way while the owners of the gym finished the set-up for the bouts. Dudley came over and talked to him, probably hoping Harry had some leftovers. "Nice girl over there," he said. "Who is she?"

"Oh, that's Tonks again," he said. "Remember the girl with the stopwatch who used to time us this summer?"

"One of your kind, isn't she," his cousin said, and shook his head.

"Afraid so. But she probably won't turn you into anything if you talk to her politely."

"Ha, ha, very funny."

"Hey, if you keep this diet and exercise thing going other girls probably won't laugh at you any more…" Harry tried to offer some comfort. "My hair is probably always going to suck."

"So get a buzz cut—wait, Mum already tried that, didn't she?"

"Yeah. But I'm serious about you looking better, not that you're my type," he said, waggling his wrist. "Besides, you don't jiggle any more. Don't they have weights and stuff at your school?"

"No, but I could always bench-press a couple of the younger kids…"

Harry was afraid Dudley really meant it. "Well, you can jog anywhere you go. They don't have weights at Hogwarts, so I'll have to figure out something else." Hagrid would probably find him something to do along those lines. As long as it didn't smell horrible or try to eat him, Harry didn't mind helping the giant out.

"Hey, Banks wants me up sparring a bit. Say hello to the snakes for me." Dudley punched him, lightly for once, on the shoulder and got his gloves on.

Harry walked around, not wanting to cool off too much. He wandered over and looked at the poster again. He was going to fight some kid named Bobby Macklin from London, but didn't know who that was. There were several boys his size in the crowd at the other end of the gym. He wandered over there to find out what he could.

One black boy, about the same shade as Angelina at school, stood by himself going after the punching bag. His face looked pinched and hard. Harry understood what felt like from the inside. He hated it when people tried to talk to him at times like that, so he just stood by till the boy finished.

Then the kid sighed and let his head hang down. He moved aside without a word to let Harry have the bag, but Harry nodded his thanks as he took it. It felt good to pound away, though he wasn't an angry as he was at the beginning of the summer.

He gave the bag one last blow, and stood back to catch his breath. Then he noticed some rubbish on the floor and picked it up. It was a crumpled pamphlet the same as the kind that Hermione had sent him. "Is this yours?" he asked.

"No," said the kid.

For some reason, Harry _knew_ the boy was lying. He saw a quick flash of some heavy-set woman shouting. "Do they actually help if you call any of the numbers?"

"They just put you somewhere even worse. Don't bother."

Harry knew that Dumbledore wanted him to stay with the Dursleys no matter what, and had explained why, sort of, but he would still rather live somewhere else even after this summer had gone so well.

But he _did_ have somewhere to go. In less than a month he'd go back to Hogwarts. Was that much help? At least Umbridge would be gone, or so he hoped, but Snape would still be there. His only consolation was that the Potions Masters hated the sight of him just as much.

Ron and Hermione and his other friends would be there as well, though. That made up for a lot. He let the crumpled pamphlet fall again. He had only one more summer with his relatives, and then he never had to see them again.

Of course, he had to live that long, too. "Thanks," he said to the kid, who didn't want to introduce himself, and wandered over towards his team's side of the gym. He'd already learned that he wasn't the only boy who lived where nobody wanted him.

Time passed quickly. The first weight class bouts began before dinner time. For some reason he had an elimination and so did Dudley, and wouldn't have to fight more than once. Harry began to get nervous.

Mr. Banks spotted him and said, "You haven't gotten much sparring practice today, Mr. Potter. I was glad to see you working the bag, but that's not the same thing. It will take some time to get through all the flyweights, so why don't you and I use this corner over here?"

Harry nodded, got his helmet and mouthpiece on, removed his glasses, then laced up his gloves. He'd faced Mr. Banks before, and knew he was going to be overpowered, but decided to make the fight last as long as he could.

He danced warily out of the coach's reach, though he was careful to stay within the taped boundaries on the gym floor. Harry darted in and planted a couple of swift blows, then reversed himself to get out of the way. He remembered to always keep his arms up—he'd learned the hard way not to let them drop!

Banks got a few shots in, but Harry was moving fast enough that they didn't really hurt much. _There's no shame in not getting hit in the first place,_ he'd been told.

He repeated his pattern of hitting once or twice and then backing away. If he and the rest of the DA had used that strategy at the Ministry, they would have been much more effective. If Sirius had used it, he might still be alive. He tried not to think about that right now.

Banks landed one blow that stung when he wasn't quite fast enough, but it didn't hurt enough to slow him down, not like a Bludger often did.

The coach called a halt, an approving look on his face. "You're much better, Potter. I think you'll do pretty well."

"You're a good teacher," Harry said, walking a bit to cool down properly. He ought to remember to do this after Quidditch games. "I had one whose idea of showing me what to do was to smash me flat and dare me to get back at him."

"Ah," said Banks. "Right enjoyed himself, I expect."

Harry had to think about that. "No," he said, "not really. More angry I had to be there in the first place, I think." He grudged giving Snape that much.

"Then he must have learned his techniques the hard way. I knew a fellow like that once, who did all his fighting with a gang before taking up boxing. We became friends, though I sat up nights thinking of ways to kill him for a long time. He said if he'd shown any weakness, he would have been cats-meat for the rest. Once I was headed that way myself, and he beat the stuffing out of me." The coach smiled. "This isn't really fighting, lad, it has far too many rules. If you're ever in real trouble, run like hell. Or go back to that other teacher. He probably knows some tricks they don't show in the movies. But stay out of a gang, boy, or I might show you a few things as well."

Harry nodded, though he hated the thought of going back to Snape. Remus had tried to tell him he needed to, though at the time he'd preferred listening to Sirius.

But Sirius had died the first time he'd gone up against Voldemort.

Maybe bravery wasn't everything. Maybe he needed to learn more from Snape.

Harry walked away quickly, before he had to admit how stupid he'd been. He was beginning to understand why the Potions Master had been so angry. _He probably expected me to make him a laughing-stock by spreading the story and that horrible nickname all over school._ Sometimes when he thought about it, he was surprised, too. But what his dad had done was _wrong_, even if Sirius hadn't really thought so. His godfather had been quiet instead of boastful mainly because Remus had been there, Harry thought.

Dumbledore had tried to tell him a lot of things he hadn't wanted to listen to, either. What was wrong with him if he didn't want to listen to the Headmaster? Or even Remus? If only Snape wasn't such a bastard!

But maybe only a bastard could help him learn how to win against Voldemort.

Unwilling to digest that lumpy tidbit, he watched some of the preliminary bouts. Apparently there were a lot more kids at the other weights for this boxing district, and he normally would have more than one bout, as would Dudley. Harry vaguely wondered if that had been the truth, or his magical friends had fixed things to keep him and his cousin as safe as possible. That was the problem, sometimes—he didn't know what he had really earned for himself, or was given for being the Boy-Who-Lived. It felt really weird to think that maybe Dumbledore was being less helpful to him than Snape was in learning how to fight. In fact, the Headmaster had admitted not telling him stuff in order to protect him. _That_ wasn't going to work! They had all found that out the hard way.

_I wish Snape hadn't been right about my father, or the others,_ Harry thought. That was another thing Dumbledore hadn't told him anything about. Hagrid hadn't, either. He'd heard only the good things about his parents, except for a few nasty comments from his Aunt Petunia. _Oh, crap! She was right about Sirius Black, too. I hope she isn't right about anything else!_

He watched the pair in the main ring now. Two flyweights were flailing away at each other, about the size of a couple of firsties. At that weight, technique was everything. At Dudley's class, sheer power counted for a lot more, though Ali had proved that it wasn't the only thing. His own weight, at least for now, had to depend on both.

For a second he remembered how fast Lockhart had blown over at Snape's simple _Expelliarmus._ It had taken all three of them to do the same to Snape, and he hadn't been expecting it, either. Of course, it had been only Gildylocks, but what was the Potions Master like in a real duel? Harry had the uneasy feeling that magically speaking, the tall Slytherin was in the super heavyweight class. Snape probably wasn't in the Headmaster's league, but Harry knew he probably hadn't seen half of what either one could do. If there was a Final Battle of the Star Wars sort, Snape would probably wreak havoc. _I just hope he does it for our side!_

Suddenly it was time for his bout. Mr. Banks took his glasses and said something to the referee. The official briefly announced the names. Harry saw he was going up against the kid he'd shared the punching bag and the pamphlet with. They touched gloves and waited for the signal.

The boy exploded in fury at the whistle. Harry was surprised and let a few of the blows make it through. Then he realized that Macklin couldn't possibly keep this up for long and just defended for a bit to see how it went. As he thought, the boy slowed down. A surge of hate welled up inside him, but Harry didn't understand it. This was just another boy, probably with a home that sucked as much as his did. For a moment he concentrated on his favorite memory, the one of his mum and dad's wedding. He didn't need a pensieve for that one any more. That helped. His head cleared and he could box properly now.

Harry began moving forward then, instead of dancing for his life. All his years of work at the Dursleys began paying off. Weight training had helped, but he already had a firm foundation of strength this year, and a firmer one of endurance from the past. Even at the end of the first round, his opponent was clearly not as enthusiastic as he was at the beginning.

"You're doing fine," Mr. Banks said. "Now drink some water, but not too much or too fast. You'll cramp up otherwise."

"I think he must blow a lot of people away right at first," Harry said. "I bet he's not used to it if he has to go long."

"I think you're right, but watch out when the second round begins. He'll probably try the same thing."

Harry nodded. His coach was probably right. The bell rang, and he stood up. The other boy did try jumping right out when the second round began. Harry was more than happy to take advantage of it. He concentrated on defending again at first, waited for holes, then struck whenever his opponent slacked off a bit. He tried to make sure each shot had some power behind it, too. _I don't have to hate you to win,_ he thought. _I don't have to hate anybody._

The second round ended. This time Harry was sure the points were a lot more even. He drank some more water and let himself be toweled off. Mr. Banks looked happy. "You're a thinking fighter, Harry. The best kind. I don't know how he'll do this last round, but if I were you I'd be more aggressive. Are you up to giving him some of his own medicine right off when the next round starts?"

Harry smiled. Quidditch games sometimes lasted for hours. He had plenty left. "I'll do my best," he said.

Last round. Amateur boxing at his age and in this tournament wasn't as drawn-out as the pros. He stepped up, gathered as much energy as he could. He pretended that he'd just spotted the Snitch and Malfoy was after it, too.

The bell rang. It was his turn to charge ahead. He drove into Macklin with several combinations of blows. Banks taught an offensive strategy that kept the defenses up as well, so he felt fairly safe. He'd have to remember that if he was going to train Dumbledore's Army again next year.

Right now he had a match to win. The other fighter put up a spirited defense, but Harry kept plugging away. He didn't have much time till the end of the round, and the bout, though it felt as if both were lasting forever.

His opponent was against the ropes. He had to remember, then, that this wasn't the Department of Mysteries and Macklin wasn't a Death Eater. He had rules he was supposed to obey. Harry kept up his offense, but knew he had to pay attention to referee. Now he worried that he would miss a signal because he couldn't wear his glasses in here.

The whistle blew just as the other boy began to fall towards the floor. The audience booed, clearly wanting blood. Harry retreated towards his own corner, and was pounded on the back by the other members of his team, including Dudley.

Banks squeezed his shoulder and gave him back his glasses. "Well done, Potter. A good, clean fight." Then he helped Harry get his mouthpiece out.

The announcement came. "A decision in the third round! Harry Potter of Little Whinging on points! The scores for each individual round will be available through the office."

"I'll pick those up for everyone. Now go out there and take a bow." Harry did as he was told, though now he suddenly felt shy about showing off. The referee gave him a certificate and said, "You did well. Most boys your age wouldn't have paid any attention to me, especially in a first fight. Hope to see you again sometime."

"Thanks," Harry said, and backed away. He was heartened by the cheers, though, till he remembered the voices that had shouted approval of Macklin's fall. They would have been just as happy to see him go instead, he thought.

Now he could take off his helmet and gloves as well. A good thing the referee had used a whistle. He wasn't sure he would have seen a signal.

Once he sat back down, Dudley slapped him on the back in a nice way. "All right. Now it's up to me to keep up the honor of Privet Drive. I wonder if Dad could get his company to sponsor a team?"

Harry shrugged. "Why not?" He knew some of his new mates came from backgrounds worse than his, and that Mr. Banks paid for some of their stuff out of his own pockets. He glanced out over the audience and saw a girl with electric blue-and-purple hair. Harry waved. He hadn't meant to hurt Tonks. It was just so weird to think of anybody normal letting themselves be Sorted Slytherin.

He spotted the Dursleys over to one side. Uncle Vernon even looked happy! Harry hardly recognized his uncle that way.

His team watched a few bouts that none of them were in, and then it was time for dinner. Theirs was brought in, and he devoured his food on the spot. Maybe he could show Dobby how to make cheeseburgers once he got back to Hogwarts!

The tournament began again. At last it was Dudley's turn to climb into the ring for the last bout. Harry and his cousin had discussed the Macklin kid, and Dudley wanted to find out if opening in a fury like that would work for him. Mr. Banks had listened in. "Mr. Dursley, you may give it a try, but don't use up all your strength at once. You don't want to fade by the third round the way Mr. Potter's opponent did."

Dudley grimly shook his head. Then he whispered to Harry, "One of the fights I was in earlier this year lasted almost an hour, and the other guy was almost the same size I was. None of this fancy dancing, either, it was pretty much all out. I don't think I'll have any trouble."

"Good luck." Harry said with a nod. "And remember, do it for Little Nell!" he added in a falsetto.

"Die, freak," Duds said, but with a grin. "You know, those Saturday mornings weren't too bad, were they?"

"No," Harry said. "They weren't. Of course, I'm the one with Snidely Whiplash for a teacher." Saturday mornings had been a neutral zone for the two cousins. As long as Harry fixed the cereal (usually of a color found only in the Forbidden Forest and in Neville's cauldron in Potions) and went back into the cupboard as soon as the adults woke up, Dudley usually let Harry out to watch the telly with him. He would take his empty cereal bowl back with him into the small space when his aunt and uncle started making any noise, and wash it out later with the rest, since he usually did the dishes. Dudley usually ate enough nobody could tell that he'd had any help.

His cousin stood in the ring with his gear on, looking far healthier than he had at the beginning of summer. The other kid was built much the same.

The bell rang. Dudley thrust himself forward with several powerful blows to the other boy's chest and gut. As soon as the other fighter responded, though, Harry's cousin quickly backpedaled to keep a space between them. His own defense, though, kept him from getting hit himself. Dudley kept this up for a bit, then attacked again. Once faced opposition, he switched back to defense. He followed that pattern till the end of the first round. Harry thought his cousin should win that one on points, if being in control of the fight counted as much as Banks had said. Both the coach and Dudley seemed happy as well.

The second round was a different story. The other boy charged out the same way Dudley had in the first one, and his cousin had to work to stay in there. He took more punishment this time, but it didn't seem to bother him much. But Harry felt, somehow, that Dudley wasn't in as much trouble as it looked. In fact, close to the end of the round the audience roared as his cousin used the same combination of blows he'd started the bout with, as if fighting off his opponent hadn't worn him down at all.

Between the second and third round Dudley and Banks whispered together on strategy. Harry thought he knew what they were up to. The other boy hadn't liked being hit on his right shoulder at all, and his punches didn't look as strong after. He bet himself that Duds would aim for that area first, and then finish the boy with gut blows. He knew how effective _those_ were!

The third round began. Dudley charged in with another flurry of blows, then danced around looking for openings. All the conditioning exercises and endurance work made sense now, though Harry still hated stair laps. Going up and down was why wizards had brooms, as far as he was concerned, even if he was used to lots of stairs at Hogwarts. At least those steps didn't move the way the ones at school did.

The other boxer was really tiring now. His arms were drooping, and around Dudley, that was dangerous. His cousin pushed the other boy towards the ropes and pounded away. The referee stepped forward, clearly ready to signal the end of the fight, but neither fighter paid any attention till Mr. Banks waved and the official whistled.

The bell rang. Everyone cheered Dudley, including Harry. Mr. Banks had a wry smile. "It's hard to learn to fight fair after learning a different way," the coach said quietly.

"If you've been in some real fights, rule seem kind of dumb," Harry said in Dudley's defense. He still remembered Sirius dying, Neville's broken nose, and Hermione so sick afterwards. _I still don't regret trying a Crucio on Lestrange,_ Harry thought. _I just wished it had worked better._

Then he remembered Tonks talking about Moody, and the way Snape might have been treated even though everyone had believed him to be the Headmaster's spy. Maybe she'd been unhappy because Snape had been her Head of House, but…_maybe it's no good to win if you become just the enemy you're fighting?_

He stopped worrying about it for now when the officials began reading out the overall results. Their team had to win the cup on points for everybody, and fouls counted against that, so even if they had taken every bout they could still lose.

But they _did_ win! Harry shouted his head off like everyone else when that was announced. And the gym got even louder when some big black guy in a really expensive suit and a huge gold wristwatch stood up and walked forward. Harry blocked his eyes from all the flashbulbs as the announcer said, "Well, isn't that nice! It's Frank Bruno, come to see us and here to present the award!"

Harry had a vague idea of who the man was and was pleased, sort of. This was the whole team's triumph, not just his. But everyone was allowed to shake his hand, and that was nice. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had made their way up to the front and got to meet Mr. Bruno, too. Everyone, including Dudley, seemed a lot more impressed than Harry was.

"Well, how does it feel to be the parents of a future champ?" the man asked his aunt and uncle. "You must be very proud."

Vernon grinned as happily as Harry had ever seen him, and started babbling away. Aunt Petunia put her arm around Dudley—but she looked back for him, too, and smiled.

Harry bit his lip to keep from crying. He hadn't expected even that much. It didn't surprise him when Mr. Bruno, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley went off to dinner without so much as a word to him.

He hated the pity in the coach's eyes, and zipped his bag shut.

Mr. Banks cupped his hands and shouted so everyone could hear him in the chaos. "Pizza and pop up in the rooms!" he yelled. "Now let's show all these people that we can be gentlemen as well as winners! I am very proud of all of you, lads. Don't make me change my mind!"

Eventually things got sorted out. The other boys glanced at him, but didn't say anything but how much they were going to eat as they piled into the cars and went back to the hotel. Harry could almost pretend it was like a professional Quidditch bout, and that he'd caught the Snitch. Two of them had won their bouts as well, so it wasn't quite the same, but Harry knew that he shouldn't complain. It had hurt to see Duds go off like that, though.

But as they went back to their hotel, he thought a bit. He had a choice between the Wizarding and Muggle worlds, and Dudley didn't. And he knew enough that he _could_ live in this one and still have a taste of fame. He had liked it when the audience had cheered for him after he'd won. _Oh crap. Snape said I was a glory seeker like Dad. Why does he have to be right? But I only want it fair, not because of something I didn't really do for myself._ But he didn't think that was so wrong. _Someone the greasy git's age should really get over being jealous of a kid._

He wondered for a moment if Potions Masters ever got on chocolate frog cards, and decided they probably didn't.

As they drove into the hotel parking lot, Harry saw a girl on a motorcycle zip in ahead of them. _Tonks is probably mad at me and I don't blame her,_ he thought gloomily. But if the Headmaster was right about choices making all the difference, and being so glad that he himself had chosen Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, did that mean that Tonks was worse because she'd picked the same house her mum was in?

He shook his head. Harry felt better once up in the room and getting some food and pop into him. He and his other teammates got into the spirit of things, though Mr. Banks did stop them from holding impromptu sparring matches out in the hall, and definitely put his foot down on any experiments with the light fixtures.

Harry and the other boys talked over their bouts, then demonstrated punches and what they should have done and what the other guy did, all with a mouth and sometimes both hands full of pizza. It was like a Quidditch party, only no girls like Katie or Angelina or Ginny to keep the language cleaner.

Mr. Banks finally lost patience and started them clearing up. Things were getting quieter and the coach gone for his own room at last when Dudley came back. The lights were out, mostly, when he stepped in the room and said, "Hey, sorry about leaving like that. I could tell Mum wanted you to come, she looked back for you, but Dad shook his head."

"I know," Harry said, lying on his bed but on top of the covers. Even with the windows open it was still pretty hot in the room.

"What was Frank Bruno like? Is he really a great guy, or does he just put on an act?" asked one of the other boys.

"Oh, he's wicked!" Dudley said. "He even gave me his business card and said for me to call if I decide to keep on with it. He said he'd tell me if my trainer was any good. Maybe it's stupid to think like this after winning only one bout, but I want to do something with my life besides going to an office and coming home grouchy like Dad."

Harry didn't blame him. He'd clean brooms for the Cannons before becoming like Percy Weasley.

His cousin looked at him and said, "But you should have been there, too, Harry. And Harlie and Albert, too. All of you won your bouts too. I wish all of us had gone!" Dudley pulled out a bottle. "Dad stopped at an after-hours shop and got me this. Maybe this will make up for…some of it, anyway."

The other boys clamored about all the fun they'd had here, till Harry said, "If we make too much noise, the coach will come back, and Duds'll have to put the bottle away."

That was more than enough motivation to get them to quiet down. His cousin opened the bottle and passed it around after taking the first sip. "Not bad," he said. "But you guys keep it. Dad bought me a couple of slugs at dinner already, and that's plenty."

Harry felt the fire in it when it came around his way. This was more like the taste or two he'd had of Ogden's than the butterbeer served the students in Hogsmeade. It couldn't hurt to have a second nip, or even a third, since nobody was drinking that deeply anyway.

He finally fell back into bed as if he'd had some Dreamless Sleep potion. Nothing hurt and the room spun around, but he rather enjoyed that part. It was like flying, really. _I hope they let me fly again back at Hogwarts. I would have put up with a dozen quills from Umbridge if only she hadn't done that!_ Him as Seeker again, Ginny on Reserve and maybe Chaser, and Ron as Keeper again…he couldn't remember if Katie was going to be back next year, or not. She'd make a good captain, though, and would have an easier time of it without the twins trying to run things behind her back. _I hope they let me practice even if I can't play. I've got to be able to fly!_

It wasn't so bad in the Muggle world. Only the occasional plane reminded him of his real life in the air. _But I can't stand being at school another year and not on my broom. Flying's the one thing I'm really good at without having to work at it. That kind of practice isn't work, not really. _He'd forgive Umbridge everything else she did before he'd let go being angry over being grounded.

He awoke the next morning with his head full of cotton and his mouth feeling icky. Nothing tasted good except some orange juice. From what he saw of the other boys, he wasn't alone. Dudley seemed all right, or at least knew how to fake it better. They piled into the cars that had brought them up. His cousin decided to come back with the team instead of with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, though, which meant Harry had to sit in the middle _again_.

He amused himself with thoughts of the Weasley's flying car and just how many people Mr. Weasley could stuff in it, along with all their gear. At least sitting in the back instead of up front meant he was closer to his gym bag. He didn't think anything was going to happen, but he'd rather stand in front of the Wizengamot again for unauthorized magic before letting his friends get hurt. Even if they were Muggles.

The car trip was quiet. All the boys in the car had been at the bottle last night and nobody wanted to say much. Harry went over the bout in his head again. Yes, he _had_ fought well. The other boys liked him well enough, and he didn't have to be the Savior of the Wizarding World, either, just pull his own weight.

He felt an impulse to throw himself out of the car then and didn't understand why. His fingers fumbled at the seat belt, while his scar formed a little knot on his forehead the way it had a couple times last year during one of his visions.

Nothing had really changed except…except deep in his heart he knew he had to die. If he could throw himself to the left, where Albert sat, it shouldn't be hard; the other boy was only one weight class above him. _I have to die,_ he thought in sinking despair. _I don't know why, but I do. That's the only way…the only way it'll stop hurting._

Dudley looked at him funny. "You all right, Harry?"

He didn't know how to explain it. His cousin put his much larger hand on the buckle. "Don't mess with the seat belt," Duds said. "It might come undone by accident."

Part of him was angry and frustrated at being kept from doing what he knew was the right thing. The other part was glad. Wait. Wasn't this like the many times he'd been lured by Voldemort to go look at the Department of Mysteries? _I should have listened to Snape! I don't know how to fight this off!_ Black despair trickled through his mind. Visions of horrible things passed before his eyes—Privet Drive in ruins, bodies lying about…and then the scene changed to Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione had been torn to pieces, and Ginny lay limp on the ground, her eyes closed, as Lucius Malfoy bent over her…

He ought to be outraged, not giving up! What was wrong with him?

Then he was away from that part, but still in Hogwarts, he was sure. It felt like he was in someone's head, but he wasn't sure whose. Utter misery filled him now, and his left forearm burned in torment. He saw a long-fingered hand he knew wasn't his pick up a dagger…

Harry remembered, now, how he'd managed this in Dumbledore's office. He thought about Sirius, and how he missed his godfather. _But if I die I'll see him again. There's nothing bad about that part at all._ Then he played Mum and Dad's wedding through his head, as if it were a video tape. That helped a lot more. He'd been through that memory so many times he didn't need the pensieve any more.

He opened his eyes and he was back in the car again. _I must have followed the Dark Mark to someone else, the way I did to Nagini once,_ he thought.

Dudley's hand was still on the seatbelt. "Better?" his cousin asked.

Harry took a deep breath and swallowed at the pain that stabbed through his scar, like a knife was in it. The feeling he had to die was gone, but this was almost as bad.

"Everyone all right back there?" Mr. Banks asked from the driver's seat.

"Harry's got a headache," Dudley said. "It s not from the fight, though. He just gets them, sometimes."

"I'll call your aunt and tell her you should see a doctor," the coach said.

"Don't stop me from fighting!" Harry said.

"Lad, I've seen too many lose their health, and sometimes their lives. It's not worth it." The older man sounded worried.

"It's not what you think," Dudley said. "I brought a bottle up last night when I came in late, and Harry, he's just not used to it."

His cousin was actually admitting to something he'd done? Nobody did that in the Dursley household! "I must have had more than I thought," Harry said. "Nobody made me drink anything." It felt really strange for him and cousin to protect each other. Strange but good.

Mr. Banks sighed and shook his head. "Well, you're paying for it now. Hot coffee with lots of sugar, or maybe some tomato juice might help when we stop. Be sure to say something if you need to throw up. My upholstery does not need this."

Nothing sounded good right now. "I kept some orange juice down this morning," Harry timidly volunteered.

"Boys," Banks thundered. "I could lose my license to teach you lads if you pull this again. It might be a long time before you could go on a trip like this."

"We know," Dudley said. The other two boys kept their mouths shut. Harry didn't blame them. If Banks wanted to assume they hadn't had any whiskey, he wasn't going to say anything different.

About an hour or so down the road the headache just stopped. Harry broke out into a light sweat and leaned back against the cushions of the seat. Whatever had brought this one was gone entirely, it seemed. Now he felt only a little bit queasy, and that probably _was_ from the whiskey.

Banks looked him over when they stopped for lunch. "Hmm. Ever been checked for migraines?"

"Not that I know of," Harry said. "I get headaches like this at school, sometimes." _Usually when Voldemort is trying to kill me._ This made him wonder if he was the only one who'd had this problem. He'd better write the Headmaster this time instead of pretending it hadn't happened.

As they all ate, Harry had a morbid thought. _Snape has the Dark Mark. Does he ever get the same things through it that I do from my scar? But why would Voldemort want to get rid of his loyal Death Eaters? That doesn't make any sense._

He had a quick talk with Dudley away from the others before they went back into the car.

"What was going on there? It looked like you were trying to make a break for it through Albert as we were speeding down the road."

"It was like having a Dementor inside my head, you know, one of the gray things we saw last summer. I don't know why, I just had to get out of the car. Not that I was going to sitting next to you, mind. But thanks for covering for me on the headache."

"I know you really like the boxing," Dudley said, scuffing his feet and staring down at the asphalt of the parking lot. "And there were hardly any head shots in your bout. I just…I just like things the way they are at home this summer. And…you didn't run away when that thing thought I was tasty the year before."

"Thanks." It felt really, really weird to talk to his cousin like a real person, almost as weird as it had been to talk to Aunt Petunia that way. He would really know he'd stepped into the Twilight Zone when Uncle Vernon was nice to him!

The trip was a bit livelier after lunch. The other two boys started a round of songs, most of which Harry didn't know, but he joined in anyway. Besides, "A Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall" wasn't that difficult to pick up.

They finally arrived at the gym where the parents were supposed to pick them up. The Dursleys waited with the other cars. Vernon sat behind the wheel and beeped his horn insistently when Harry was slow retrieving his gear from the boot. _Well,_, he thought, _some things haven't changed._ He felt reassured somehow, as if the world hadn't quite shifted under his feet. _And when I get back to Hogwarts, Snape will find a way to take points from me just for existing._ That didn't bother him as much as it usually did. After hearing the Prophecy, worrying about points had somehow faded from his horizon. Besides, the staff or the Headmaster usually found some way to give them back.

That night, Hedwig came back through his window once the rest of the house was quiet. Harry sat up and scribbled a quick note about what had happened in the car. At least it hadn't been a real attack, like he'd been afraid of at the gym. He really had taken a risk by leaving the house the way he had. Oh, he was so glad he'd done it anyway!

He understood Sirius Black all too well. He'd go off his nut for sure if he had to stay inside 12 Grimmauld Place year-round, with its shrieking portrait and horrid house elf. Why couldn't his godfather have taken Polyjuice Potion and have some fun outside the place? Or go to one those parlors that turned out the Goths that littered the afternoon talk shows? Harry grinned as he thought of Sirius with blue hair and a safety pin through one of his ears. The changes wouldn't come off with a _Finite Incantatem_ the way a glamour would, either, and wouldn't fade in two hours the way Polyjuice did. He almost giggled at the thought of Snape in charge of the makeover. The Headmaster would have to hold a wand on both of them!

Harry grieved a little bit more for his godfather then. It all seemed a horrible waste. He sighed, and wondered if he'd have any nightmares tonight. He usually did after his scar acted up. Maybe he ought to look in the pensieve. That usually helped.

Then he felt like kicking himself. He still hadn't written Dumbledore a thank-you note for the present, and it had been over a week since. Hedwig was already off with the first note, or he'd do it now. _I'll have to remember it tomorrow morning,_ he thought.

Tonight, though, he'd enjoy some memories. He thought he'd skip the wedding this time. He'd seen it often enough that it was in his own head, now. Besides, Lucius Malfoy's smirk got more annoying every time he saw it. There was something the way Draco's dad looked at Snape that was…nasty, and the feeling got worse every time Harry actually saw it. It was annoying to feel sympathy for the Potions Master, even if Aunt Petunia had been right about him.

But there were plenty of others to choose from. Tonight he watched the Marauders, his mum, and the Slytherins working in a Potions class. Wait, from the way they talking, and some of the ingredients, it must be a Harmonia potion. Harry wondered why they were doing it over, since this was obviously fifth or sixth year. Snape had taught them that one as firsties. It was supposed to be so simple that Squibs or even Muggles could manage it, or so he'd been sarcastically informed. Harry didn't recognize the man teaching Potions in this class.

For once the class looked really peaceful, unlike his usual memories of State Sponsored Terrorism. But he vaguely remembered even the fumes alone were supposed to work magic on those who breathed them in. _Maybe Snape should make us brew it all the time!_ It was neat how the pensieve even carried smells. It kind of reminded him of that herbal tea his aunt had started fixing this summer.

Harry suddenly got an idea. What if someone could work up a memory of how to make a potion and give to Neville? Maybe then he'd remember how to do it _right_ for a change! Hermione would volunteer some of hers in a flash.

He left the pensieve. Harry was much better at getting in and out of it now. He went to sleep, somehow assured that he was safe for now from that horrible feeling he'd had in the car.

Author's note: Dudley Do-Right is a character in the US cartoon Rocky and Bullwinkle, and as such probably made it to Saturday mornings in the UK one way or another. "State Sponsored Terrorism" is how Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes describes a typical gym class. Accurately. The gray Nintendo cartridge that Dudley had for his good-luck charm was Street Fighter II. M. Bison is actually the Boss Villain at the end your character has to face, but he's still cool, or they never would have been able to get Raul Julia to play him in the movie.

And yes, I _will_ let you know how much of Harry's vision of (obviously) Snape was true in the next chapter.


	20. Chapter 20: And a Fighter By His Trade

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. The chapter title is a quote from a song by Paul Simon, with all the attendant copyright restrictions etc. Snape's Nightie is a brilliant Britpicker and is training me out of Terrible Americanisms. Well, mostly.

Chapter 20: …And a Fighter by His Trade

Severus Snape

Snape moved slowly around his private lab over a week since his collapse. It was Sunday again, and he ought to be up in the Great Hall competing with McGonagall over the weekly Latin crossword puzzle in the Prophet as he had last week. He knew the Transfiguration Professor had been watching him all the time that morning to find out if his mind was still intact. He supposed he had passed the test, as Pomfrey had not come down till several hours later once Minerva had left. Normally beating the Gryffindor so thoroughly at the puzzle gave him joy. But he'd felt nothing. Today, though, he was so far behind in brewing he had little choice but to use the time he had.

Severus took a deep breath as he approached yet another cauldron. There wasn't any point to this struggle. He knew how it would all end, at least for him. Yet he would cling to his duty till the last. He owed his students that much.

He'd tried to explain some of this to Poppy a few days ago. She had become extremely alarmed, and added yet more potions to the horrid regime. "I'm afraid feeling this way is one of the side effects," she'd said. "Why do you think the mood-enhancer was sent with the detoxicant in the first place, along with the appetite-booster? I was worried this would happen, and now it has. You must take the rest of the potions now along with the others, but it may be several days or even weeks before they will help much. If you feel…if you feel you must do something to hurt yourself, come see me _immediately_. I don't care if it's in the middle of the night." She looked agitated. "I've been talking with Lowenstein again. This is the worst it will get. It _is_ going to get better. You'll start expelling the poisons in a couple of weeks, probably right before the beginning of school, and that will be hard, too, but nothing like this. Please promise that you'll tell me, Severus. Please?"

He apathetically let her have his way, and had said he would let her know of any suicidal impulses. He didn't think it made any real difference. Today it was just as bad as ever, but if he didn't brew, he would only sit and brood over things he could not help. At least the Headmaster hadn't come down yet. It had been hard to pretend to care during the last few visits. Severus knew what the old man really thought of him, however kind the older wizard appeared to be just now. It had been all he could do to hold his tongue and asked what had he done to deserve the hex. It would, however, be foolish to express such anger. Dumbledore was the only one who could remove it. Snape would like to have a mind left after the procedure.

At least he didn't have to worry about the Harmonia Potion much. Winky could make up a batch of the herbs without supervision now, which left him able to brew the healing potions and other, more exotic items that Pomfrey would find it difficult or much more expensive to purchase on the open market. Severus rubbed his eyes, after carefully making sure his hands had no residue on them, of course. Perhaps he should start another batch of Wolfsbane, too. Lupin's next full moon would end just before the beginning of school. The 1st of September was on a Sunday, which should give the wolf one more day of recovery.

He would have to charm another copy of the recipe for the Harmonia potion and send it to Mrs. Dursley with this last parcel, and recommend she continue to use it throughout the year. The poor woman deserved some happiness after putting up with the Boy-Who-Lived all summer. How odd. He felt nothing when thinking of Harry Potter but a vague dismay the brat was coming back, instead of his usual throb of rage. Well, he could do without the headaches. He ought to thank the Swiss for taking that burden from him. Besides, how he felt never changed anything.

Severus approached the first cauldron and began stirring it the requisite dozen times counter-clockwise. He stopped in the middle of it as despair struck him like a blow. This was as bad as when he'd been in Azkaban and a Dementor outside his cell, Moody taunting him with the Kiss, and thinking Dumbledore had forgotten him. _I should tell Poppy,_ he thought. But he couldn't move. Winky asked him something, but he couldn't answer. "Put all the fires out immediately," he whispered, realizing what would happen if the cauldrons were left to themselves. So much work wasted, but better that than the dungeon in ruins. The elf complied.

For a moment it seemed as if he could hear the voices of his apprentices crying out for help. A quick vision of Zabini in his bedroom, Draco in the little breakfast room at the Manor, and Goyle on a broom flashed before his eyes. Weasley was sitting at a table with Moody, and Miss Edgecombe cowered as her mother yelled at her…then both Rosiers were in the middle of a game of Exploding Snap up in the attic to keep the noise away from their parents…and Harry Potter sat in a Muggle car, nearly squeezed into breathlessness between his whale of a cousin and another boy.

He saw their eyes glazed by overwhelming sadness. Snape ignored Winky as the tiny house elf took his elbow and steered him to his bedroom. _I have to stop this,_ he thought. _I can't let them die from my own anguish._ It was strange he didn't see anything happening to his other apprentices, but that didn't matter.

Then he saw visions of other Death Eaters, even two that he knew were in Azkaban, curl up in agony as if a Dementor were attacking them. That didn't make sense. He had no connection with them the way he had with the children.

He didn't understand till he saw Weasley pick up a knife and start to bring it towards himself, only to have Moody wrestle him for it. The two of them fought till Mad-Eye pulled out his wand and put a body-bind on the red-haired young man. At Malfoy Manor, Draco tried to leave his mother's company with the same intent. Narcissa somehow knew something was wrong and followed him out of the room. Goyle suddenly pointed his broom towards the ground and started to dive.

Severus had a vague sense as he lay on his bed that this was happening over a period of time rather than instantaneously. He even saw Harry fumbling with a Muggle device in the car, only to have his cousin clamp a huge hand on it.

Then he was back in his own bedroom. His Mark was hot, but not burning in the way that meant a summons. Someone was using the Mark to attack his apprentices! How that affected other Death Eaters and Potter he didn't understand, but it was the only thing that all had in common, if one counted Harry's scar.

Snape panted for breath. Fortunately he was used to fighting off the impulse to die. He'd been doing it all week for Poppy's sake. He might do so anyway even if he succeeded in saving the others. The Dark Lord always knew if someone damaged a Mark and punished them accordingly.

It didn't matter. Severus sat up, knowing he had very little time to act, and opened his bedside cabinet. He pulled out the dagger, then had to struggle against stabbing it into his own heart. Nothing would hurt any more after that.

But he would die soon enough from Voldemort's fury. It would just take a little longer. He had to save those others. He rolled up his sleeve and looked at the black, ugly tattoo. He braced himself, then plunged the blade into the Mark.

Severus screamed as agony thrust up his arm and into the rest of him. He collapsed onto the bed, though the pain faded as his mind fled. A good thing his bedroom had a Silencio built into the threshold of his doorway…

He took refuge in his House of Memory at first. His spirit wandered the empty corridors of the Hogwarts he had constructed for himself. He found no comfort in his depleted store of happy recollections. Then he deliberately walked past the quiescent Whomping Willow and into the Shrieking Shack. It, too, was empty now. He couldn't stay. The Dark Lord probably knew already who had disobeyed his command and would follow him wherever he tried to run. Snape knew he had to lead Voldemort away.

He wandered the streets of Knockturn Alley. He had to hide. Nobody must find him. Then he caught the sight of Nora's. Yes. Surely no one would look _there_. Severus walked up the stairs and into the little apartment that had once been home. He pulled down the trapdoor that unfolded the stairs and went up.

Once in his sanctuary, he closed the passage to the lower floor and put a spell on it to conceal its existence. But where could he go here? The chest was wrapped in chains to keep his bad memories from coming out and hurting people, or he might climb into it. Then he realized that he was different here. He wasn't as tall any more. _Maybe I'm the same age now the way I was the last time I really lived here._ Severus inched into the storage space over the side. It was dark in there. At last he felt safe.

Albus Dumbledore

"He must go to a supervised facility _now_," Madam Pomfrey said. "He's almost too paralyzed by his depression to do anything…anything unfortunate, but when the mood-enhancer begins to work, he'll feel just as horrible but have more strength to act on it. Albus, Severus is terribly ill. I know you don't want him to go to St. Mungo's, but can't he go back to Switzerland for a week? If he is approaching the first expulsion phase he'll need their help anyway."

Dumbledore had no idea things were really that bad. His few talks with the Potions Master had been superficial, and given the promise he'd made to Flitwick, he hadn't used Legilimens since that dreadful night. "He won't like it," he said.

"Right now he doesn't care. He's not fighting any of us on anything."

Minerva peeked in, obviously overhearing the conversation. "I have to agree," she said. "Last Sunday we did the crossword the way you asked me to and it wasn't the same. He did it faster than ever, but didn't even crow over beating me. I mean, half the fun is shrieking at each other over a declination." She came in and sat down. "I saw him out of his rooms the other day and his cloak dragged instead of billowing, like it was too heavy for him. I tried to ask him what was wrong, but he just looked at me as if he couldn't understand the question. It's not like his memory is giving him fits, as least I don't think it is, but…Poppy's right. He's given up. I've read some of the literature on his regime, and that's why they put in the mood-enhancer to begin with as part of the procedure."

Dumbledore sighed. He knew it was more his fault than the potions. "I know. He didn't seem so bad when I've spoken to him so far this week. I just don't want him to be away if he…if he's summoned…"

Poppy looked up from her papers and looked sadly at him. "I know you must protect the Order, Albus, but I have to warn you how ill he really is. Between the two sides there will be nothing left of him. This is the best time to send him to the clinic. He won't have enough strength to fight it for a few days yet. We don't have the capacity to treat him, especially for the first expulsion phase, and I won't send him to St. Mungo's. He could end up on the long-term floor if he has another memory problem and his case is mishandled. I worry about the security problems myself if he has a complete breakdown. This is a common crisis for anyone on this regime, Albus, never mind everything else he must cope with. Let the experts keep him alive till he's stronger. He doesn't like people seeing him so weak, and it will humiliate him if he must be confined for any reason here."

"I wish I could," Albus said. Poppy had already spoken to him about getting a thorough examination at the clinic there himself. Hers had been much more complete than usual, and some potions recommended. Unfortunately, the only one capable of brewing them was Snape.

"Any damage besides that caused by the potions can be attributable to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," snapped Minerva. "Unless, of course, you've removed the nightmare hex already, although that could be blamed on him as well. Your reputation will remain intact."

Did his friend really think him that petty? _Was_ he that petty? "I'll go see him this afternoon," he said. "And I won't let him fob me off with brewing. I'll make a decision then."

Both women departed, obviously on their way to dissect him over tea. McGonagall glanced back at him as if to say, _This isn't over yet._

Dumbledore sat with his head in his hands. He supposed he was lucky not to face all three House Heads in their official capacity. He'd done everything that Malachite had asked him to but settle his own feelings about Severus. No doubt his behavior had seemed incomprehensible to the Potions Master. _And my behavior echoes my feelings. Just like when he was a student. I told him that I sympathized with him in private only to reward the boys who tormented him in public. Maybe the best thing I can do for him is to let him go to the clinic where he can get some real help. I should get rid of that nightmare hex first, though._

He reached for the papers that Poppy had left him. _At least the Swiss respect him,_ he thought. _When was the last time I praised him for anything, or did more than take him for granted? The last time he came back from a meeting I didn't trust him, and we nearly lost him right then. Perhaps I ought to have him report to McGonagall till I can trust myself not to hurt him. After all, he knows how I feel about him. Legilimens always goes both ways if the parties are equally trained._

For some reason he remembered Harry Potter's anger at being rejected and sent to Snape to learn Occlumency. _Harry was right. And I told him he was right, too. When was the last time I told Severus he was right about anything? All I've done this summer is to order him to change his ways. When I finally learned the truth about his sacrifices for the Order, I recoiled in disgust. Of course he won't tell him how he really feels about anything. I only punish him for it._

_This time I must help him._ He knew what his real reason was for getting rid of the nightmare hex now, of course. One did not live as long as he did without losing some illusions about oneself. It would become obvious to the Swiss who was truly responsible if Snape disintegrated. Here in Britain his legal responsibility for Severus to the Ministry allowed him to take nearly any measure he thought fit to maintain discipline. Many years ago he'd been given a list of authorized spells and charms from those officials when he'd first taken Snape out of Azkaban and sworn his personal guaranty for the Potion Master's good behavior, and he had been appalled at what the Ministry would allow him to do. A nightmare hex was quite mild in comparison to some of them, and a parolee from Azkaban had almost no recourse with the Ministry for any sort of abuse.

However, Lowenstein might believe otherwise. Many years ago there had been talk of an International War Crimes Tribunal based on the Muggle model, and the use of Dementors in Azkaban had been mentioned as a talking point. Albus knew that it had been a mistake all along to use them to begin with, but nobody had wanted to listen. Once they had departed, prison discipline had temporarily disappeared altogether and an escape attempt was inevitable. Things had settled down there as new procedures, generally borrowed from Muggle prisons, had taken hold. But the Ministry was still not careful about who went to the prison. Dumbledore thought guiltily of Hagrid, who had had to spend two months there a few years back. The half-giant's drinking had increased after that, though he had apparently recovered well otherwise. Of course, both he and Sirius Black had been in the Ordinary Section—Hagrid in the short-term population, and Black in the long-term cells.

Snape had not. "Special Section" was such a bland term for starvation, beatings, and torture. Most of the former Death Eaters had gone there, most without trial. Albus did not like to think what had probably happened to the few women placed in it. But he had turned his face away to that as well, preferring not to remember how long it had taken Snape to heal from Moody's particular attentions.

_No. I must remove the hex today. I'll have Flitwick sit in with me, to observe that I do no further harm and to help pick up the pieces, because by now the curse will have worked in deeply._ He knew that he might precipitate the breakdown that Snape was near. But the longer the hex stayed in place, the harder it would be to remove.

Albus looked up at the clock. He knew what Poppy really feared. Severus hadn't attempted suicide for years. Those efforts had been half-hearted, or so he'd been told, but they'd looked real enough to him.

Snape was much older now, and far more skilled. He would most likely use a swift-acting poison rather than a knife. And it might be without any warning. Dumbledore rose from his chair and headed towards the door. He might already be too late.

The Headmaster stopped when he saw Moody's head in the Floo. The old Auror looked distraught. "What is it?" he asked. "Has anything happened to Harry on his way home?" He had reluctantly agreed to the boy's presence at the tournament, but was filled with dread now. He sat back down.

"Percy Weasley almost put a bread-knife in his chest this morning at breakfast," Moody said. "I had to put him a body-bind to stop him. Now he appears much saner, but his Mark hurts a great deal. He says it's not a summons. I don't know how he tells the difference."

"Did he say why he did it?" Albus was horrified.

"He says now that he doesn't understand it, that he felt gray inside the way he did a couple of times in his sixth year at school, anything he did was hopeless, and so on. Now he just hurts, but he wants his dad more than he does me." Mad-Eye scowled. "Can't say I blame him."

"Does Arthur know his son is working for you, and what he's had to do? You know Percy's father can be trusted."

"Not yet. I think he suspects that his son has taken the Mark, but doesn't want to know for sure."

"Then you must bring Minister Weasley over, now. Percy misses his family badly, and he probably can't stand thinking he might die with them believing him a traitor."

"That might be part of it," Moody said with a growl. "But he's not the only one. I checked around and two Death Eater prisoners in Azkaban tried to hurt themselves this morning as well. One swore the Dementors were back, and since he's a holdover that didn't escape last year, probably knows what he's talking about. Their Marks are hurting right now, too. You might want to talk to Snape and find out how he's doing."

"I'm surprised you think he's in any danger," Albus snapped. Then he had a horrible thought. "Harry!"

"Fuck." The Auror looked horrified. "I'll talk to the surveillance team now. You go after Snape, and I'll make sure Potter is all right."

Dumbledore quickly went down to the dungeons. Winky worked on another batch of the Harmonia potion, while several cauldrons were being left untended and starting to go cold. That was odd. Surely the elf would have learned something else by now, or if she had, would not neglect the other potions.

"Winky, do you know where Professor Snape is?"

She looked up him and sniffled. "Winky put him to bed, Master Headmaster. He was sad, so sad like poor Barty when he remembers the Gray Ones, or sees them in his sleep." A tear glistened by one large eye. "Master Potions Master say, put fires out _immediately._ Winky does that, then puts him to bed. Can't see any Gray Ones, but Master so sad. Please, Master Headmaster, no Gray Ones here?"

"No, little one. I just have to see if he's all right. The potions he has to take make him feel bad, but he needs them anyway." The Headmaster noticed no extra wards had been set up besides the _Silencio_ set into the threshold to the bedchamber. That wasn't like Snape at all. It was just as well that the Potions Master had remembered the fires.

He stepped into the quiet room. The first thing he noticed after chanting _Lumos_ was the dagger sticking into the Dark Mark on Snape's left arm. His first impulse was to pull it out, but sensed deadly magic he'd better check out first.

Albus gently touched the arm. It was stiff, and the muscles were taut. It wasn't cold the way it had been when paralyzed.

At first he thought Severus was conscious, as his eyes were half-open. But he didn't respond to any greeting, and lay tensed on the bed taking short, sharp breaths.

Dumbledore quickly set up a charm to warn him of any movement in the room, then left to Floo Moody from Snape's fireplace in the parlor. The Potion Master's wards against using his bedroom hearth were extremely strong. "I found him. He put a knife in his Dark Mark. He's still alive, but not really conscious. I'm going to remove the blade now. Keep a watch on Percy, and let me know how the boy does once it's out."

The Auror nodded. "Can it wait? We haven't found out about Potter yet. That Muggle vehicle is moving fast, and it's hard to tell what's going on inside."

"I hate leaving the knife in. Snape doesn't seem to be aware, but he's in a great deal of pain. Let's not take long about this, Moody. We should have put one of our people in a Muggle vehicle ourselves."

"We did. But Tonks has a hard time keeping the motorcycle steady and being able to see inside properly, even with a Magnifying Charm. Those Muggles drive like lunatics."

"This from a man who use to hold unofficial hall races on brooms?" Dumbledore asked. Dippet's portrait was quite a gossip.

Moody snorted. "Not half the mischief you used to get up to, from all accounts."

"Those days are long gone, I fear. I'll be back in a moment."

"Why aren't you using the hearth in Snape's bedroom? You should be able to get around any wards he puts up."

"He has a right to what little peaceful sleep he can get, Alastor," Albus said. "Besides, his wards are worked into the stone somehow. It would take hours to get rid of the one he's built into his hearth." Just like the _Silencio_ spell on his threshold, he remembered. "I'll be back in a few moments."

He glanced in the bedroom, saw nothing had changed, then watched Winky work on the potion again. Dumbledore vanished the contents of the cauldrons and cleaned them. None of the failed potions could be salvaged, and it was best to start over. It could have been much worse. If Snape had not remembered to ask Winky to douse the flames, this section of Hogwarts could be in ruins.

The Headmaster tried to figure out why Snape had Winky make so much of the Harmonia potion. Perhaps the odor of the ingredients alone soothed his fractious temper, or perhaps the Potions Master drank the tea. He'd have to check the list of potions that didn't conflict with the Swiss-made ones. "Winky, what does Professor Snape do when you're done mixing the ingredients for this potion?"

"Oh, he puts it into a jar, and then packs the jar into a box," she recited in a sing-song voice. "Then he puts pretty little pieces of paper on the box, and gives it to an owl. Sometimes he gets an envelope with other pretty little pieces of paper, but not as many as he puts on the box. He won't let me have the ones in his drawer that he puts on the box, but Master gives me envelopes when he's done. Sometimes the papers have a pretty lady with her face to one side. She looks nice. But the papers on the envelopes have nasty marks on them. Here, Winky shows you." The elf disappeared for a moment then popped back, holding some stationery.

Dumbledore examined the envelopes and recognized the sloping handwriting and the return address. He also noticed the dates on the Muggle postmarks. _So Severus has been writing Mrs. Dursley, and sending her the Harmonia potion to be brewed there._ He carefully gave the envelopes back to Winky and told her she was a good elf. "Keep doing what Professor Snape asks. You have been a great help to him."

"Oh, I's almost done with this batch, Master Headmaster. Then I put things away, just where Master Potions Master shows me." She beamed with delight.

"Good, Winky. When you're done, go back to the kitchens. I'll take care of Professor Snape for the rest of this morning." He had to check on Severus again. It wasn't right to leave the man in so much pain.

Before he could do so, though, the flames roared in the parlor fire again. This time Percy Weasley's head was there. Sweat stood out on the young man's forehead. "Headmaster, there's something you need to know," he said. "A week or so ago Professor Snape asked me to look after his other apprentices if he, if he couldn't. Is he all right?"

"He's not really conscious, but he's in pain," Dumbledore said. "He…he put a knife into his Dark Mark."

"Oh!" Percy said. "My shoulder…it hurts, too, but at least I'm not trying something stupid the way I did earlier this morning." He took a breath. "He probably saved my life. I wonder if any of the other apprentices were stopped the way I was?"

"We don't know yet, Mr. Weasley," Albus said. "As soon as we find out about Mr. Potter, I'll put up some wards and withdraw the blade. Most likely that will stop your pain."

"I bet Harry's scar is pretty bad right now."

"There are worse things." Dumbledore hid his worry that the Dementor-like spell would return. Who could have sent such a curse against the Death Eaters? He noticed that Moody hadn't claimed responsibility, and he was the one most likely to try anything this bizarre. "I'll ask Lupin and Flitwick if they have any idea what sort of spell this is. I am sorry that you must suffer until we're certain it's safe."

"It's probably a lot worse for the professor. I heard rumors that his arm was paralyzed after he took care of the apprentices. With me, he drew some of the pain out and said we would probably be linked. If he did that with all of them, I wonder how bad things got. Shouldn't someone be with him right now? I know you said he wasn't awake, but if Auror Moody watches me, I should be all right."

Albus nodded. He hadn't changed. He'd rather do anything but care for the Potions Master. "That's a good idea. He's been training Winky to help him, but I sent her back to the kitchens." That had been a mistake. "I'll return in a moment after I summon her to sit with him."

"Wait." Percy's face relaxed. "It stopped. It doesn't hurt any more." He rubbed his shoulder. "It's not even sore, and I thought it would be. I don't feel bad, either, at least not the way I did this morning."

Dumbledore wondered what happened, but dare not leave the Floo till he was certain someone was there to help the young Gryffindor if the curse returned. A horrible thought struck him. _Is Severus still alive?_

A few minutes later, he heard other voices through the fireplace. Moody's gruff one was interlaced with Arthur's worried tones. Percy cried, "Dad!" and left the hearth.

Alastor replaced him. "The Muggle car that Potter is in has been spotted, and the boy is all right. He's stuck in the middle between two others, and one of them is that fat cousin of his. Tonks is still tracking the car and will stop when it does. I suspect, however, that Potter feels better now than he did just a few moments ago."

The Headmaster breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. We'll investigate the spell here. I'll let you know what we find out as soon as possible. I don't want to hear a word blaming Professor Snape for all this, either. My working hypothesis is that he stopped the curse by putting the dagger into his Mark. I'll find a way to have his apprentices contacted to find out if they have managed, or had any trouble to begin with."

"Then why did Percy stop hurting?" Moody asked.

"Professor Snape may be dead or dying while we sit here. I want to find out." He broke the connection and almost ran to the bedroom.

Winky was already there. She bent over him, keening softly and weeping. "No, no, don't be like Barty, oh please don't be like Barty…" The knife lay on the night-stand, while the house elf had already bandaged the wound in the arm.

Snape's eyes were wide open now, but they appeared utterly empty. "Winky, what did you do?" Albus asked. He quickly seized a wrist, and was heartened by the weak, but steady pulse. _At least he's alive._ He sat down in a chair by the bed, and breathed deeply.

"Went to the kitchens, Master Headmaster, like you said, but had to come back here. Sharp, nasty knife in the Mark, the way Barty did once. _Had_ to take it out, oh, Master, please don't be like Barty, please please…" The elf leaned her head on Snape's chest and cried.

"When was Barty like this? Are you talking about the father or the son?"

"Barty _boy_, Master Headmaster. _My_ Barty boy," she said, raising her head and looking at him with wild eyes. "Wasn't supposed to be there, no, no, Barty master say to go, not belong to Crouches any more, but had to see _my_ Barty. But he was gone! Head and body and arms all there, but _gone_." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Gray One Kissed him, Master Headmaster. They take him away, never see him again. Now Master Potions Master is gone, too, just same way. But you said no Gray One here! You _said!_" She wept now.

"I will do my best to find him," Albus said. Snape's Mark was bleeding sluggishly, judging by the small stain on the linen wrapped around it. "Winky, I need your help. First, ask Madam Pomfrey to come down here. Then I want to talk to Professor Lupin and Professor Flitwick. I have to learn what curse did this, so we can make Professor Snape better." He noticed that the elf sometimes called Snape _master_ without any other title. Elves only did that for the ones they truly felt they belonged to, no matter what other arrangements had been made. That could be a good thing. "No Dementor has passed the wards of Hogwarts, Winky. That much I can promise you."

She wiped her eyes and disappeared. Severus was limp now and breathed shallowly. Dumbledore tried the spell that had restored the Potions Master to full consciousness a little over a week ago. For a moment Albus thought he saw a flicker of life in the man's eyes, but that might have been wishful thinking. _Where are you, Severus? Are you only hiding, or are you gone? _He thought Winky might be right to smell a Dementor somewhere at the bottom of this. How terrible it must have been for her to see someone she loved after he was Kissed. Dumbledore hoped she was wrong about "Master Potions Master'.

He had tried to see into the mind of someone who had been disposed of that way over half a century ago, and never wanted to repeat the process. But he must try with Severus. A broken mind didn't collapse without any warning, and he'd already had his.

Perhaps if he followed one of the Snape's memories back inside the younger wizard's mind the process would be easier on both of them than a normal _Legilimens._ He stood up and looked around for the pensieve. Albus found it in a locked cupboard, though a simple _Alohomora_ quickly took care of that. Snape must not have been worried about anyone getting into it after school let out, if such an easy spell gained access to it.

Dumbledore took it back the to the bedroom and fumbled in the dim light. He brightened up the place a little, though not too much. It was clear how terribly thin Severus was now. Pomfrey had warned them about that, too, or why she'd started Snape on the appetite-enhancers as well as all the rest. _I should have put my foot down,_ he thought. _I should have insisted that Severus begin the regimen properly. And I should have stopped him from brewing completely. It's been a long time since I stood over a cauldron, but I still remember how to manage some of the more difficult potions._ He knew how Snape overworked himself, and had done nothing to stop it, In fact, one of the messes in the lab outside this room likely contained a brew meant for his own failing health.

Albus fought back tears. _I should have let him stay at the clinic. At least there he would have been safe from both Tom and me. I could have watched over his apprentices, but the thought never passed my mind._

He sat down and opened the pensieve. The Headmaster had developed a charm to separate his memories from Snape's, but was surprised when nothing happened. He had a brief, horrible suspicion. What had Severus put into the pensieve that he'd sent to Harry Potter?

Yet from all accounts, the boy was pleased beyond measure with the gift and spent hours gazing into it when he should have been asleep. Surely he wouldn't be so happy if the Potions Master had left anything ugly inside.

True, many things Snape had placed inside the pensieve had been to keep them from the Dark Lord. Surely young Potter would be pleased that his constant suspicions about Snape were wrong.

_I suppose I must use Legilimens after all,_ he thought regretfully. _I dare not wait for Flitwick. Every second may be important._ He wished he had not wasted so many of them nattering with Moody.

Madam Pomfrey walked in and said, "Haven't you done enough?"

He lowered his wand. "There was an attack on him, and several others bearing the Dark Mark this morning. Moody told me two prisoners in Azkaban tried to harm themselves, but stopped when their Marks began hurting instead. I found Severus in here with a dagger in his arm. Once it was removed, a subject being interviewed claimed the pain was gone, and that he was fine." Pomfrey didn't need to know about Percy Weasley. At least not yet.

"Well, fine except for being in Moody's hands," the mediwitch said.

"Winky also told me that Severus was very sad this morning, and let her put him to bed. It might have been this additional curse on top of the potions affecting him. He hasn't regained consciousness yet. I fear someone might have used a Dementor to power the spell. I…I need to find out if he's, he's still _there_."

Poppy gazed down at Snape's blank eyes. His eyelids blinked occasionally, but only as a reflex. "Oh, dear Merlin," she said softly as she leaned over and brushed hair off his face. "It might be St. Mungo's after all."

Albus knew exactly which floor. "I'll be as careful as I can. I know how much of this is my fault. I thought I was being objective when I was serving only my own convenience." _Yes, and how easy is to have regrets now, knowing he was likely responsible for the best summer poor Harry has ever had? At last I can bring myself to approve of him!_

He took a deep breath. Moaning over his sins would not help.

"_Legilimens,_" he whispered softly.

Yes, I know it's an Evil Cliffie. Aren't those the best kind?


	21. Chapter 21: Into the Labyrinth

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Over 300 reviews, whee!

Chapter 21: Into the Labyrinth

Albus Dumbledore 

He entered Snape's mind as gently as he could. He could not assume any barriers were up. He must step as carefully as if he were trapped in that silly swamp the Weasley twins had set up last year.

The Potion Master's House of Memory lay before him, the two large doors at its entrance wide open. The Headmaster moved up the steps of this model of Hogwarts. The grounds outside seemed oddly empty.

So were the halls. A few anonymous students walked through, paying no attention to their observer. Their forms seemed nearly transparent. Dumbledore allowed one staircase to take him below to the dungeons, the most likely place for Snape's wounded soul to find refuge. On the way, Albus checked the Common Room for Slytherin, but that, too, was empty save for the battered furniture and the pillar in the back. Once down to the next level, the door to the Potions office lay temptingly open.

The Headmaster went inside. He was delighted to see that Severus had kept up his collection of happy memories. He had helped Snape with this room's construction, and was glad to see it contained more tokens than when Severus had begun it.

He moved about the small room and picked up various items symbolizing various pleasant events, and tried to guess what they stood for. The silver cauldron, of course, was obvious. The owner was one of the youngest Potions Masters in Wizarding history. Albus gently picked up the matryoshka doll. Despite her failings, Severus still cherished the memory of his mother. It took him a few moments to puzzled out the boomslang skin and a modest clump of cat hair, but the older wizard laughed out loud when he finally figured it out. Why shouldn't a teacher enjoy the achievements of a student so skilled?

Dumbledore smiled sadly at the little stuffed dragon peeping down from the top of a bookcase. He'd never been able to understand Snape's attachment to the younger Malfoy. One would think the boy's resemblance to Lucius would kill any affection. However, since few understood his own protection of Severus, he supposed he ought to be happy that Snape had enough love left in him to direct to anyone.

Then he gazed down at the ham sandwich wrapped in wax paper with a long red hair caught in its folds. This was definitely a new addition, probably from last year when Molly Weasley was the only one at Grimmauld Place who understood what a trial the place was to Snape and was willing to do something about Black's cruel joke. Severus had hidden his feelings well, though Molly could always coax a civil word from the Potions Master when no one else could. Just touching the paper released such a feeling of hopeless longing that Albus was saddened by it. Most normal relationships were denied to Snape, given his Death Eater history and his duties as a spy. The Headmaster usually turned a blind eye to affairs among the unmarried staff as long as they were discreet, and when much younger, had taken advantage of Filch's collection. A pity that Snape and Professor Sinistra had not hit it off—if anyone ever needed a normal family life, it was the dour Slytherin.

Albus sighed, and put the sandwich down. Severus had shown no other signs of his attachment and deserved to be left alone about this. For one thing, Arthur had noticed nothing, and he was the first to brag of which men had fallen to his wife's charms, secure she would never return their advances. He was always right, too. It never ceased to amazed Dumbledore how someone with such a clownish manner was so intuitive.

Then he saw the rose petals on the counter, so far behind a couple of books he almost hadn't noticed them. Where was the flower they belonged to? He remembered when Severus had held a full-blown rose in his hands and gently laid it down almost two decades ago when this room was first created. That had been Snape's first deposit into this bank of happiness, even before the cauldron.

What else was missing? He left the chamber and wandered about. The rest of this imaginary Hogwarts felt much emptier than he was used to. Slytherin Tower still contained a grinning Lucius Malfoy, and Albus turned away before he could see what was probably in the part of this model that had turned into Malfoy Manor. However, some of the memories here had a shadow over them that meant they were left for Tom to see. He also avoided the Headmaster's office here. He suspected what he would find there, and didn't care to face his own cruelty.

Dumbledore went out to the grounds. Hagrid's hut was still there, of course, but once more other memories were missing. Where were the Marauders? He had wished long ago that Snape's recollections of them weren't so numerous or so brightly colored, and generally didn't care to view most of them himself. Yet their disappearance worried him. Perhaps he should warn Harry about the pensieve. It could hold a great deal more than anyone expected.

He approached the Shrieking Shack with trepidation. Albus almost never looked at this set of memories too closely. But it was clear of everything, including the pale shades of three students, Lupin in human form, and a ragged Sirius Black. He recalled Remus' recitation of events afterwards, and had been appalled at how Black had allowed Snape to be further injured with his clumsy Mobilicorpus, and how Lupin had, once more, allowed his friend to do as he wished without even a word. Dumbledore sighed. It had been much easier to allow Severus to take the blame for Lupin's resignation rather than give him any support. After all, any public word from him on the matter might have forced the Ministry to look more deeply into Sirius Black's escape. Well, that had been his excuse at the time. In truth, he'd wanted Harry and his friends to continue to trust him without question, and pointing out how a favorite teacher had nearly managed to kill three students, allow an escaped prisoner onto the grounds and into the castle, and refuse proper treatment to a fellow staff member would not have helped. He had also thought that exposure to Dementors and fear for their lives had been sufficient punishment for attacking Snape in the first place.

Instead, it was clear that the Trio had felt rewarded by knowing that Black and Buckbeak were safe, and had enjoyed watching Snape driven into a fury in front of the Minister of Magic. He suspected that Severus had guessed exactly how it had been done the moment that Madam Pomfrey lent him the Time-Turner last year. Dumbledore was glad that Umbridge had been in his place then; no doubt a great deal of suppressed fury had been directed to her.

He glanced around the empty Shrieking Shack one more time. How odd—the back wall was slightly open, as if it were a huge door. He walked through it and found himself in a shadowy Knockturn Alley. It appeared the way it had a couple of decades ago, but still had the same air of dank vice that it had today, and a hundred years ago, for that matter. Dumbledore was afraid now. He'd been inside this part of Snape's mind only once, but that had been enough.

Albus recognized the storefronts now, and stopped at Nora's. The Potions Master had grown up in one of the upper apartments after the ruin of his father's hopes for wealth. _I don't want to go there!_ the Headmaster thought. Then he sighed. _I have to find you, Severus. I can't believe that you're really gone. I always knew you'd return when I sent you out. You were always so strong and careful. Oh, you were hurt some of the time last year, but you always healed no matter what Tom or I did to you. No matter how you railed against the Potter boy and how I catered to him, you saved his life time after time no matter how your own was risked. This summer you managed a situation that I'd neglected for years. And what was your reward? To be despised by everyone, including me, because I forced you to walk on broken legs and you could not do it with a smile._

Albus could not imagine Hogwarts without that dark, sardonic presence. He forced himself up the stairs, knowing what horrors lay ahead of him. Fortunately the worst was still hidden in the evidence room of the Ministry's Department of Justice. The remainder was bad enough. Snape's parents had not led a quiet life, and their son had borne the brunt of it. _Yet I was relieved when the Malfoys took responsibility for him after his parents were dead. I knew his fate the day the Hat chose him for Slytherin, and I was glad that I didn't have to find a temporary home for him. Who would want such an awkward, temperamental boy in their care?_

He had been annoyed when faced with what the Marauders had done to the boy, and had been happy to use Remus Lupin as an excuse to let them off lightly. Oh, he'd said all the right words. Severus had even believed them enough to come to him when he couldn't stand being Riddle's puppet any longer. _But I never meant them. Not really._ Even after that he'd used Snape ruthlessly in the war effort, then let him fall into Moody's hands. _I didn't rescue him till it was almost too late. If Mad-Eye hadn't owled me himself that last time, Hogwarts would be an entirely different place. For one thing, Harry would almost certainly have died his first year._

How gracious he had been to allow Severus to teach here! When Snape gave the school an international reputation in Potions, he had been glad enough to bask in the glory, though somehow neglecting to pass any of it down to the man who had earned.

Albus did not like himself much just now. He put his hand on the knob that led into the dingy little apartment where Snape had lived, and prepared himself for the ugly scenes he'd seen before.

This place was empty as well. No. He was wrong about Harry's pensieve, he had to be. The boy would surely have come across _something_ horrible by now if so much of this were in his possession, and he clearly hadn't. Dumbledore's heart sank. Was Severus gone, and the memories still left visible merely for show? He sat down on the sagging, stained couch and wept.Then he stopped. This apartment had more than one floor. Where were the stairs? They'd hung down from the room above to this tiny parlor. He looked up at the ceiling. The plaster had dampness marks, but revealed no evidence of any opening. He pulled out his wand and muttered, "_Lumos."_ A beam of light sprang from his wand up to the ceiling. The square outline of a hatchway and the shadow of a handle appeared. Albus reached up and pulled it down, letting the narrow stairs unfold. He began to climb.

The bed was empty, too. The pallet sat on spindly legs and had a couple of thin, ragged blankets on it. Next to it was a small, rickety night-table. The only other item in the room was a sturdy chest bound with chains. More shadows hid the edges of the room, especially over to one side. The Headmaster raised his wand to examine the place more thoroughly.

"Go away…please go away," a soft voice pleaded from those shadows.

Dumbledore sent soft light in that direction. A badly beaten boy huddled in the crawl space and pointed a bloodstained wand at him. The young Snape's face was bruised and slashed, while his hand trembled.

"Let me help you up on the bed," the older wizard said. He re-sheathed his own wand and began to step in the boy's direction.

"No! You don't mean it!" Severus replied. He stayed where he was. "You just want me to do your dirty work. That way you can pretend that you're perfect and everyone will love you, while they hate me. The only one who counts for you is Harry. No matter what I do for him, it's never enough. It won't ever be enough." The boy choked on a sob. "It hurts so much. Please, just let me go…"

"You know you can't stay here," Dumbledore said gently. "What will your apprentices do without you?"

"Die. Or become like me. I don't know which is worse. One or two of them will be weak enough to believe you. Use them the way you used me. It's not as if they're Gryffindors, after all."

Albus flinched. That was too close to the truth. "Why can't you protect them?"

"I'm not strong enough. I keep _wanting_ things, even though I know I can't have them. Everything I do is wrong. Everything I _am_ is wrong. I can't even summon a Patronus."

"That's not your fault, Severus."

"Oh, yes, it is. If I hadn't been stupid enough to take the Mark in the first place I could carry the full weight of being Head of Slytherin. The other House Heads don't talk about it any more, but they know the pillars aren't in balance. They _pity_ me."

"You were strong enough to stop this curse from killing several people, Severus. I don't know anyone else who could have done that."

"And won't Mad-Eye be upset about _that!_"

"One of the people you saved was Percy Weasley. This wasn't Moody's work, I know that much. He was genuinely worried about the boy this morning, but not in the way that he would have been had he miscalculated. I've learned to examine what he says, too. You may have saved Harry Potter's life again today as well."

"But that's why I ran away. I couldn't stand the pain any more. Please go away. It's not safe here." The wand wavered in the boy's hand.

Dumbledore began fumbling with the chain on the chest. "What's in here that's so dangerous?"

"Don't open it!" Severus pleaded. "You can't!" He began creeping out of the shadows into the lit part of the room. He appeared too injured to walk.

Albus stepped away from the chest and towards the boy. As he bent over to help the child up on the bed, Snape flinched. "Don't touch me," he whispered. "You saw what I'm like. You saw what, what I did. You hate me for it."

"I hate what's happened to you," the older wizard said, tears thickening his voice. "I hate myself for pushing you away when I should have helped you. I was trying to get inside without you knowing it so I could remove the nightmare hex. I never should have done that to you."

"Why didn't you just say so?"

The boy weighed so little. "I didn't want to admit that I'd sent it to you. I wanted you to stop hating Harry. I thought if you knew what his life truly was you wouldn't think he was like his father any more."

"But you're the one who keeps sending him there!" Severus screamed. "What is wrong with you? Did you want him to worship you for taking him away from that hellhole?"

The Headmaster blinked as he carefully lay the wounded boy on the pallet. "I thought for a long time that his aunt's house was the only safe place for him. I thought that others had endured worse and had grown strong anyway. We need him strong, Severus."

"You might end up with a new Dark Lord, you fool!"

Dumbledore had heard that argument before, sometimes in his own mind. "I know. That's one of the reasons I give him so much when he's at school. I want him to love Hogwarts as much as I do. He isn't like his father. You know that much yourself."

"Then why have me change anything, if your arrangement is so bloody perfect? Or did the temper tantrum he threw in your office finally convince you that it's not working as well as you thought. Oh, wait, I know the reason now! Since I succeeded with the Dursleys, you'll be able to take the credit, but if I had failed, you'd let him know about it, so he'd be able to blame the way his relatives treat him on me and not you."

Now it was the Headmaster's turn to flinch. Had he really meant it that way? He knew if he looked back he would probably find other incidents where he'd done exactly that. "That was not in my conscious mind when I asked you to help," he said. "I believe you saved his life this morning along with your apprentices as well. As far as we know, his summer with the Muggles has been much better than it ever was before. Moody asked me a lot of questions, too, after someone dropped a few hints to him that the boy's home was…unpleasant. I think you learned a great deal during those Occlumency lessons, Severus, and had concluded that I wasn't going to lift a finger after all these years. It worked. Due to you, things are better."

The boy grimaced and turned his head towards the wall. "And what good is that going to do the next time he goes on a Ministry Raid? How many will die then?"

"I think he has learned. He loved Sirius Black, and eventually he will face his own responsibility for his godfather's death. I know he blames you, and I have done almost nothing to stop him. But I need to know more. I need to open this chest," Albus said.

"You don't want what's in it," Snape said, looking back. Tears ran down through the blood and the dirt. "You never have. You want everything to be beautiful and kind. I don't have much of that any more."

"Where did it go?"

"I gave most ofit to Harry." The boy smiled. "He's been your victim, too. I know…I know I won't live long. When I die, all those memories will be gone anyway. Please don't open the chest. You don't want to see what's in there. You really don't."

"I have to, Severus. I have to face a lot of things I don't want to." Dumbledore worked on the chains again, but to no avail. "If I don't see myself and others clearly, then everyone could die, or worse." For a moment he stopped trying to break open the chest, and looked at the boy. "I have done one thing right. The way I did it was wrong, but now you're the one confronting me for treating Potter badly. I never expected that."

"And you'll do whatever you please anyway!" Severus said, panting for breath. "It never matters what I tell you. You're not listening to me about that chest, either. Why do you think you're the only one who knows what's right? You and Tom deserve each other!"

The Headmaster bit his lip on the retort that almost escaped. He was furious that anyone could compare him to Voldemort. But this last summer he'd proven himself quite capable of the same kind of ruthlessness. Hadn't he listed Snape among the necessary sacrifices? Hadn't he concentrated on his desire to free Tom from the horror of being Voldemort, as well as his wish to save Harry? In fact, he'd done it even after Malachite had begged him to decide what his true feelings were for the Potions Master. "This is why I have to see what's in the chest," he said in a low voice. "You have to open it for me," he added. "It will be much safer for you that way. I don't want to do…what I will have to do if you don't."

"Why don't you just tell me the truth? Why don't you tell _anybody_ the truth? I would have worked for the Order even if I'd known you really despised me." The boy's eyes began to close. Albus was terrified. If Severus disappeared from this place, he would be dead or worse than dead in the real world.

He gently stroked the boy's hair. "I despise myself even more." Tears of his own blurred his sight. "You seem so strong, I keep forgetting how badly you've been hurt. I put some of those wounds on you, too." Every bruise and cut on the injured boy on the bed symbolized the pain of his heart and soul.

"Yes, I will tell you the whole truth this time," Dumbledore said. "I do love Harry. I love him more than any other boy who's gone to school here. I have no other children, Severus. The ones I adopted half a century ago died in the Grindelwald war, and I didn't have the heart to marry again.

"When Harry walked into the Great Hall, he was only an abstraction to me. I knew that if I paid him too much attention those Death Eaters who had escaped prison would wonder why I was so interested. I even kept Lupin from checking on the boy so they wouldn't track him to Little Whinging. Then I saw him for myself and it…it was like seeing my own child in front of me, not James' or Lily's. Even being raised by the Dursleys he hasn't given in to bitterness or despair, though he came close last year. I feared what would happen to him this summer. He needs love so very, very much, and with Black dead I couldn't think of anyone who could give it to him without endangering the Weasleys.

"I overreacted. In a way I supposed I blamed you for the situation, even though it was of my own making. I thought it was only right that you should be punished for treating him so badly all these years. I thought it was proper that you used the skills you've developed to protect your Slytherins to help him as well. I didn't think I could just ask you for that help, Severus. I thought I would have to force you into it."

The boy's eyes were wide open again. Albus continued. "I know your Slytherins have paid for my favoritism. In fact, all the houses but Gryffindor have. Last year the point system became altogether meaningless because I was foolish enough to think that Umbridge would never go so far. She was a Hufflepuff, and I never expected anyone from that house to act the way she did. I forgot that other houses besides Slytherin are tired of my favoritism, too. You saw how she used your students against my Lions. She knew that Malfoy and his friends would leave other students alone when more tempting targets were in sight."

Severus looked stunned, as if he never expected to hear such frankness. The Headmaster held the boy's hands in his. They were so thin. The only time the Potions Master gained flesh had been during the years before Harry's arrival, when he had felt safe. "I tried to stop them," Snape said. "Only a few of them listened."

"I'm amazed any of them did, now that I think about it. Oh, I've been at this game for quite some time. I was the one who saw to it that Tom was expelled, but I hated doing it. Even then he had enough charm to reach me, to reach all of us. If he had been a Gryffindor, I would have looked after him from the first day. I would have found out what he went home to every summer. But he was a Slytherin, and I blamed that house for the rot that turned him into a monster. After that, I blamed that house for everything that went wrong, I think.

"Even now I keep hoping that Tom is still alive, and that I can reach him. You'd think I'd know better after seeing what he's done to you."

He took a deep breath. "I failed you the most. Even as Headmaster, I cared only for my Lions. Minerva rebuked me on occasion for it, and she was the Head of that House! Sprout and Filius began to isolate themselves more, and their students along with them. Bellwood gave up entirely when I allowed the Marauders to rule the school. I thought you were provoking them when no one else was watching, and believed you were being vicious when you were only defending yourself against ugly odds.

"Fortunately, James loved Lily enough that he stopped tormenting you if he thought she might find out. Poppy tried to tell me that even after the Shrieking Shack that it still wasn't over, but I didn't want to listen to her. I thought everything was fine, when all I taught the boys was that they were free to do as they wish as long as they didn't kill you. I gave up on all the Slytherins that year, not just you, and for some time after. I was much more worried about Black."

The boy tried to hide his sobs. Dumbledore took a handkerchief and wiped the blood, dirt and tears from the child's face. "You wanted the truth," he said. "I wasn't surprised to learn you'd taken the Mark. But when I thought Sirius had betrayed the Potters and killed those Muggles, I didn't know what to believe. And then you came back to lay yourself at my feet. That is still one of the most joyous moments of my life, Severus." He remembered that terrible evening, that rich voice so dead and the dark eyes so lacking in hope. "Even then I was careless with your life. Almost as much as you were. When we thought it was over, I pretended not to know what Moody did with prisoners and you nearly died in his hands. If he hadn't sent that last owl personally, you wouldn't be here now.

"I basked in your worship. I thought it was my due. I wasn't quite so happy once you got back on your feet and behaved like a man instead of a broken boy. I've…I've never had children that lived long enough to grow up, you see. Once my students are old enough to go, they stop arguing with me. Oh, I'm usually welcome to visit, or they come here for a short time, but those who don't like me simply move on. They don't often stand nose to nose to me and fight. Most of the staff either agree with me or stay out of my way as well. Both Flitwick and Sprout have seen beyond the lemon drops for years, I'm afraid, but they're old enough to realize when they can't win. You…you don't care about odds. You're used to fighting even when you're losing." His voice shook. "That takes more courage than I can imagine."

"No, just stupidity…" said the boy. "A Slytherin should know when it's time to give up." His eyes were starting to close again.

Dumbledore looked down at the chest bound with chains. "But you never have, even though I've kept you dependent on me for everything, including your freedom. I was so angry when you refused to follow my lead with Harry. It upset me when you pointed out how the privileges I gave him could ruin him instead. I thought you hated him because of his resemblance to his father, and I never suspected that you were only telling me the truth. I only saw Harry, and how much he was hurting. I didn't want to admit how much of that was my fault, either, for leaving him with the Dursleys. I thought you were a fool for caring so much for Malfoy's son. In some ways, I still don't understand it."

Severus smiled weakly. "Sometimes I don't, either."

The Headmaster wished that he could truly heal the poor boy's wounds, instead of making them worse. "We've all taken you for granted. No matter how much you do for the Order, the school, and for the students, it's never enough, is it? Nobody cares how much you risk your life. I was too busy playing silly games with Umbridge last year while you got the information we needed in the only way you knew how. I am so ashamed of myself for the way I reacted when I found out what horror you endured for all our sakes.

"I have to open that chest, Severus. I have to see what I've done to you. I know it will hurt you terribly when…whatever is in there comes pouring out."

"You can't get in there…please don't open it. Please."

"You're dying here," Albus said. Snape's body was becoming slightly translucent. "You need what you put in there, too. If I don't open it, nobody will see what you're hiding."

"Good."

"I can't let you die, Severus. We need you too much. Even Moody admitted that your information has been helpful, though I had to threaten to set his leg on fire first. I know I'll probably hurt you again after this. I…I seem to have a knack for it. But if nothing else, I think the nightmare hex I inflicted on you is in there. I can't remove it till it's out in the open."

The boy's eyes were closed. The bruises and wounds were beginning to fade. Soon Severus would, too. This was not good. He had very little time.

He had one last option. While he was teaching Snape Occlumency, he had left himself a special door, a door that only he could open. Unfortunately, that would destroy all the walls in the Potions Master's mind, and it could take Severus weeks to rebuild them.

The boy's skin was completely smooth now, save for his left forearm, and the image of the Mark was disappearing as well. Soon Snape's form herewould evaporate, and shortly after that his body in the real world would die. He must act now. Albus chanted the complex spell that would dissolve the younger wizard's final protections.

The chain around the chest vanished. Dumbledore opened the lid.

He shuddered and choked back a scream as the terrible memories flooded his mind. Fumbling, elderly hands invaded the privacy of his body, followed by the more skilled ones of Lucius Malfoy. He hung upside down in the air while James Potter and Sirius Black laughed, and then stood frozen with horror while a werewolf lunged at him.

The Headmaster saw himself in the memories as well—sometimes kind, but often indifferent, and occasionally impatient. He was there in Snape's mind over the years as an all-powerful, capricious figure who lavished love and favoritism on others, with an occasional crumb tossed towards the lonely Slytherin boy. Yet those crumbs had meant so much to Severus, who had so little, that he had offered his life in exchange for a chance at more. Love and resentment were equally mixed, though Snape's feelings often changed to anger, and then at last to indifference. Albus was astounded at the Potion Master's devotion towards his students. _Did—did he really learn that much from me?_ Perhaps he ought to be more surprised that Severus was still able to love at all.

As he was overwhelmed by Snape's memories he was in Azbakan part of the time, suffering under Moody's intense interrogation techniques. Voldemort honored him for cruelty and punished him for any human feelings.

He finally understood why Severus became so frustrated. Time after time he was ignored when all he was trying to do was to protect his Slytherins from an administration determined to make sure everyone else thought they were evil, when some of the children bore inner wounds even worse than his. Dumbledore saw how Snape developed a system to protect those he loved, a system he had thought snobbishness. He finally saw the many times he'd contributed to the divisions between Slytherin and the rest of the school, even while openly calling for unity. _I'm repeating the same mistakes I made when the Marauders were here. Severus kept trying to tell me. I even ignored Minerva when she made the same observations. But how could I believe them? I'm the warm, benevolent one, while Snape, and sometimes Minerva, were harsh and demanding. How could _I _possibly be wrong?_

He saw other students through Snape's eyes. Harry neglected his work, while Ronald was clearly jealous of his friend's special position and his wealth. Miss Granger was obviously weary of doing their schoolwork for them. And Longbottom truly was that dangerous in Potions.

The memories kept pouring through. Albus cringed at the ones containing Lucius Malfoy. He cringed from the nightmare hex that he'd put there himself. The Headmaster saw it appearing as a poisonous green vine, and mentally grasped the end.

_I did this to him, not Tom. I made him feel the ugliness that was Harry's life and didn't care what happened when his own memories were mixed in. No wonder he feared going to sleep. Even then he remembered the ink that was used at the Daily Prophet, when a lesser man might have stayed his tongue. _He had to hang on to the end tightly, so he might unravel it, carefully detaching it from wherever it had taken root.

He felt the impact of the potions regime, which added physical illness to emotional catastrophe. Dumbledore nearly staggered under the weight of his years at times, but had never endured such bone-shaking weariness save during the Grindelwald War.

The memory of the suicide spell through the Dark Mark, which was a dragging burden at the best of times, nearly flattened him. Only Winky saw how much the Potions Master hurt, and had tried to offer what comfort she could. Even then Snape's last rational thought was to protect his apprentices. Dumbledore noted the names of the Slytherins who were also affected, in case they had something in common with the Weasley boy and Harry Potter. _Draco Malfoy, Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini, both Rosier children, and Marietta Edgecombe._ He must remember those names, because if Severus did not survive, it would be his responsibility to protect them. Dumbledore did not feel optimistic about that. He had failed the House of Slytherin for too long for any of its children to trust him.

Now the boy sat up on the bed, screaming as the terrible swirling memories attacked him too. Albus gently wound a piece of the nightmare-vine around his finger and pulled a bit more out of the vortex of hellish recollections. "I will help you through this," he said. "You are not alone. I am here, too."

"You're going to leave me, you always do!" Snape cried.

At that moment Albus Dumbledore found himself back in Snape's real bedroom. For a moment he thought he saw something green wrapped in his hand, as if his hex had been so real one could see it physically, but it faded quickly. He was sitting several feet away from the bed, while the real Severus babbled and raved.

"What did you do to him?" Poppy asked as she took his wrist and checked his pulse.

The Headmaster felt dizzy and took a moment to catch his breath. "Most of his bad memories were locked away," he said, once the room stopped spinning. "I had to let them loose. He was dying."

"And this is so much better!" she snapped. "You were moaning in pain yourself. Are you all right?"

"I've seen…I've seen what his life has been here through his eyes," Dumbledore said. "I've seen what he's had to do for the Order. Even Tom has treated him better in some ways. I had to take down all his walls, Poppy. I didn't want to. Now I know more than I ever wanted to. I don't know what we're going to do now."

"I don't either," she said, glancing back at Snape.

"He can get well," Albus insisted. "He was fading away inside before I did it. He never would have opened his eyes again, or been alive behind them if they were open." Deep inside he was terrified that Snape would always twist on the bed and shout nonsense. _'You're going to leave me, you always do'_ echoed inside his mind.

There was no doubting it. He had to go back and repair the damage he'd caused, and get the rest of that dreadful nightmare hex. Dumbledore moved the chair closer to the bed and picked up the Potions Master's hand. Snape pulled away in sudden fear and hid his face in the pillow. "Severus, I won't leave you by yourself in there. I'll come back when I know what to do. I've hurt you so much because I put everyone else ahead of you. For once you're going to come first. I don't know how long it will last before I drop you again, but I swear I will try. Don't…don't leave us. Please."

Snape's head came up, and his eyes were full of anger and hate. Oaths and curses erupted from him in a rough Knockturn Alley accent. Albus bowed his head. "I know you've heard promises from me before. I don't blame you for doubting me. There are things I must see to, but I will be back."

Pomfrey sighed. "He can't stay here like this for very long. I'm not properly trained for this kind of…affliction. Flitwick and Lupin are waiting outside, though. Will you stay long enough to see what they have to say? Once they leave, though, you need to rest and eat before you can risk going back inside his mind."

"Of course I'll stay, Poppy." He would do anything to help repair the damage he'd caused. He deserved every obscenity Snape shouted at him.

The other two wizards came in. Severus calmed down a little as Flitwick approached him, but he cowered as soon as he spotted Lupin. "No, no, no, no, no…" he howled, and raised his hands to hide his face.

Remus grimaced. "I had best go. I'm only making things worse."

"Come back later when he's asleep," Poppy said. "I'm sorry. He's so very ill."

"And he's afraid of me. I think he always will be," Lupin said sadly, and left.

Flitwick stood over Snape with his wand, but the younger wizard stopped talking for a moment and looked up at him hopefully. "Please tell me what happened," the Charms professor said calmly.

"I found him here in the bedroom with a knife in his Dark Mark," Albus said. "I wanted to remove it immediately, but it was apparently stopping some kind of curse, one that was affecting others with the Mark with a wish to kill themselves, and I feared to risk them as well. We were also worried that Mr. Potter might have been involved through his scar. As I was speaking to Moody and one of the victims, the pain stopped. I rushed in here and found that Winky had removed the knife and bandaged the cut. Snape's eyes were open but he was not conscious. I used Legilimens, but I could not find Severus in his House of Memory until I went to the Knockturn Alley section. I found him in a hiding spot in a room above the main apartment where he used to live. In there as well was a chest bound with chains. He was fading away inside there, and I was afraid he would never come back, so I forced it open. It contained a huge amount of negative memories." He shuddered. They were not clear as they were at first, but their accumulated weight struck him like a blow. "Madam Pomfrey pulled me out."

"You were as gray as one of Professor Snape's nightshirts," the mediwitch interrupted.

"At the time, I was grasping the end of the nightmare hex and had pulled a bit of it away," Dumbledore said. "I don't know what damage that did, but for a moment I imagined I saw a bit of green in my hand when I awoke here."

Flitwick frowned. "That…that could be quite bad." He turned back to Snape, who was beginning to grow restive again. His black eyes flashed, and he twisted a corner of the bedspread in one hand. "I am going to take the bandage off, Severus. I don't mean to hurt you, but I want to examine what you did. I think you were incredibly brave to stop the curse that way."

Snape allowed him to remove the stained linen around his arm, though his face showed the pain it caused him, instead of keeping up his normal stoic mask.

"Rather interesting spell here," the smaller wizard said. The Mark had stopped bleeding. "Nasty thing. I don't think even Moody knows how to key a spell to this, though I suspect he'd like to. Let me shine some light on this." He waved his wand and chanted.

Streams of color sprang up from Snape's Mark. Blue light shone, interwoven with gray and black threads. "Ah, blue for loyalty," Flitwick said. "Black for death, but I don't understand where the gray is involved."

"Winky said that Severus was extremely sad this morning, and asked me if there were any…any 'Gray Ones' as she put it." Yes, the crushing despair Snape had felt this morning was much like that faced by those around a Dementor.

"I'm surprised she knows about them," Flitwick mused. He hummed and waved his wand again, and the colors disappeared.

"She visited Crouch, Jr. just after he was Kissed. I have no idea how she managed it."

Snape began shaking, and looked wildly from Dumbledore to the Head of Ravenclaw and back again. He moaned softly as he gazed down at the wounded Mark. Flitwick extended his wand again. "May I?" he asked Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey. "He needs to rest."

Albus and Poppy nodded. The shorter wizard chanted a sleeping charm. Snape closed his eyes and soon began breathing softly.

The mediwitch put a fresh bandage on the arm. "It's all right, Severus. You're safe now. We'll protect you. Rest easy." Then she turned to the others. "I need to speak with some parents over the Floo, or owl them," she said crisply. "The professor usually asks me to do so about this time of year anyway, to find out if his returning students have any health problems. He told me it also reminds the parents to encourage their little darlings to begin on their summer homework." She wiped tears from her eyes as she left the room.

"Well," said Flitwick in a firm voice. "Have any of the others shown this reaction to the spell?"

"No," Dumbledore admitted. "Snape's memory work and what I had to do to it seems to be affecting him more. Poppy told me this morning that he needed to go back to the clinic. He was attempting the regimen without the mood-enhancers, and he shouldn't have."

"I fear he doesn't have the resources to deal with this by himself, and Madam Pomfrey is clearly at the end of her rope," the smaller wizard said crisply. Two spots of color stood out on his tiny cheeks.

"I know," Albus said. "I've only made thing s worse. But he _was_ dying inside. I'd rather have him swear at me like a whore standing outside of Borgin and Burke's than…than the emptiness I saw."

"You need to notify the Swiss that he will be off his regimen, then. It would be cruel to continue it under the circumstances. And you had better look for another Potions teacher. I think you have quite ruined this one." Flitwick turned on his heel and left the room.

Dumbledore summoned Winky. He needed to rest and eat before he dared to go back inside the poor man's mind. Best to do it now while Severus slept. He summoned Winky, who had clearly been standing just outside. "Please watch over Professor Snape for a little while. I need to leave for a time, but I will return."

"Of course, Master Headmaster! Winky will watch as long as you let her." The little house elf stood by the side of the bed and crooned at the unconscious man. "Don't worry, Master, Winky won't let anyone hurt you. My Barty had bad days too, but Winky never left him, never, even when he throws Winky across the room. Sleep well, Master." She patted Snape's hand. Severus took a deep breath, eyes still closed, then began to snore.

"Thank you, Winky. If something bad happens, tell me or Madam Pomfrey at once. He must not be allowed to hurt either you or himself. I'll tell the kitchen that you have other duties."

The elf looked up at him with adoring eyes. "Oh, thank you! Winky doesn't want to leave, oh, no."

Dumbledore wearily trudged up to his office. He had to find out what else was going on before he could rest. As soon as he sat down in his chair, he Floo'd Moody.

"Potter's nearly home now, Headmaster. Tonks saw him singing with the other boys in the car and heard some of the verses, so he must be all right. Potter won his bout at the boxing match and his cousin did, too. From what Tonks saw the spell must not have affected him that much."

Albus nodded. "Some of Snape's apprentices may have been bothered by it, too. Madam Pomfrey is pretending to do a health survey to find out."

Mad-Eye shrugged. "Small loss. Besides, Snape should be able to find out for himself without taking so much trouble."

"I hope. However, as you have often told me, very often, we should never overlook other potential sources of information on Tom and his friends. Professor Snape may not be always available," he said with an edge to his voice. "I examined his mind most thoroughly just today and he saw visions of the two Rosier children, Mr. Zabini, Miss Edgecombe, and of all people, Mr. Goyle, in some sort of difficulty because of this spell. He also saw Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter, I might add, at the same time. I have a hypothesis as to why these children were affected, but I had trouble believing it once I saw that young Mr. Malfoy was also in danger."

Moody looked thoughtful. "Why isn't Snape here speaking for himself?"

"First of all, you would not believe him. Second, the attack affected him as well. I believe he attempted to protect the apprentices from the full brunt of it. I cannot imagine the pain he endured when he put that dagger into his Mark, nor do I wish to." He didn't have to. That memory had joined all the rest when the chest had been opened. "I was forced to bring his walls down to keep his withdrawal from becoming permanent. He is…disorganized just now."

"He tried to retreat like that a few times in Azkaban," Mad-Eye said. "I suspect he's much better at it now. You should have called for me. I know how to get his attention."

"I know the methods you use. They wouldn't have worked this time. I almost didn't find him, and I am far more skilled at Leglimency. In his current state of health, you would have killed him before you'd given up. As matters now stand, I don't know if he's going to recover. We had a warning about this a little over a week ago when his memory slipped. I should have paid more attention."

Alastor bit his lip. "He could be faking, you know. He had me going a few times back then, and I should know better."

"No, Moody, he's not!" Albus snarled. "And I'm the one who did much of it to him. He never would have trusted anyone else to get so close, and I ripped him to pieces. His mental walls are entirely gone now. I wish you had been there! You would _know_ what the truth was!"

"Oh." The old Auror sighed. "If he's really that bad I'll stay out of it. And if he ends up on Longbottom Row I'll keep a watch. I've heard funny rumors about St. Mungo's lately."

"Madam Pomfrey had some tests run privately for Professor Snape. The results were in Tom's hands before they were in hers."

"Maybe he'd better go somewhere else." Moody still looked suspicious, as if he really couldn't believe that Snape was truly so ill.

Well, why shouldn't he? _I had trouble believing it myself, till it was rammed down my throat. Maybe I ought to have Alastor come here and see for himself. _"He went to clinic in Switzerland for Brewer's Bog this summer. Their facilities might be secure enough," Dumbledore said.

"Well, I don't know if this would work, but when we had prisoners go off their nut from the Dementors and we still had to get useful information from them, we'd put them to sleep for about a week. That sometimes rested them up enough so they'd be rational for a bit."

"He's already on a program for potions overload. Sleeping charms don't last that long," Albus said. However, it was a thought. Snape had been on sedatives since the beginning of the treatment, and most of them suppressed dream activity. This was probably a _good_ thing, considering the nightmare hex, but the lack of proper dreaming eventually affected the mind, or why Dreamless Sleep Potion was supposed to be used for a week at a time, then stopped.

"Surely an old hand like Flitwick knows more than one. Perhaps he could rotate them."

"I'll look into it," Albus said, who felt like putting one on himself just now.

Then Moody looked off to the side and reached out for something. Mad-Eye broke into a huge smile. "A quick note from Tonks—Potter's safe at home!"

Dumbledore felt weight ease from his shoulders. But another still lay there, and he sobered quickly. "Let's not forget the price paid for that," he said. "I know I have. I know the entire Order has. Try to remember that the next time you make some comment about Snape, especially around Harry. And try not to make Mr. Weasley feel like a traitor too often, or he may decide to become one. Keeping him isolated from his family is _not_ a good idea."

Moody blinked. "Why, I thought that was one of the rules, after what you've done with your beloved Potions Master. Or is that just because he's a Slytherin? I suppose you think it's different because Percy's one of your Gryffs."

That hurt. Possibly because it was true. He'd forgotten that Alastor was a Ravenclaw. "You've always tried to keep your other operatives free of ties as well," he retorted. "I understand why, but I suspect you didn't mind the boy sobbing on his father's shoulder instead of on your own."

Mad-Eye shrugged. "Part of the job. There's something about this work that turns grown men all wet. After a bit the little darlings become _my_ family, as it were. I'm the only one it's safe to have hysterics around in this business. Don't tell you haven't run into the same thing with Snape, though I've heard he's managed quite a few tantrums around his students, too."

Albus suddenly realized how similar they were. Two old childless men, trying to make do with what this new War had handed them. "Of course, you never had any prima donnas working for _you_, either then or now."

Moody smiled briefly. "We always do. You should have heard Mally whine about her Manticore when I was in France back then. So far my lot are relatively sane this time, though the Ministry wouldn't think so. But I lost a couple back in the old days to their nerves. I'd hate to lose Snape to his, too. You must have had a lot of fun putting him back together after I cracked him like a nut in Azkaban. To be honest, he's held up a lot better than I thought he was going to. I really thought he would have strangled one of your brats by now."

"Harry Potter is still alive and well, and so far undamaged by anything more than the hideous trauma induced by having a jar of cockroaches thrown at him, at least on that front," Dumbledore said dryly. "Remember that Snape is a Slytherin, and a Death Eater. Don't you think he could have managed something a bit more…permanent, had he wished?"

"You would have to bring that up," Alastor said with a frown. "You might convince me that he's really loyal after all."

"I hope to hear both of you snipe at each other over it again," Albus said, looking down at his desk. Perhaps Moody was right, and enough sleep would help Severus return to himself.

"Get some rest, Guv'nor," the other wizard said. "You look ragged out yourself."

"I plan to. And look after yourself, too. Your little family needs its head to be up to par. They wouldn't know what to do without someone screeching 'Constant Vigilance!' at them."

"Got that part right," Mad-Eye said. "At least the Potter boy is safe, for now. That's what really matters." The Floo went quiet as the Auror left.

"I suppose so," Albus said to an empty hearth. He held his head in his hands and wept. He knew what his feelings were for the Potions Master now, and they sat in his belly like bitter gall. The Headmaster imagined a Hogwarts without Snape, and he was appalled at how barren that world seemed. Despite his annoyance at being contradicted by that contentious man, the prospect of going without seemed savorless and dull. Even without being able to perform a Patronus, let alone the Patronus Slytherin, Snape's utter devotion to his House had nearly evened the balance of the pillars of Hogwarts without that enchantment to bind him.

As he sat in his office, Dumbledore let his spirit sink down into the heart of Hogwarts, where the four pillars became one. Even now the one belonging to Slytherin shone bright, though it had begun to fade. After Bellwood had left, the Headmaster had carried an enormous burden which had gradually lightened over the years. It bothered him that one still existed at all, but he'd done nothing to help Snape find a way to perform the spells that would ease it. It had been easier to complain to Minerva every once in a while rather than reach out to Severus and heal the wounds that were so deep. Last spring, when he'd talked to Harry, he'd put the blame on Snape for not somehow managing anyway rather than admit to his own complicity.

And then he'd had the brass to threaten the man with Azkaban not five minutes later if he didn't struggle along with a broken soul anyway! Oh, yes, he'd offered help—and had sent nightmares instead.

Albus sighed as he slowly returned to this particular version of reality and rubbed his eyes. Dobby brought him a tray. "Here, Headmaster, Mistress Nurse says you need to eat, then go to bed. Help Master Severus when feel better."

"Of course, Dobby, thank you." He looked at the food and felt no appetite at all. Then he thought of something. "I hope you don't mind that Winky is helping the Potions Master just now, instead of you."

"Oh, no, Headmaster. Dobby worried when students come back, have no time to help. Winky happy crying over Master Severus, not drink bad stuff. And…" the elf said, eyes downcast, "This elf smell like Master Lucius to Master Severus. Dobby can tell."

"The professor hasn't said anything, has he?"

"Oh, no, Master Severus just sad. His eyes think about things when Dobby there. Always 'thank you Dobby'. But still sad. Winky makes him smile, till bad potions make him too sick. And Dobby is too happy talking about Harry Potter. Master Severus still says 'thank you Dobby' anyway, but is too quiet after. Winky loves only 'Master Potions Master' or just "Master", never thinks of anyone else. She belongs with Master Severus, stop crying over her Barty."

In simple language, the elf had just summed up a rather complicated set of emotional relationships. Albus wished he had that gift. "I'm glad to hear that, Dobby. Winky told me that she saw her Barty after he was Kissed. I wish I had known that earlier, or I would have understood about the butterbeer."

The elf's eyes became wide. "Bad for elves to be around Gray Ones, bad! Good thing Winky young, get over it sooner. Hate the year they were here, Headmaster. Makes all elves sick, we all drink butterbeer too much, didn't keep watch, or Fat Lady not get hurt. Bad elves, bad." Dobby hung his head.

"No, Dobby, you weren't bad. I should have remembered that Dementors have a nasty effect on house elves." He should have remembered a lot of things.

"Headmaster has lots to do to protect the wonderful Harry Potter," Dobby said.

"I know. But I have to protect other people, too," Albus said softly. The elf bowed and disappeared. He looked at his dinner. Instead of his usual hearty appetite, he found he had to struggle to get anything down. Snape had been like that for a long time, though much worse this summer. It would serve him right if he suffered even a fraction of what the Potions Master had endured for so long.

The Floo flared up again. _Maybe Severus has the right idea about the wards on his,_ he thought. The face of Narcissa Malfoy hung in the fire, as beautiful and remote as the moon. "Forgive me, Headmaster," she said. "I tried to reach Professor Snape, but no one answers even though there's a fire in that hearth."

"He…isn't available just now," he said. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Yes," she said decisively. I have to tell someone about the choice I made this morning." She took a deep breath. The stillness of her face shattered. "Draco almost died. If I hadn't been suspicious, he would have." Tears trickled down her perfectly sculptured cheekbones. "I had to fight my own son to keep him from killing himself. Then he stopped. His arm hurt badly for most of the morning. That stopped, too, and he told me the professor had stepped in somehow and protected him. I thought it was some sort of Ministry attack at first."

"What changed your mind, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"My sister. She Floo'd me and told me what really happened. It was a loyalty spell, you see, only powered by Dementors to make sure all of the new apprentices were really faithful to the Dark Lord. Then she told me what I had to do if anyone I knew was affected." She turned deathly white. "I lied to her. I told her that Draco was fine and had been all morning." For a moment she covered her face with a lace-bordered handkerchief. "She's probably called other pureblood families about their children as well."

"Madam Pomfrey said she would Floo most of Slytherin today for a health survey," Albus said. "But she dare not call just certain families. What was your decision, madam?"

"All these years I've loved Lucius no matter what. When Draco wanted…wanted to be like his father, I didn't stop him. Bella is my sister. I couldn't turn her over to the Ministry, Headmaster, you don't know what they did to her!" Her voice cracked.

"But Draco is my only child. If I knew where Bella and the rest were hiding, I would tell you now. Apparently the pain affected _him_, too!" She smiled grimly. "If Professor Snape was the one, then he can ask anything of me. _Anything._ I know he tried to talk my son out of taking the Mark, and I wondered a little about that. But we've been friends for so long, I didn't mention it to Bella. But now…" Narcissa swallowed. "I will tell you everything I know! I owled Lucius about what my sister said, and he's answered back already. He's spending a fortune keeping his guards sweet, and you might want to look into that as well. He was _happy_ about the spell, damn him! He even said it was a good thing that Draco wasn't affected, because we'd have…we'd have to _do_ something about it." The woman looked furious now.

"Oh, dear," said the Headmaster. "I am so very sorry. Does young Mr. Malfoy have doubts about his current situation, then?"

'Yes. We had a long talk about that. What my sister did to Professor Snape at one of the meetings affected my son deeply. He was already beginning to wonder if he hadn't been foolish already, but believed that it was what his father wanted. Now he's found out a few things about his father he did not care for. My sister _will_ gossip about old times, and made some remarks about Snape being my husband's pet that Draco interpreted accurately, though he rather hoped not. He asked me a few questions, though we both nearly expired of embarrassment. I told him the truth." Narcissa's face was quite pink now. "I also had him look up some addresses for me. I have planned a modest gathering, with some guests whose names began with R. I also had to tell the truth why the name of Riddle isn't in the Almanach, since I carelessly lost my normal guestbook."

Dumbledore smiled. "Snobbery has its uses, apparently."

"Yes. For all of Professor Snape's er, exotic upbringing and occasional lack of manners, there is nothing wrong with his pedigree. Draco has made some comparisons and found his father wanting in both sense and sentiment in the past. I shall do my best to encourage those conclusions now."

This was unexpected. "I cannot tell you how happy I am that the boy is well, and is beginning to think for himself, though I am sad at how this came about," Albus said. "Naturally, we will take precautions with any information we are offered. We do so no matter the source, so please do not take offense. Many will think your change of heart is quite sudden."

"Go right ahead," she said crisply. "From what Kreacher has said, your…friends suspect Snape all the time. If he can manage, then I certainly can." Then she frowned. "May I speak with him? Bella has asked me to invite him to a dinner party soon, this coming Wednesday for preference. I have not been told, but I would not be surprised if I have many of the same guests that I had earlier this year when the professor was honored for his...diligence in the previous year. If you wish to do something about that, let me know. I will try to deal with the wards at the Manor. Unfortunately, I don't understand precisely how they work, and Lucius left them at a high level before he departed on that dreadful raid a couple of months ago. They appear to maintain themselves, but you might wish to consult someone who has made a study of them. Since Draco is not yet of age, he can't do much with them either. However, I believe a certain Minister of Muggle Artifacts has visited us so often in the past that he's on first name terms with the trolls guarding the grounds."

The Headmaster nodded. "I also believe Mrs. Weasley has been a guest there at times."

"Yes," she said sadly. "When I still had hopes of more children, I found her sympathetic and helpful." Then she smiled. "Perhaps I ought to consult her again about any…_feminine_ problems. No doubt she would enjoy the chat."

That was a perfect solution. Molly Weasley was no Legilimens, but with seven children could smell a lie faster than Pettigrew could scent cheese. "I am certain she would be fascinated by anything you had to say," he said. "I am also certain that most of the men on either side would run to the nearest Dementor rather than listen to such intimate details." Including himself. It had been over fifty years since he'd been approached by a Gryffindor first-year female student with that sort of complaint and he really preferred it that way.

She laughed like the tinkling of little bells, then became serious. "And Professor Snape? He will have to attend this dinner. I can delay it a few days with some sort of culinary emergency if he…if he isn't well, but no later than Saturday, I should think."

That sobered him as well. "That may not be possible."

Her eyes went wide. "Is he—is he alive?"

"Yes. However, you should prepare yourself to do without his presence, perhaps for a long time."

"I know he wouldn't abandon Draco or any of the other apprentices. Please don't send him away on some mission!"

"That isn't the problem. In his desire to protect his students, he drew more of the spell on himself than was wise. We are hoping the effects are not permanent." _Yes, yes, blame it all on Tom or Bella,_ his inner voice said.

He shouldn't trust Narcissa Malfoy with this much information on such short notice, but something told him this was _right_. The woman appeared neglectful of her family duties, but Molly had always stopped people from saying so in her presence. Since everyone knew what the red-haired woman thought of the Malfoys, this spoke volumes by itself.

"Oh," she said. "I have resources that my husband knows about, but pays no attention to," Narcissa said after a moment's silence. "If nothing else, there are spas all over Europe who would face financial collapse if they fell into disfavor with me. Many of them have private facilities for those undergoing treatment for somewhat embarrassing disorders. I know one couple who would enjoy facing the challenge Professor Snape would give them." Her lips crooked into a smile. "They would have no difficulty offering sanctuary for up to six months. After that I fear their own people would begin to talk. And no one will suspect me of being anything but the vain, selfish bitch they're used to seeing. I owe a Wizarding Debt to Professor Snape for the life of my son. He may collect it however he pleases. But if he doesn't attend that dinner, some conclusions _will_ be drawn no matter what excuse is given."

"Not even Azkaban?" Then again, the infirmary facilities there were primitive. Yet with no Dementors, that might be preferable to sending Severus off to his death. Unfortunately, the journey there might finish the Potions Master off by itself, never mind what could happen to him there without proper supervision.

"Oh, well, of course," she said with exasperation. "Wait, what about the clinic? I heard he was having a dreadful time with that horrible potions regime."

"I like that alternative much better," Dumbledore said. In fact, he needed to speak to Lowenstein today or tomorrow anyway, since Snape was off the potions till he recovered at least somewhat from his current crisis. "He is asleep now, or was when I left him. I will keep you updated on his progress." _Should there be any._

"If there…if there isn't, I beg you to watch over my son when he returns to Hogwarts. I know I haven't been the best of mothers to him, but I'm wide awake now. My sister thinks I'm weak, and she's probably right. But I will die before letting them have Draco now."

The Headmaster thought he had never seen Narcissa Malfoy as beautiful as she was this moment, afire with a mother's protectiveness and love. "The past is past. You are on the right path. I am certain you will find Mrs. Weasley helpful."

"Thank you," she said, and withdrew from the flames, which died down.

Dumbledore wasn't sleepy at all with this new development. He Floo'd the Weasleys.

Molly answered. "If you're looking for Arthur, he had to leave on an errand. And in the middle of Sunday dinner, too!"

"That's not what I called about. A curse was sent out this morning, probably making use of a Dementor's power, to hunt down those disloyal to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Several people have been affected. One of them was Draco Malfoy." He would let Arthur decide how much Molly should know about Percy.

"What! That little snob?"

"Yes. He survived, but his mother was outraged. I suggested that she may wish to contact you with any information. She said she might want to discuss things in terms of her health. Apparently her attempts give Lucius another heir left her with some after-effects that only women could possibly manage to discuss."

"Ah!" Her eyes crinkled with her smile. "Do you think it's for real?"

"I have seen you when someone's tried to hurt your children. She has only the one. I would fear for an Acromantula's safety if one went after her little dragon right now."

She nodded. "I'll have a talk with her tonight. I'll know once I do. Oh, and since this spell was sent after traitors, how's Professor Snape?"

"Not well. He's asleep now, and I'll know more when he wakes up." Severus must recover in time for the dinner, or give up his position as a spy. Albus had no illusions about how the enemy would react, even if Snape was having a genuine crisis with the Swiss regime.

"That bad, then?" Molly sighed. "Perhaps it's a mercy if he doesn't have to go out any more. By the end of this last year, he was looking dreadful."

_And I made it worse._ "We will do all we can for him. He somehow managed to stop the spell, but it was at a cost," he said dully. "Madam Pomfrey is trying to contact any other students who might have been affected, but according to Mrs. Malfoy, her sister may have spoken with the parents first."

Molly nodded. Then she gasped. "What about Harry?"

"He's fine. Moody found out that he made it home with his cousin, alive and well."

She put her hand over her heart. "That poor boy! He wrote us, and said that his aunt and uncle were being decent for once, but that he still wanted to visit us. May he, Headmaster?"

"Of course." If Voldemort had been affected by the rebound when Snape stabbed his own Dark Mark, then it should be safe for Harry to visit the Burrow for the last two weeks before school started.

"Oh, good! Little Hermione's here now, though she tires a lot faster than she ought. Poppy sent her some potions for that, though. I tested them, of course, to make sure they're wholesome, but they are helping. She says it's because she caught a bad cold at home volunteering with some small children, but she's not getting better very fast. Still not over that Ministry raid yet, is she?"

"Not really, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said. That was another problem. Dolohov's curse and the side effects of the potions used to combat it could only be countered by potions compounded for a specific person. Few Potions Masters had Snape's skills in the field, and even fewer would bother for a Muggleborn. "Be sure to make her rest as much as possible. She may have to make the potions she has last till the beginning of school."

Molly pursed her lips. "We do take the professor for granted, don't we? Is there anything he'd like to eat while recovering? His appetite's always been bad, but Poppy said it was much worse this summer because of those awful Swiss."

"I'll let you know. But Harry should be there in a few days." He wanted to distract the woman before she began asking too many questions.

"Oh, good. And don't you worry about Narcissa Malfoy. I'll know if she's telling the truth or not once I have a talk with her."

A loud crash sounded out of sight of the flames. "Ronald! How many times have I told you not to use that pan!" she shouted over to the left, and broke the connection.

Albus bowed his head for a moment. He was so tired now he didn't want to move. Then he forced himself to get up and stretch. _I have failed so many people,_ he thought. _Severus most of all. I can't let him die now. If I lose him as a spy, I will find another._ It would be so easy simply to Floo the clinic, and drop Snape on them. But he couldn't, not without trying to mend matters himself. He'd lived so much of his long life in times of peace and joy. Neither Harry nor Snape had had any of that.

Harry would be happy at the Burrow for what remained of the summer. It was time for him to give what he could to Severus.

Dumbledore turned away from his window and the long shadows of deepening afternoon. The light was fading faster these days. Soon the autumn, and then the winter, would come. Would any of them see the spring again afterwards?

He sighed, and stepped away from the door that led to his bedroom and dismally walked down to the dungeon. _My folly, my arrogance, but Snape is the one who paid. It's my turn now._


	22. Chapter 22: Patchwork

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Author's Note: Thank you, Snape's Nightie, for Britpicking and juicy comments. And thank you all for your lovely reviews! The angst continues… G The Garden at the heart of Hogwarts was borrowed from pigwidgeon37 and part III of The Sybil's Oracle, should she ever choose to update it (WHINE!). However, I have added a few modifications. Further note: I am approximately one-fourth of the way through my first draft.

Chapter 22: Patchwork

Albus Dumbledore 

The Potions Master's eyes snapped open as soon as Albus entered the quiet bedroom that evening. He sat up, ignoring Winky, who scurried away. "Headmaster," he said. "The Dark Lord plans to kill the Potters. Black has betrayed them. You've got to believe me!"

"I do," Dumbledore said, sitting down in the chair by the bed. "But it's too late. We didn't send the Aurors in time. The child survived, but not the parents. I'm so sorry, Severus."

Snape wept, lost in past sorrow. Then his face changed. "Black tried to kill me, Headmaster! Potter only saved me to keep Lupin out of Azkaban. Why won't you expel them? If a Slytherin had done such a thing, you'd get rid of him fast enough!"

Albus knew that it was true. "You're right, Severus. I made a mistake. I didn't listen to you. Do you know where you are now?" He hoped that Flitwick could repeat his Memory Charm and help Snape the way the smaller wizard had not too long ago.

The Potions Master looked around. "This isn't my room. I have the one up in the tower with Rosier, Rookwood and Macnair. Did I fall off a broom again? I wish they'd stop hexing me. If it's not the Marauders it's that older Black girl, the dark-haired one. Lucius tells me he'll stop her but he almost never does. She laughs whenever someone gets hurt."

"I know," said Dumbledore.

Then Snape sat very still and huddled in on himself. "Please don't let Dementors on the school grounds, Headmaster. If that idiot Dream Team would just stay inside during curfew, we'd catch Black soon enough. I'm trying to cooperate with Lupin, but it's so hard." He began to shake, the way he had just before the start of Harry's third year. "It's not just me," he whispered. "Hagrid's been in Azkaban, too, and he's in that little hut away from the castle. There isn't enough chocolate in the world if they go after him."

"You, and the rest of the staff, will get a medallion from the Ministry that will protect us and allow us to control them," Albus reassured the terrified man. "And I'll make sure that Lupin drinks his potion. You told me how long you have to stay up in the final stages to make it. I'll make sure you have no class the day after. You shouldn't have to teach when you're so exhausted from keeping Hogwarts safe." He wished he'd really done that.

The younger wizard's face changed again. "Oh, Merlin, the Mark is burning again," he said in a dead voice. "I'll have to go back, won't I? That damned Wormtail gave up his hand to bring the Dark Lord back. I saw it. I know I said I was prepared. But I can't show how frightened I am. Karkaroff did, and they made me kill him. And then I was punished because I was still working for you." His body twitched at a remembered curse. "I'd forgotten how much it hurt. It was hard not to scream, but I can't, or they'll laugh at me." Tears ran down his face. He closed his eyes. "Lucius," he said in a whisper. "I have to pretend to love him again. It's the only way. The Order needs the information."

His eyes flew open, dark and sad. "You know about it, too. Please don't tell anyone. I don't blame you for being disgusted with me. I killed that poor tramp and I liked it. Now you know about Lucius, too. I have to hide all those bad memories, don't you understand? It's the only way I can be what you want. I'm too angry all the time, and it's not really Potter's fault, even when the Dark Lord looks out of his eyes during those horrible lessons. He can have the ones I have of Lily. But I have to get rid of the rest, or I can't do what you want. Don't send me back to Azkaban," he said, curling up and sobbing. "I'm trying so hard…"

Dumbledore patted him on the back through the blankets. Fl;itwick's charm should have lasted much longer. Winky came back and crooned at Severus, and by some magic known only to house elves helped the poor man go back to sleep.

"Has he eaten anything today?" Albus asked once the Potions Masters was unconscious again.

"No, Master Headmaster," the elf said quietly. "Winky bring nice tray, hope smell make him hungry, but won't eat, won't drink. Mistress Nurse sad."

Snape was too weak already. He might have to go to the clinic sooner than anybody thought. He looked over and saw Flitwick in the doorway. Dumbledore wearily stood up and went with him to the small parlor. "Mrs. Malfoy found out from her sister that this was a loyalty spell powered by a Dementor to result in suicide in those disloyal to Riddle," he said. "Her son was affected, but is apparently all right now. However, she was not pleased and had made some decisions that will probably benefit the Order."

"Ah. That sounds like a variation of the Fide Mort," the Ravenclaw said as they both sat down in the other room. "It's usually embedded in objects handed out as gifts, but someone skilled enough in Dark magic could get it to connect to something else. From what I've heard, that makes two victims that are recovering. Professor Snape should be getting better."

"I believe the nightmare hex has become toxic," Albus said. "It's possible that he attempted this extensive memory work in reaction to it." _And in reaction to everything done to him over the years._ "The one time I wanted to remove it, I was so appalled at what I found in his mind that I withdrew in disgust instead."

"That was probably the trigger event," Flitwick said dispassionately. "Along with the stress of the potions regime, it sounds like enough for a suicide attempt even without additional impetus."

"I know that!" the Headmaster cried out. At least the _Silencio_ built into the threshold of Snape's bedroom meant they could speak without waking Severus with their noise. "It's all I've been able to think about this afternoon. Well, between Floo calls, that is. Have you tried that memory charm that worked on him a week or so ago?"

"Yes," Flitwick said. "I believe that was why he was as rational as he was for a short time, though he was still lost." The smaller wizard kicked his legs against the couch. "It's…it's partially my fault, too. I should have stepped in years ago before letting the situation get this bad. We all saw what was happening to Snape, especially last year, but none of us did anything to help, either."

Albus was silent. He'd let the Umbridge situation go on far too long as well. He'd wanted the woman to discredit herself, and never thought about the cost of abandoning the school to chaos. It had been much easier with only the Order to think about. Yet even there he'd let Grimmauld Place deteriorate the same way by keeping Black a prisoner in the house and letting the man vent all his spleen on Snape. It was always easier to keep a group united by providing them with a pariah to despise. At first, it seemed that Fletcher would fall into that role, but the moment Black had taken up his old habit of baiting Snape, with Moody assisting, then the dynamics of the group had settled.

He could have done something about it. Instead, he'd merely made sure that the dark Slytherin was barely respected in public and let Snape fend for himself in private. He'd done the same thing whenever Harry had complained about the Potions Master.

Dumbledore finally spoke. "I'm the one who's really responsible. I want one last try at getting the nightmare hex out of him, though, before we send him elsewhere."

"It should be somewhere besides St. Mungo's," Flitwick said in a neutral tone. "And wherever it is, that little house elf should go with him. She seems to have his confidence, no matter how lost he is."

The Headmaster nodded. "Has Lupin offered an opinion yet?"

"As much as he can. It's difficult for him to make a complete examination with Severus so fearful of him. It would be best if you rested as Madam Pomfrey suggested before attempting to destroy the hex, however. Your own color is not good just now. I believe I can help the professor sleep till tomorrow morning. He will endure the removal better as well."

"Winky says he hasn't eaten."

"I'll tell Poppy. Headmaster, I understand your concern. To be frank, I am glad you are showing it for once. But you should allow Snape to sleep while he can."

"Tell the invading hordes to stay out of my Floo, then," Albus muttered.

"Let Minerva know, and she will take any messages," the Charms professor said.

Dumbledore didn't know how such a tiny wizard could feel so powerful, but he found himself rather firmly escorted out of the dungeons and on his way back up towards his office and living quarters before he could object.

Before he retired for the day, though, he had one call to make himself. Soon Malachite's face floated in the flames.

"What is wrong, Alabastor?" she asked gravely.

Albus began to shake. For a moment he couldn't speak. "I broke him," he whispered. "I pushed him too hard, he ran away, and I broke him. Now he's lost inside all those horrible memories he tried to hide from himself. I would burn my wand if I could only go back and keep my word that I would help him." Something like this couldn't be fixed with a Time-Turner. Too much had happened.

Lowenstein's great-aunt said softly, "I must know everything, if I am to help."

"You know some of it already," Dumbledore said, but told her the rest. Once that was done, he wept. "I have found out what my own feelings really are, but it's too late. I've destroyed him."

Her eyes narrowed. "Do not be so hasty to give up on this man. He has proven you wrong before. It is sad that he has so many bad memories and so few good ones. Perhaps he was foolish to give away those that might comfort him to the boy you love so much. But broken things have been mended before. You must be willing to pay the cost, no matter how high, if only because you did so much damage yourself."

Albus grimaced. "We have less than a week before he's summoned. I will not send him out to certain death."

"Yet does not this Voldemort punish those who disobey him? And these apprentices, they may suffer as well for the master's absence."

"Professor Flitwick is researching memory charms." A pity that Lockhart had blasted his own mind; the gilded idiot might have been useful now. He couldn't forget Narcissa Malfoy's face, though, or the names of those apprentices who might need help.

"Good. But this is only a symptom of something much worse. He began this cutting to please you, yes? So he would present the proper face to the world?"

"Yes." There was no point in hiding things now.

"It seems from what you have told me that no one has ever truly cared for him, that he must always trade something for kindness. Even you, the wise, the benevolent, are not happy unless he does what he is told. What is more, he must not complain too much when you prefer others above him. He has been a child trading his body for a bottle to give to his mother, so she will smile at him. Tell me, Alabastor, how has that changed?"

"What?" he exploded. "How dare you compare me to someone like that! I have never touched a student that way, never! And how do you know about it? I never spoke of that. Surely he deserves some privacy?"

"I have my own sources of information," she said serenely. "I still have good friends in low places, as the Muggles say. The man who died under your professor's wand, he was a predator too, or so one friend told me. The police are not looking for him, nor do they wish to find. That made me wonder if there was someone else that Snape remembered too well, and wished to strike instead. The wizarding world is not large, Alabastor, and Folben's daughter is still alive. She tried hard not to know things, yet could not help it at times. Again I ask my question. Tell me the difference between your professor then and now."

He began to get upset again, only to realize with dread that the situations could look similar from Snape's point of view, especially since Severus had only gone back to Lucius Malfoy for the sake of the Order. "He does many things for the Order, Malachite, not for me personally," he said, trying to pinpoint any difference he could. "Last year we barely saw each other. And he would die for his apprentices. That's why he felt their pain as well as his."

She shook her head sadly. "Would he be at your school at all if not for you? And who gives back to him? The ones he must spy on, they throw him a banquet. The Dark Lord offers him the world. It is good he knows better than to trust them. But you have told me that the gin bottle is no longer working, that you push him away regardless. How can he bear the pain? So he buries or cuts it away by destroying the memories that make him unacceptable to you, or to the others you tell him he must get along with. You are lucky he did not Obliviate himself, or put the knife in the wrong place. That might be next if he recovers, and nothing changes."

"I don't know what to do!"

"The trading must stop. He must be given to, given to in such richness with no effort on his part that he will finally believe that someone cares for _him_ and not for what he barters. Most of us get that in childhood, but from what you say and from what I have learned, this never happens. Only the gin bottle for his mother, then for this Malfoy, and then for you."

_No doubt Tom took advantage of it as well_, Dumbledore thought. "I thought I was giving to him all this time," he said weakly.

"Yes, but always with the conditions. After all, he must please you or go to Azkaban. Though you do not say it till this year, he must think it. He must tell you what money he spends, where he is going, and favor the student of someone who tormented him, or go back to a terrible place. You are a kind man, so he must be grateful to you that it is not worse. He must go back to those will kill him if he makes a wrong move. And even now he cannot run away, because he must help those younger and more helpless. He cannot tell them how he truly feels, for one might betray him out of fear or ambition. No wonder he hides inside his own mind when the pain is too great. It is the only place left to him."

"I took that away, too," the Headmaster said with a sigh. He must not become paralyzed by guilt. Severus had to come first. "Malachite, I understand things better now. I will make some inquiries. If Snape needs to come back to the clinic, your nephewmust understand the risk. Tom isn't as strong in Europe as he is here, but there could still be trouble."

"Precautions will be taken. Now you must rest. You cannot help this man by becoming exhausted. Oh, Alabastor, I know you never meant things to become so bad."

"He said I wanted everything to be beautiful and kind."

"If only it was," Malachite said. "You have hidden from ugly realities before. I remember that from my war. But he will die if you continue that."

"I know," Albus said, and closed the Floo. He summoned a house elf, as it was dinnertime now. Dobby brought him a tray. His appetite was better than before. It helped to lay his fears before a pair of eyes he had no influence over, and who wished none over him.

As he ate, Minerva came through the door. "I heard some of it," she said, and sat down. "It's getting late, and I won't keep you long. I sat with him for a couple of hours, and he's a little calmer now than he was at first. Winky is good for him."

"I'm glad someone has brought him ease."

"I wish you had told me more, and earlier," she added gently. "I know you really do care for him, though you have shown it oddly in the past few years. I think we all forget that he doesn't have a choice about being here. I never would have picked him for a teacher when he was a student. I don't think anyone would have. He really belongs where he can brew all day and socialize with others when he truly wants to. With all that, he's still one of the best Heads of Slytherin the school has seen. But we forget that, too."

Dumbledore nodded. "On top of that, when the Sorting Hat sings about unity, the other three Houses stare at Slytherin and wish them gone, and blame them for everything that goes wrong. I don't stop it. I never have. Sometimes I wonder if I would have done a better job at keeping the Snakes part of this school if Harry had Sorted there." He put his fork down. "And how can the Slytherins trust me when they see how little respect I give their Head of House? Everyone knows that Gryffindor will win the House Cup as long as Harry Potter is here, even the Hufflepuffs. Of course, after a year with Umbridge nobody's going to complain about my return! After all, things could be so much worse."

"Was—did you plan that when you allowed her to run wild?" Minerva asked hesitantly.

His Deputy Headmistress was getting brave indeed to ask that question. "I honestly don't know," he said. "Sometimes I think part of me comes up with these schemes and I just go through with them, knowing that I'm right and everyone else is wrong."

"Albus," McGonagall said in a firmer voice, "when this war is won, perhaps it will be time for you to rest. I understand that much of your strength as head of the Order comes from being here at Hogwarts. Few wizards live as long as you do, and fewer are as strong as you when they do. That's normally reserved for witches like Madam Marchbanks. Yet riding two horses at once is hard for a much younger man. It is killing Severus. I should hate to see it kill you."

He smiled wryly. "You must have drawn the short straw. Sometimes I am afraid that I'm not up to it any more. I know I've abused my power over Snape. Nobody can be trusted with that much authority with nothing to check it. But I don't know what to do about it. If he recovers, it will be hard for either of us to break the old pattern. I must protect him from the Ministry as well as from Tom. At least with me holding his probation, I must be notified if Moody or Dawlish, Merlin help us, wants to haul him in. He is needed here, especially with some of students in deadly peril."

"If he dies or remains so…so ill, we will have to do without him in any case," she said, tears glinting in her eyes. "Or if _he_ decides that Severus is a traitor. We must make provision for that, Albus."

"If he doesn't recover in a few days, he'll miss a summons. It might be a final one anyway. Sending him to the clinic might not help." Dumbledore took a deep breath. "If only I knew a spell that could draw on the power of Hogwarts itself to heal him, or at least help him not feel so alone. Even if he must die, he ought to know how much we really care about him." His hands shook. Oh, Merlin, he didn't want to bury someone who'd had so little chance to live! He'd felt the same way with Diggory had been buried, and when hearing the news about Sirius Black, but this was worse. The old should never bury the young.

"Albus," Minerva said. "Lean on me. Both of us knew the moment that Voldemort returned that Snape's life was likely to be short. But I agree. We have to let him how much we love him, scowls and all, before it's too late. We have to do it loudly enough so even he will believe it." She swallowed and wiped her eyes. "He's given us all so much—"

"I know. We see only the sharp edges and the ill temper, and forget what he's done. But the first thing I must do is to remove that nightmare hex. Leaving that there would be like leaving a rotting tooth to fester. Only the person who put it there has a chance at getting all of it, and not just pieces."

McGonagall nodded. "Be careful, Albus. It may be embedded quite deeply by now."

"Yes," he said unhappily. "One last thing. You and the others are right. Hogwarts is suffering because of my undivided attention. Last year it was much easier for me to deal with the Order with Umbridge here, despite her incompetence. I will be giving you much more to do in the coming year. I hope your health is up to it."

"Those vile potions of Snape's help," she said. "All those wretched papers you've sent my way keep me sitting down. No doubt the fresh air required to handle them safely is good for me, too. Do you want me to start searching for another Potions teacher?"

"Not just yet. Give Severus a chance to heal. He's survived other things that have killed many wizards before him." He forced himself to sound more optimistic than he really felt.

"And I will leave so you can go to bed and get some sleep," Minerva said, who finished the rest of her tea. "Don't try any spells on Severus before tomorrow morning. A good night's rest will do both of you good."

Dumbledore agreed. He'd done enough damage today.

Oddly enough, he fell into slumber quickly. In his dream he was deep inside Hogwarts, far below the level of the dungeons. His heart beat faster as he approached the garden where the four pillars of the school became one.

The sanctuary was full of sunlight, and the massive pillar changed into a woman with flowing golden hair bound by flowers. She had pale skin and green eyes, and Albus had always called her the Bride. She had visited his dreams the first night he'd become Headmaster, and on rare occasions afterwards.

He fell to his knees before her. In dreams he could do this and still be able to walk the next day, unlike in the real world where his aging body slowly betrayed him.

She looked down on him, her eyes sad.

"I know," he said, wordlessly pleading for forgiveness. "I know what I've done. I beg you to help me restore him. Severus Snape is part of Hogwarts, too."

"Yes, he is," she said in a gentle voice. "Find a spell that calls for everyone here to add their contribution, and I will do the rest. In turn I will ask you for a sacrifice."

"I am ready," he said, bowing his head. At his age, death could take him at any time.

"It won't be that easy," the Bride said. "The one you call Snape has never been happy here, though only his will and love has kept the Serpent visible at all. That part of me has grown weak through the years, and the Lion too strong. You must truly trust this Snape and not just say you do while undermining him. And when the time comes, another will come to serve the Serpent, and you must allow that one to be strong as well."

He looked up at her, a secret hope in his heart. She shook her head. "He will never see me like this, Albus, unless all of you together call me. My next form will be the Groom." The womanly figure briefly changed into the shape of a handsome young man, then back again. "The Scotswoman will be my next guardian. Before that happens, though, Snape will be gone."

Dumbledore let tears of grief fall once more.

She caught his hidden thought. "He has only a short time to do what must be done. But he must have your love, or that time will be even shorter. You cannot keep him caged up the way you did Sirius Black. You must let him go. That is your sacrifice, Albus."

He nodded, too overcome to speak. She walked to him, took his hands, and raised him up. She gestured towards the garden. "See my beasts, Albus. See for yourself how pale the Serpent is. I am only as strong as the weakest one. If they do not work together, I am not whole. If I am not whole, nothing can go right."

Dumbledore gazed first at the Lion, who blazed so brightly it was hard to see the others. Then he noticed the Raven, whose eyes were black and hard, and whose feathers bristled. The Badger calmly ignored everyone as it sat placidly by a tree.

The Serpent was translucent instead of the bold green and silver ought to be. "Every garden has a serpent," the Bride told him. "You have chosen to keep mine powerless. Hogwarts suffers because of it. Snape must be healed. Only he can make the Serpent truly live again. When all of you have offered to him he will be on the right road. It will take some time after that before he is strong enough to heal the Great Snake, but he will never be able to without your help."

"But how?" The Headmaster didn't know any spells like that, only some ancient superstitions, as in the old stories of potions that must contain the blood of everyone in a certain place, or some kind of offering. He didn't know why, but he thought of mistletoe.

"You will be told," she said gravely. "And do not think you can avoid it simply because he may seem to recover without it. A hollow heart must be filled, or it will break."

He bowed his head. "I pledge it upon my honor as Headmaster of Hogwarts," he said. "But I hope I learn the way soon, or he will perish anyway."

"I know. Now look at me."

He turned his face to hers. She embraced him and kissed him soundly. The eternal springtime of her garden revived his dream-body and filled it with desire.

She smiled at him. "You are the Headmaster, and I am your Bride. Be thou faithful unto me and those you protect, and I shall never forsake you." She led him deeper into the garden.

Dumbledore awoke, his body and soul feeling satisfied as it had not in this world since age had caused his flesh to fail. He knew what the penalty would be for disobeying her. He would never see her again, save at the moment of passing when she would change from the Bride to the Death-Queen that Phineas had described to him when he met his own end. For the Slytherin, she had had dark hair and much redder lips, but other than physical description she had seemed much the same as his own version of the Bride. The portrait of Headmistress Mortabis had snorted at both of them, and said she'd preferred her burly blacksmith of a Groom, thank you very much, and shouldn't the two gentlemen grow up before sounding like boys with their first Chocolate Frog card?

As far as he could tell, Dolores Umbridge never found out about the Garden during her own short tenure. Albus suspected that Minerva would be told about it her first day once she replaced him. He understood his own Bride's warning. He had to face his own mortality as well as Snape's.

He dressed, ate, and went to the dungeons to check on Severus. Flitwick was already there, trying various diagnostic and memory enchantments. Lupin joined them with counter-curses of his own. None of those worked either. Snape curled up and cowered in a corner of the bed as long as Remus was in the room, but said nothing.

"I tried coming in while he slept, but he woke up as soon as I made a noise," Lupin said softly. "That afternoon when we met in Hogsmeade, it was such a relief when he wasn't frightened of me. Now it's just as bad as ever. I hate this, Headmaster! I could strangle Sirius if he weren't already dead."

"I know. You had best leave, at least for now. We'll find a way to work on this later. But Severus has to be allowed to feel safe. He's had so little of it."

Lupin nodded and departed. Flitwick waited till Snape had calmed down to try another charm. But that didn't seem to work either. The Potions Master sat in his bed mutely, but his eyes were still full of terror. Dumbledore almost preferred the obscenities and insults. At least that way he knew that Severus was still truly here, and not retreating again.

Winky, who had apparently been standing in a corner, came over and patted Snape's hand. The younger wizard took a deep sigh and lay back against the pillows. Albus noted that the Slytherin obviously didn't mind being touched by the elf, though he became wary when others approached too closely.

The Headmaster hated knowing Snape was afraid of him. "It's going to be all right, Severus. Lupin really doesn't want to hurt you. It's almost two weeks till the full moon anyway. He can't do anything."

Snape went pale. "Wolfsbane…" He sat up.

"I'll take him to the Shrieking Shack myself, or Poppy will. You're much too sick to brew. I'll try to find some of the potion on the open market first, of course." He kept talking while Snape appeared this rational. It might not last long.

He got an idea. "Let's start the exercises for Occlumency from the very beginning. Lie back on the bed. That's good. Lupin is gone and won't come back till you give permission. He was only trying to find a way to help you, but I understand why you're afraid. It's not your fault. Most people who have survived an attack the way you did are terrified. You're safe here."

"Am I?"

"Yes. Flitwick, put up more wards. Severus, here's your wand. Add to them all you like. Winky is here, too, and you know she won't hurt you. Flitwick is already angry about how I've treated you, and you know how sharp his tongue can be. I know I'll feel its sharp edge again if I do anything to hurt you. If you are in pain, say so, and I'll stop whatever is causing it."

Snape took a deep breath and clutched his wand.

"That's good," Albus said, and sat down. This might take some time. Severus could get lost in his memories again, and he would have to wait till the young man came back to the present. "Yes, that's right. Breathing deeply is the first step. I know it's hard to trust me now. I don't blame you. Because of me, we have to start at the very beginning."

Severus took another deep breath. His eyes shifted to everyone in the room. "Is it really safe?" he asked in a hoarse voice. "I want to go home."

"Hogwarts is your home now. You're one of the professors here," Flitwick said patiently. "We talked about that earlier today. This is your bedroom here, and you don't have to share it with anyone else. Well, except us right now, of course. Winky is assigned to the Potions department to help you, and will stay as long as you wish. Does that help you remember?" The smaller wizard chanted briefly, and waved his wand.

Snape blinked. "Yes. There isn't any other place for me to go…only, there is one—"His eyes went wide in panic.

"I will never send you to Azkaban, Severus," Albus said. "Never. You may have to visit Malfoy Manor from time to time, but never to stay. This is truly your home."

The younger wizard relaxed his grasp on his wand a tiny bit. Then he looked down at the bandage on his arm. "I tried to carve it out again. It never works."

"You helped to save the lives of your apprentices and Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. "You and they were attacked by a loyalty spell that we think may have been powered under the Dementors that Tom commands now. You stopped all those children from dying, including young Mr. Malfoy. His mother appeared to be extremely grateful, though Lucius doesn't know his son was in danger. With luck, he never will. You retreated so far I almost couldn't find you, and I had to bring you back. A lot of memories you had hidden away escaped. I'm so sorry, but they were all bad ones.

"I need to go into your mind again, Severus. You do have a nightmare hex, and I'm the one who gave it to you. I only wanted you to understand Harry's life from the inside, and I never meant it to go so deeply. Will you let me enter? You will sleep much better without his horrors as well as your own to contend with."

Snape grimaced and gripped the wand tightly again. Flitwick grimaced and lifted his own, just in case. Then the combative light in the Potions Master's eyes faded, and he dropped the instrument on the bedclothes. "It doesn't matter," he said dully. "Do what you want."

Dumbledore blinked back tears at such submissiveness. _I did break him,_ he thought. _How will I put him together in less than a week? I must do something about those nightmares. No one deserves to contend with what I've done to him._

"Take a deep breath," he said softly. "Winky, hold his hand. That's not so bad, is it? Now, take another. And another. Lower your eyelids. Rest. The pain you feel belongs to yesterday. Let it all disappear, as if it's a bad potion you have to vanish. Isn't it better now? Start over with the first exercise. Clear your mind. Rest. Rest."

Snape's face relaxed, though Albus still felt an underlying tension beneath the surface calm. "Legilimens," he whispered. He entered.

The Hogwarts of Snape's imagination was in ruins, as if a great wind had passed through and thrown it down. Parts of the 'school' stood, but were clearly frail and ready to fall. Hovering, malevolent shapes continued to wreck things. Dumbledore was appalled to realize they were distorted versions of _him._ It was as if he had released an army of poltergeists to complete the work that Peeves had started during Umbridge's violent departure. Even if he found the deepest levels here, he was certain he would find no Garden, only darkness.

Albus went to the model of his own office inside this place. It, too, was in ruins and held the ghosts of two other men—one was that of an old ragged man, probably the tramp who had died under the Cruciatus, while the other was a blinking, elderly fellow who held a gin bottle. Behind the desk sat a caricature of himself, his face set in anger. He glanced uneasily at the two ghosts, aware of Malachite's comparison. On the remaining wall, a giant portrait of Harry Potter hung in the place of honor, with shining lights underneath it. As he looked at it, the face in the painting kept changing—first to James Potter, then to Lily, and back to Harry again. The face also changed to Sirius Black. But the theme was the same. _So this is how Severus sees me_, Dumbledore thought sadly. _But I had to come here, because this is where I was when I sent the nightmare hex._ And wasn't it true that he had worshipped the Marauders? Of course Snape had believed the all-knowing Headmaster approved of what they did. _After all, once I finally learned how bad it really was, I still managed to blame Snape for much of it. Even after I learned what he remembered of them, I couldn't believe it was truly their fault. I kept trying to get him and Sirius to make up, though Black never expressed any regrets over what he did. Last year I put all the blame for any trouble at 12 Grimmauld Place on Snape. Just this summer, I had a chance to comfort his old wounds, and newer ones as well, but I turned away from him in disgust. That was in this office, too._

He saw a green mass underneath the portrait behind the desk. As he approached it, the image of him tried to stop him, but Albus walked right through him. As Harry's face showed in the painting, it shifted downward, frame and all, and covered the hex. He tried to pry the picture away, its bottom edge now touching the floor, and discovered he could open it.

Behind it was a cupboard that had a bare mattress, a tattered blanket, and a stinking chamber pot. A small boy huddled in one corner and refused to meet his eye. Albus felt himself being shoved aside as a red-faced Vernon Dursley shouted at the lad, threw him half a sandwich, and slammed the doorway shut again. Dumbledore was too surprised to react at first, especially when Dursley changed into Snape's father and struck a thin woman, who fell at his feet.

Then the man put a fist through the painting itself, but it re-healed immediately, though for a brief moment the face of a young Severus appeared in the frame. Dumbledore shouted "Finite Incantatem!" over and over, but nothing happened.

The figure of Snape's father sneered. It was easy to see where the Potions Master had learned it. "You're the one who left him here. Why are you so upset now? This happens to your students all the time, and you don't care. Oh, your mediwitch wrote a letter once, I think, when the brat showed up at school with too many bruises, but every summer you sent him home to me." He changed back to Vernon Dursley. "We've been stuck with the freak all his life, and all you ever did was to threaten my wife when she got sick of it. What right do you have to interfere in our lives? You wanted nothing to do with him till he could be useful to you."

Albus forced himself to act instead of standing there paralyzed. He had neglected both children. No wonder neither one really trusted him.

He put a body-bind on the man. Surprisingly enough, that worked. The body of the woman on the floor disappeared. He re-opened the portrait and pulled the abused boy out, but he disappeared as well. The man stayed Vernon Dursley, though, instead of changing into Snape's father again.

Dumbledore chanted a banishing spell at Dursley, who vanished.

Had it really been so easy?

The ghosts of the two old men and his own image remained, though, no matter what he did. The portrait stayed firmly against the floor, instead of rising back to its original height.

He sent several revealing charms. The root of the nightmare hex was here somewhere, and he had to find it.

At last the portrait itself turned into a nasty green vine whose stem reached down below the carpeting. Albus tried to eliminate it by hexing it, but that only made it larger.

Then he realized the only thing that would work. He put away his wand and reached out to it with both hands. As he held the rough vine, it stung his hands. It didn't matter. _I love you, Severus. I love you scowls and all. I love you for your strength, I love you for how you care for your students even though I neglect them, I love you for your loyalty and your passion for the truth and for your wicked sense of humor that so few people really see. _The itching in his hands became burning pain, but he continued to hold on. Was it just his imagination, or was the vine coming loose just a bit? He continued his litany. _I love you for the way you stand up for those you protect. I love you for the sacrifices you've made for the Order. I love you for the shy way you sometimes look at Molly Weasley, even though you know you can't show any weakness. I love you, Severus. I love you._

Now the pain in his hands had turned to agony, but even so he pulled and pulled and pulled great lengths of the vine out of the hole in the floor. Albus winced as he heard the sounds of collapsing masonry. The hex had clearly integrated itself into Snape's mind. He kept pulling more of the vine up anyway. It had to go. It was hard to think now through the fire in his hands, but he knew he had to love this vine so hard that it would disappear of its own accord.

The lengths of vine turned brown and then transparent as he continued to chant his love. At last there was nothing left.

Dumbledore took great breaths of air and had to sit on one of the empty chairs. Yet the two ghosts and his own angry image remained.

He left the office, unable to bear the sight of that horror any longer. He wandered through the ruined castle. Most of it was in heaps of stone now. Only Slytherin Tower still stood, and so, unfortunately, the part of it that turned into Malfoy Manor. The hovering shapes were thickest there, obviously concentrating on the strongest part of Snape's mind. How was he going to stop this destruction?

Albus went back to the office. He might be able to begin repairs there. He was horrified to discover that not only the ghosts and his own image were there, but the portrait with Harry's face had returned. The cupboard was still behind it, and Vernon Dursley once more reappeared, then turned into Snape's father.

He performed the banishment spells again.

Then he realized what had happened. His own image looked smug now instead of angry. Dumbledore approached it. He could not destroy this part, no matter what spell he used. His own face glared at him and performed each counter-curse perfectly.

_Of course,_ the Headmaster thought. _I have to acknowledge this part of me, too._ He stepped forward. "Yes, I do love Harry," he said out loud. "I still love the Marauders even knowing what they did to Severus. I get angry at him for not realizing that he's inferior and must submit. He fights even when it's hopeless. And thank Merlin for it," he breathed.

He stepped forward, around the desk, and caught his image in a firm embrace. "You and I deserve each other," Albus said.

The other Dumbledore appeared shocked, and struggled to get free. But Albus would not let go, even though his hands were red and swollen with the pain inflicted by the vine of the nightmare hex.

The other one spat at him. "This won't change anything, you fool! I've been here much too long to be dissolved so easily! Yes, that one hex is gone, but the rest is still here and always will be. I know too much about what you really are."

Albus let his arms go limp. "Then why is the portrait and Dursley still here?"

"The hex spawned fruit. You would have to raze this structure to the ground and begin again. The memories of the nightmares will be embedded here forever, no matter what you do, unless the destruction is complete. And then you will lose all you wanted anyway. While we argue in here, the walls are falling. But it's much too important to you to heal your own self-image than it is to manage that, isn't it?

He had heard dreadful sounds as he was pulling the vine up from its roots. The Headmaster knew he had been a fool to expect all the effects of the hex to go away as soon as the curse itself was gone. "Yes. I understand now."

Albus left the office. Soon he stood in the Great Hall, open to the sky from the many holes in its ceiling. Flocks of black birds circled around, then swooped inside to begin pecking away at the ruined furnishings. He extended his awareness from the center of Hogwarts to the sides, above, and below. Severus was being destroyed by the memories and emotions that had been released. Something must be done to lay them to rest, including the swirling shapes that still looked too much like him, or Snape would never recover.

Only one spell would bring quiet for the moment till more permanent healing could be offered. _I must not do it,_ he told himself. _There's a reason the spell is an Unforgivable. Yet if Severus is not allowed some rest from these demons, there will be nothing left to heal._ "Forgive me, Severus," he said, knowing he didn't deserve it.

"Imperio."

The ugly shapes fell to the ground. The birds squawked and wheeled away up through the huge crack in the ceiling. The howling wind quieted till the air was completely still. Rays of sunshine spilled into the Great Hall. Albus knew it was an illusion. The moment he released Snape from this spell, the destruction would continue again. Till then, at least, no more damage would occur. "Sleep, Severus. Sleep till you are rested, then wake with a calm heart," he murmured.

He withdrew from the Potion Master's mind. In the real world, Severus lay quiescent on the bed, his face tranquil. His eyes were closed, but it was clear that he was really at peace.

Flitwick was deathly white with fury. "I…I cannot believe you did this, Headmaster."

"He was being torn to pieces from the inside," Albus said dully. "By the time we learn how to heal him, there might be nothing left."

"It might be days! Or longer! The spell itself will leave scars the longer it stays. Part of him is trying to resist it even as he's lying there. When it's finally lifted he'll be worse off than before!" the Charms professor hissed.

"But the rest of him isn't hurting," Dumbledore said. "He can't take more potions, not in his current condition, except for the ones the Swiss allow. There must be a spell that can bring him true ease." He remembered what the Bride had told him, but wished he knew what she meant. It _did_ have something to do with mistletoe, but he couldn't remember what.

Flitwick carefully picked up Snape's wand and put it on the bedside table. "He will never forgive you for this."

"He shouldn't," Albus said. "There's much he should never forgive me for. He should be calm and sleep peacefully till he is ready to wake on his own, at least for the next day or so. I wish I could have thought of something else." He noticed that his own voice was flat. "You had best tell Professor Lupin what I've done. He might detect the spell and take it off on his own accord if he didn't understand why it was there."

Flitwick nodded. "Two days. In two days I'll remove it myself if you haven't already."

Dumbledore nodded. He felt curiously withdrawn, as if he'd cast the spell on himself. He looked down at his hands. They were red and swollen, but not as bad as when he'd first removed himself from the inner landscape of Snape's mind. "The nightmare hex is gone, but its effects are still there," he said. "I couldn't fix them. There was so much of that nasty vine. I think taking it out destroyed a lot. I wish I hadn't put it there to begin with." He blinked back tears. "If I can't help one person, I shouldn't be in charge of this school or the Order any more. I keep sacrificing him for other people, and it's not right. I don't know what to do."

"Perhaps he ought to go to the clinic," the smaller wizard said.

"I think you're right," Albus said. He tried to stand up, only to find that his legs wouldn't hold him.

"Stay put, Headmaster. I'll fetch Madam Pomfrey."

Poppy quickly entered the room and automatically monitored Snape. Her eyes went wide and she glared at Albus.

"He will rest and eat properly now," Dumbledore said wearily. "I don't know what will happen after I take it off. He was tearing himself apart inside after everything I've done to him. I didn't want to do it, Poppy, but he's hurting so much and I couldn't think of anything else to do. Be careful what you ask him to do, please."

She looked at him intently. "And you've gouged out a piece of your soul to do it, too," she said. "I'll have to wait till you're better to give you the tongue-lashing you deserve."

"I have to talk to Lowenstein," he said. "You were right. He should have gone to the clinic."

"Not like this, he isn't. Of course Flitwick is right about not continuing the detoxicant, but the appetite-enhancer, sedative, and mood-enhancer should be. For one thing, Severus may have become habituated to the sedative and react badly without it. A couple of days' worth of that may help."

Dumbledore knew he still needed to speak to the Magister, if only to make sure a bed was reserved. However, he was going to need help to get to the Floo in the parlor.

"To bed with you, too," she added. "I'll speak with Lowenstein myself. I will warn the others to be careful what they say to him. They'll suspect what you've done, though."

"I know," he said. Suddenly he couldn't keep his eyes open. He had to rest now.


	23. Chapter 23: Truth and Consequences

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 23: Truth and Consequences

Poppy Pomfrey

It was Tuesday morning, and she was ready for a break. Severus wasn't a difficult patient, at least not since Monday morning, but if she stayed much longer she was going to scream. It wasn't right for Snape to be so obedient, though it did her heart good to see him eat and sleep properly for once. She was still angry with Dumbledore for what he'd done, but there was no denying that the Headmaster had suffered as well. In fact, she'd spent most of the last day or so shuttling between the old wizard's bedroom off of the office, Snape's bedroom, and the infirmary. Winky's helpfulness as well as Dobby's had been the only thing keeping _her_ out of a sickbed.

For a brief moment on Tuesday morning while she had Dobby watching Dumbledore and Winky caring for Severus, she sat in her own office having tea with Minerva and negotiating a schedule that would allow her to visit Molly Weasley in Hogsmeade. Her friend had her own hands full, what with her children at the Burrow and the other, larger children at 12 Grimmauld Place, and needed to get away as well.

"So Snape is very suggestible right now," Minerva said with a glint in her eye as she raised her cup. "Merlin knows I've been tempted over the years to try the Imperius Curse out on him, but I never thought in a thousand years that Dumbledore would actually do it. I can catch up on my reading while you're out. And it's not that long till school starts. You're going to need a vacation soon!"

"I'm not going to argue with that," the mediwitch said. "I need to hire an assistant. Sprout will help, but she's head of Hufflepuff and has her babies in the greenhouses, too. She says she couldn't manage without her husband, though we almost never see him."

"Yes, Hogwarts got two for the price of one with that pair," McGonagall said wryly. "I'm surprised Albus hasn't required us all to marry for the sake of economy."

Poppy smiled wanly. "I still would be if Hubert were alive."

"Oh, there I go putting my foot in it again," Minerva said. "But you need someone to help in the Infirmary, all right. A pity _Snape_ isn't married. You could train her how to heal and save us all a lot of trouble."

Pomfrey nodded, and bit her lip. No woman would care to share with Lucius Malfoy. If only the bastard would stay in Azkaban forever! "It would save time," she said. "And if things went well, he'd be less ill-tempered, if only for having someone to whinge to at the end of each day. Besides, all the male teachers under a hundred get a bit testy in spring, and it's not just extra grading. Some of the seventh-year girls are like Molly was that year."

Minerva spluttered. "Don't I know it! And Hooch is just as bad over some of those long lads till she visits a few professional games just to keep up, of course, and comes back with a smile on her face. Pity she never fancied Severus. He went out with Sinistra for a few picnics, but nothing ever came of it. From what I saw, he handled her like glass, and I suspect that's not his style when he's really involved."

"I agree. It takes a special sort of woman to play with _that_ volcano." If she had been thirty years younger, she might have given it a try. At her age, though, she had to content herself with memories of Hubert. Merlin, she hated the mirror some days!

"Well, drink up, visit the loo, and get out of here!" the Deputy Headmistress said. "You need someone to shriek at, and so does poor Molly with her mob."

"One last Floo before I go. Lowenstein was away for the day when I tried to talk to him yesterday. Snape must go to the clinic, and soon."

"Not with _Imperio_ still on him, though I must admit the good magister would probably thank us," Minerva said.

"No. But that comes off first thing tomorrow, or we'll all know the reason why," Poppy said grimly. "You can listen in if you like, we won't be talking about anything you don't already know."

McGonagall followed her out to the parlor. Pomfrey raised the flames and Floo'd the clinic. This time, Lowenstein came to the fireplace after only a modest delay. "Madam Pomfrey," he said. "I am sorry that I was unable to speak with you earlier. My great-aunt told me that the Headmaster is extremely concerned about Professor Snape. I want to assure you that a crisis is quite natural, unfortunately, with those who are not at the clinic. My own brother had a disturbing time when the toxins in his bloodstream that were liberated from his tissues by the detoxicant reached a certain level. I wish your professor was not an outpatient."

"That is what I want to talk about. He should be admitted as soon as possible." She would get Flitwick to remove the Imperio, and he'd be glad to do it, too, given what he'd said.

"I wish I could comply." The Magister frowned. "We have had an emergency here, and our beds are full. I can empty one, but no earlier than Friday, perhaps. How badly did the professor injure himself?"

"One stab wound on his left forearm," she said, hoping the man blamed it all on the detoxicant. "That is healing as well as can be expected, however. Did the Headmaster explain about the memory work, and how badly that went?"

"Not to me, but if I understand my great-aunt correctly, this is not our specialty. If he is being cared for in a place he is familiar with, he is better off there. Friday is soon enough to evaluate his potions and help him through the first threshold where he will expel some of these toxins. It would be best to give him till then to rest his mind, especially if memory is involved."

"You don't understand. He has to be…somewhere else before Saturday night," Poppy said desperately, not knowing how much to tell a relative stranger.

"Then Friday is certainly soon enough," Lowenstein said, his lips going thin. "I hope you are not giving him any more of the detoxicant. I am certain you are caring for him as well as you can, but you simply do not have the facilities for this first expulsion, and further doses may bring it on before we have the capacity here. That would be most unfortunate."

"No. I am continuing the supportive potions, of course, to help strengthen him."

"Ah. That is good. Also, I must warn you that the toxins in his blood react badly to many healing potions. If he had been profoundly damaged, we might require many charms and even Muggle methods to sustain his life until his system was clean enough to use the standard set. The other potions were carefully chosen not to react to those toxins, and of course will help. I do wish our patient had not been so stubborn that he refused them till now."

"I should have insisted," Poppy said.

"And perhaps he would have agreed, only to find a way to avoid them," the wizard said. "He is not the first, nor the last, who is difficult. If you read more of the literature, then you will see that some of the earlier patients had a very bad time indeed before the supportive potions were added to the protocol."

"I don't read German or Italian," Pomfrey admitted, her face going warm.

"Ah! That is my fault. Most of those we work with manage one or the other. Professor Snape is the first English one. I shall correct this. And perhaps you need to speak to my older brother Klaus at some time. He was the unfortunate victim of my work in years past." Lowenstein looked sad for a moment, then put on a determined look. "But he is all the better for having done this as well. Perhaps you need an "After" picture to put with the "Before" one who is your patient. I shall have him call. As for your professor, he will do better there until Friday, when we shall admit him."

"Have you been working on additional healing and pain potions? Since he's going to teach this coming school year, he still is likely to be injured during it. I would hate to see his recovery from such things take longer than it ought."

"Yes, but that takes time," he said, looking a bit gloomy. "He is also at risk in other ways, or so I have been told, but you probably know more about that than I do. I see I shall have to visit your island and help defeat this other wizard if only so this outpatient regime will go better! Madam, that was a joke, I hope you realize."

"I know," Poppy said wanly. She wished it hadn't been. The Order needed all the help it could get. "I shall keep you updated on Professor Snape's progress, and make sure he is ready to be transferred to you on Friday. You're probably being run off your feet if your place is so full now, so I had better let you go."

"This was a nice rest," Lowenstein agreed. "An accident happened last night at Chemie Gruenthal's, and the Wizarding section was the most badly affected, since it was their new potion that went awry. I had the entire board of directors nosing into things as well, and I must tell them that their workers will not get well immediately. It was most unpleasant."

"Stupefy them all, Merlin will know his own," she said.

"It was a great temptation. Unfortunately I must go, though I would much rather speak with you than those directors. We all wish Professor Snape the best, and know that if he cannot be here, that he is best off in your hands. You have a good reputation indeed, Madam Pomfrey, and if you ever leave that school, you are welcome to visit us."

"Why…thank you," Pomfrey said, her face now hot. She had never thought of herself as having any kind of acclaim beyond the walls of Hogwarts. It was nice to be appreciated, though. She broke the connection after a few more pleasantries.

"Maybe you should find out if this Lowenstein or his brother are married," Minerva said. "You might have to pick up another language or two, but Flitwick knows some charms to make that easier."

"An old biddy like me?" Then she realized that McGonagall was only teasing, and laughed at the joke herself.

"Well, I'm glad that Snape will be out of _that_," the Deputy Mistress said more seriously. "I'm just worried that _he_ will get upset as well."

"Maybe not. I was told that Severus' blood results were in _his_ hands even before they ended up in mine, and that Snape was told to get treatment on that end as well." Poppy hoped that was still true.

"If you sit here much longer, you won't go at all. Now get through that fireplace to Hogsmeade, or start walking, but either way you need to leave," Minerva said. "I'll go down to the dungeons now and give little Winky a rest. She's really devoted, but it's my turn now.

"Thank you, dear," Poppy said, and Floo'd to Rosmerta's. Molly waved her over, clearly glad to see her. The table had some tea and some finger food already set out.

"Oh, thanks!" the mediwitch said, glad to sit down away from things for a bit. "Sorry I'm late, but there were a few last minute things I had to take care of."

"I know how that is! Ronald is a little behind on his lessons again, so we had to do a bit of making up."

"How is that going? Do you think he'll be ready to retake the Potions OWL?"

"Yes, though I've been run off my feet this summer," Molly said.

"You probably can't wait till the beginning of school," Poppy said.

"I must admit I've had quieter summers," said the red-haired woman. "Although I can't really say when. I don't know what I would have done if Arthur and the Headmaster between them hadn't sent me off for most of a week to a Muggle romantic book convention."

"That's right! You sent me the cutest postcard from Miami." Pomfrey remembered it now—the other woman's sprawling writing on the back of a card showing a handsome, half-clad man embracing a beautiful, half-clad woman.

"Little Hermione started me on some of her favorites a year or so ago, and that nice Paul Sheldon fellow was the guest of honor there. I met a friendly Muggle woman at the hotel, a retired nurse about your age, and you won't believe it, but she raises pigs too! We had the loveliest gossip about them and what to do about the squits when we met in the elevator. Half the others were staring at us and, you won't believe this, the other half were taking notes!"

"It sounds like you had a wonderful time," Poppy murmured with a smile. If dumped in the middle of a Death Eater meeting, or the Sahara, Molly would find someone who felt the same way she did about _something_ and end up exchanging recipes with them.

"Yes, we traded addresses. I almost forgot the Muggle one for the Burrow, but I actually used the fellytone and got it from Arthur. Why, by the end of the thing she was Annie and I was Molly, and borrowing each other's robes for the Grand Ball. I was afraid to go to it, but she said if someone with her looks could show up in a fancy dress, I'd be elbowing aside the fellows in droves with my hair and all. A couple of the men who pose for the covers did ask me to dance, though I think they were hired on for it, but I didn't mind. That Mr. Sheldon was a little stuck up, but given the mob he had to deal with, I suppose I can't blame him. Hermione will love her Christmas present this year—I got three books autographed by him."

Poppy laughed. Molly was always a breath of fresh air. "I wish I could have gone!"

"Oh, and that's not all. Annie and I walked into the wrong panel and were asked to think of people we knew that we could pretend could be romance characters. Annie was a Muggle nurse, and so she didn't have any trouble, and I thought of some of the people at the school. One the categories for hero was 'a tall dark man with a past' and neither one of us has to go too far to think of someone like _that_! Then I spun a little wheel they had, and for the heroine I got 'a lonely woman who has buried herself in books instead of life'. Now, Minerva's a bit older than Snape, and Hermione a bit too young, but they said when you wrote a book you could change the ages any way you wanted…"

Pomfrey had to wipe her face after getting some tea up her nose trying not to laugh, and then trying not to cry. If only she could change her own age.

"Oh, dear," Molly said, clearly aware she had stepped into it. "It's all right. I've got a spell around this table so we can talk all we like about anything, know what I mean? Not just a Silencio, but a bit of a Confundus mixed in. It'll sound like we're discussing the Randall divorce, you know, the one that's on the front page of today's Prophet." She waved her wand. The other conversations around them became distorted.

"Severus is very ill," Pomfrey said once she was calmer. She trusted Molly's spells. It was the only way to keep any privacy in a house with seven children. "He needs someone by him so he doesn't get…get lost, and not just Winky. She's turning out quite splendid, but it's really too much responsibility for her for more than an hour or so."

"He's not getting over, um, what the Headmaster told me about?" Mrs. Weasley looked concerned. "But from what I've heard the others are fine now."

"It's a bit complicated. He was already sick from that wretched potions regime the Swiss put him on, but he was still trying to brew for the coming year, for Minerva, and for Miss Granger. The spell had something to do with Dementors in it, and of course that hits him harder than most. Albus _finally_ removed that horrid nightmare hex he put on Snape at the beginning of the summer, but that didn't help as much as anybody hoped." It was time that others learned what the Headmaster had done. "I don't suppose you know any miracle spells that heal someone that sick in a day, do you? There's a rumor that he may be summoned by Saturday. I hope Severus will be at the clinic by then, but there's always a chance he may not."

Molly went so pale one could count her freckles. "It's just an old superstition," she began, after a moment of looking blank. "But I remember hearing a story in History of Magic about a bald man who was hurt and almost dead. See, he was trying out a new shield spell, and stood around letting anyone who liked practice hexes on it. Naturally he was standing right behind it instead of to one side, the idiot! Someone…someone who didn't like him got his brother to throw a sprig of mistletoe, and it went right through the man's chest. _I_ think that spring had a bit of help, frankly, but you know how Binns is about interruptions.

"So back them they still had the Kettle of Ceridwen, though they called it a different name, and made a potion that had to have the blood or the tears, I can't remember, of everyone in the place, especially everyone who'd been there when the mistletoe was thrown. Because everyone loved him, it was no trouble till they came to the one who'd talked to the brother in the first place. For some reason, he'd Polyjuiced himself to look like a giantess, I think, and then refused to add anything to the potion. So the bald man died. That shouldn't be a problem at Hogwarts, would it? I mean, as long as the students aren't there."

"I don't know anyone besides Snape who could make a potion that complicated," Poppy said. Her heart sank.

"Maybe there's another way to make the spell work. The old far—I mean, Professor Binns might know. Oh, that reminds me! If you could take this back to Professor Snape, he might like it. That Winky girl, she actually Floo'd me early this morning and said her Master asked her for a ham sandwich, but didn't like the one she gave him." She paused, threw her head back, and pitched her voice high. "'Master says only Molly knows how to make a ham sandwich. Dobby says the only Molly he knows is you, Mistress. Please, he's so thin and won't eat unless Master Headmaster or Mistress Nurse tells him to.' I never heard of a house elf using a Floo by herself before, have you?"

"Well, Barty Crouch Jr. apparently taught her all kinds of things, including some I'm sure I don't want to know about," Madam Pomfrey said. "She cried for him a lot last year, but she seems to have adopted Severus now. He's always found it easier to get along with house elves than with other people anyway, and it would melt your heart to see them together. He's trained her to make a few potions, too, or at least prepare the ingredients. Since that's started she's left the butterbeer alone. He is better around her, but it's not enough. I'm so worried." It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Molly about the Imperio, but if it really did come off tomorrow, perhaps she would keep quiet for now. Snape was eating and sleeping much better than he had been. Besides, Albus was quite ill as well. _And deservedly so,_ a nasty part of her thought.

"This can be part of any spell, though I can always make another," Molly said gently. She passed the sandwich wrapped in wax paper. "After what I saw at my cousin's house last year, I gave the professor full rights to the Burrow, though he never used them. But he did seem grateful with the offer, even when I told him if the place was full he might have to bunk with the ghoul in the attic. He just snorted and said he'd had worse bedmates."

The mediwitch closed her eyes and swallowed. No doubt Severus had told the truth. She opened her eyes again and tried to smile. "I'm sure he'll be grateful for this, too," she said as she put the packet into her carryall.

"What happens if he can't go if he's summoned?" Molly asked.

"If he's at the clinic, not much, I hope. _He_ got Snape's test results before I did, and wants him to get treatment, too. Isn't that a laugh?"

"Not a very funny one," her friend said glumly, and chewed on a ladyfinger with pink icing. "Maybe you'd better move him there now."

"Lowenstein doesn't have room till Friday, but that should be soon enough," Poppy said.

"Hope nothing happens before then," Molly observed.

"Then he'll probably die, if not this summer, then the first time he leaves Hogwarts," the mediwitch said in a dull voice. "His apprentices are likely to be in danger, too. If _they_ know he's a traitor, anyone associated with him will be suspect." Quickly changing the subject, she added, "Albus told me Narcissa Malfoy may contact you about some er, personal matters. Has she done so yet?"

"No. I hope the Headmaster didn't tell her too much. He does let his mouth run sometimes. I'll probably tell Narcissa what I've told her before. If she'd just throw that husband of hers down a flight of stairs, her problems would be over. I keep wondering if he didn't bring something home from his little adventures that's kept her from having more children, but she swears she's been examined a hundred times. But would a healer who's paid by her husband tell her the truth, is what I want to know."

Poppy took a deep breath. Fortunately she'd checked for that every time she'd examined Severus last year. So far she'd caught and eliminated any such trace. "Perhaps I ought to see her," she said. "If there's anything wrong, I'll do my best to repair it. Even if she's scarred and doesn't know it, there are potions out there now which will heal that."

Molly nodded. "I forget how many miscarriages she had before she finally gave up."

They sat for a bit and really did go over the Randall divorce, a most scandalous one, in great detail while they ate and drank. Madam Pomfrey was glad of the respite. She waved at a server, and had that morning's edition of the Prophet brought over. "Let's see what Skeeter has to say about the whole mess this morning," she said, as Molly put the Silencio and Confundus combination back up.

Both of them scooted their chairs over so they could devour the headlines at the same time. "More black boxes than usual," Mrs. Weasley said. "All pureblood families, too."

Poppy looked closely at them. The first name that popped out at her was Gregory Goyle's, cause of death listed as broom accident. But the date given was yesterday, not Sunday. _Now that's odd,_ she thought. Several others were listed as well, and the death date was the day before yesterday for all but young Mr. Goyle.

Molly looked puzzled when Pomfrey pointed that out. "I thought the spell was sent just to the apprentices," the mediwitch said. "But why did the Goyle boy die yesterday? That doesn't make any sense."

Her friend's eyes went wide. "Unless his family found out. The Blacks practically disowned Sirius because he was Sorted into Gryffindor. I know what can be done to a child who takes the Dark Mark and then tries to back out."

"But Goyle's father is in Azkaban. Surely his own mother wouldn't have—"

Molly looked away. Then she spoke in a tiny voice. "One night I asked Mrs. Black's portrait what happened to my cousin Regulus. I wish I hadn't."

"Oh, dear Merlin." Poppy patted the other woman's hand.

"Percy could show up at my door and raise the Mark with his own wand and I...I couldn't put so much as a body bind on him," Molly said, tears pouring down her face. "I, I don't think he's done anything stupid, but Sunday morning I had a dream about him. He was eating breakfast with _Moody_, of all people, and then tried to stab himself. When Arthur was called away, I almost told him my dream, but I thought speaking out loud might make it true.

"But he's all right," she said, suddenly looking much happier. "He sent me an owl saying he'll be at the Burrow this weekend, when everyone else will be home, too." She took her napkin and wiped her eyes. "It was only a dream. Every mother gets them, I suppose."

Poppy thought hard. Albus had hinted that Moody had been questioning someone with the Dark Mark who had been prevented from hurting himself. And now it seemed that Arthur had been called away at the same time. Well, she wasn't going to tell Molly about this, not when she didn't know for sure. "I'm glad he's coming home for a bit," she said. "I hope everyone has a good time, even if someone _does_ have to share with the ghoul."

Molly smiled. "With Hermione and Harry there, too, they might just have to! Hermione can always share with Ginny. That bed's been transfigured so many times for sleepovers, it won't go back to single any more. Harry doesn't mind the floor as long as I put a mattress down. For some reason Ron's bed _won't_ enlarge no matter what I do. Maybe I just need to put that one up in the attic and just get a bigger one. The poor boy's feet are hanging over the bottom these days, he's getting that tall."

The mediwitch was happy that Molly was feeling better. Then she looked at the time. "Oh, I must be going! McGonagall must be wondering if I've been eaten in the Forest by now."

"So do I," Molly said ruefully. "Thanks for letting me make a cake of myself over all this. And tell that professor to get well. It won't feel like Hogwarts when I visit if I don't get scowled at properly. The Black house isn't the same without him, either. I know why he wears a cloak that billows all the time. He's so thin, nobody would notice him if he didn't."

Poppy nodded, and stood up. "If you ever have some extra time, and I know you won't till school starts, let me know. I'm going to need an assistant if not this year, then the next, with things the way they are."

The plump woman look sober. "Maybe it's a good thing I've beenworking with Ronald all summer on Potions and remember some of what I used to know. For right now 12 Grimmauld Place is still busy. I can tell old Moody misses having Snape around to yell at, but I don't blame the professor for not coming to any of the meetings. It sounds like he had enough on his plate."

"More than you can imagine," Poppy said as she made her farewellsand went outside.It was too nice not to walk. She needed fresh air, too, and, to be honest, this would delay her return to those chill rooms in the dungeon just a bit longer. She Apparated as close to Hogwarts as she could. Hagrid, and occasionally Grawp, sometimes waited for her to make sure nothing from the Forbidden Forest hurt her, though she could tell them stories about Acromantulas with broken legs that would curl, or straighten, their hair. She supposed she shouldn't take the chance that Aragog's children would turn on her anyway, but that would just have to be her little secret. As for the centaurs, even Bane came down with fever every once in a while. The prideful git would rather die than admit any such weakness, but his mate was a bit more practical and hadn't minded giving a human mediwitch a ride both to and from the cave that time.

She snorted at the image of the centaur and Snape trying to out-stubborn each other. Then Poppy swallowed back grief, knowing that Severus might never be the same again. First he'd been so angry and terrified all at once, and now so horribly docile under the Headmaster's spell. He was eating and sleeping now better than he had for a year, but that wouldn't last long. He had the right now to be even more furious and frightened than before to have such a curse inflicted on him by someone he trusted.

Yes, it was a good thing Severus was scheduled to go to the clinic on Friday. He would be much safer out of either side's hands.

Severus Snape

Severus awoke. For a moment he didn't quite remember where he was, though he knew the touch of a house elf. "Dushka," he said before opening his eyes. Maybe he was still in the little cottage in the country, and everything was all right. Maybe all the horrors in his head were only nightmares.

"Oh, no, Master Potions Master, I's not Dushka. That was the Old One in charge of us when we's still in the breed-pens," said Winky's soft voice. "She say back then, she had a little boy, but that was a long time ago. She was old, old, She fell asleep and didn't wake up before I was first given to my Barty."

Snape blinked. He had always wondered what had happened to his mother's elf when Father had sold her. It would be nice to believe that Dushka had gone to a place where she could still love others.

Winky continued. "You're in your bedroom, Master, and it's Tuesday afternoon. You were so sad on Sunday, a couple of days ago, and your arm got hurt. Master Headmaster did something to help you when you were crying and yelling. But I heard them say you have to be well by Saturday. Please get better by then, Master. Winky's so scared." She leaned her head on his shoulder and wept.

"It'll be all right, Winky," he said, though he quickly guessed why he had to be well. He felt warm and peaceful, though he knew it was a lie. Part of him was screaming, but he could hardly hear it.

"Winky." McGonagall looked at both of them. "You had better rest for now."

"I don't mind her, Minerva," Severus said. "She only wants to help."

The elf pulled herself up and wiped her face with the edge of her pillowcase. "You need something to eat, Master. Winky gets a tray." She shuffled out of the room.

McGonagall pulled her chair closer to the bed. She looked terribly sad. "Madam Pomfrey is taking a little break. I hope you don't mind. How are you?"

He felt as if his mind were free and weightless, resting on some warm sea. "Not…bad. Not bad at all. Am I under Imperio?"

"Yes." The Transfiguration Professor grimaced. "I still can't believe he did it."

"It doesn't hurt, Minerva," he said "I remember now how much it did before he cast the spell. I know he'll have to take it off, but right now I wish he wouldn't. I…I don't like to be angry or afraid all the time. I hate being like my father. I wish I knew how to be like other people. It's…it's like a charm I never learned."

"That's why you're so good with your Slytherins, Severus. You know how much they hurt and how to help them. Even with this spell Winky is the only one who can touch you without you flinching. You've been in so much pain for so long. I wish I knew how to help."

"This is the best I've felt in a long time," he said. She had to know the truth. "Part of me…part of me hates it, but it doesn't seem to matter very much. At least here I can stay in one place, instead of being pulled away so much. I don't want to be lost any more." His voice broke. "It's horrible, Minerva. The memories are so bad, and when I'm taken away by them it's like they're happening all over again. I wish I weren't so weak."

"No, Severus, no! You're not weak at all." Her face twisted. "You saved your apprentices' lives. You saved Harry's. You saved Percy, too. There are two prisoners in Azkaban whose cases are being re-examined because they tried to hurt themselves, too. You could have died. In fact, you almost did." Then she smiled. "Imagine what a certain someone felt when you plunged that knife into the Dark Mark."

That cheered him up, not that he could show it much through the warm peace enforced on him by the spell. "I wish I could feel like this all the time," he said after a moment.

"It would be far too dangerous," she snapped. "You'd be at everyone's beck and call."

"And that is so different from how I live already?"

That brought a wan smile to her face. "Oh, Severus, I want you back, snark and all."

"You're the only one who does," he said. "Being angry all the time hurts so much. Sometimes it's fun to be sarcastic. But there's a difference. I threw a jar of cockroaches at Harry Potter last year when he got into the pensieve. I'm losing control." He was amazed by how calm he sounded talking about it. "When this spell is gone, I'm afraid of what's going to happen. Winky said I have to be well by Saturday. Do you know why?"

"Narcissa Malfoy was told to expect a gathering at Malfoy Manor that night. It was going to be earlier, but she's delayed it that far. But don't worry, Severus. Poppy's talked to the clinic. You'll have a bed there by Friday, and you won't have to go to the other meeting."

"Oh." He thought for a moment. "But I should be there. The Dark Lord will ask questions, and my apprentices might not know how to answer."

"You really are having a potions crisis, Severus. Poppy was told to discontinue the detoxicant, though keeping on the other potions, so that you'll have your first expulsion phase at the clinic and not here. Since Tom apparently knows all about your health problems, he shouldn't have too much trouble dealing with this one. You were really supposed to check in a bit more often than you have, you know. Madam Pomfrey is quite worried, and so was Lowenstein when she talked to him this morning. You should go."

He sighed. He found himself agreeing with here, but didn't know if that was because she was right or because of the Imperius. "It doesn't really matter either way," he concluded. "The Dark Lord will discover, if he doesn't know already, who fought the spell. My only hope is to convince him is that I believed it was an attack from the Ministry. The game is over, Minerva. All I can do is to delay the end, and keep those poor dunderheads of mine alive."

She turned her face away, then brought a handkerchief to it. "Don't cry," he said. "Please don't cry. I never expected to survive this war. I didn't think it was going to be over quite this soon, but I can't sacrifice those children even if Albus tells me I should."

McGonagall nodded, then blew her nose. She appeared more composed once she put her handkerchief away. "I understand," she said softly. "Oh, I saved out your Sunday paper. It wasn't the same doing the crossword by myself." She leaned down and reached under a small stack on the floor by his bed. Winky must have kept them for him.

He looked down at it himself. "What's that one on top?"

"That's today's. You never want to do the daily puzzle. You've always said it's too simple."

"Oh, that's right," he said. Under the influence of the Headmaster's enchantment, he didn't want to argue with anybody. "A lot of black boxes on the front, though." He rolled to his side and picked that paper up. It was helpful to have long arms.

His mouth fell open as he looked at those boxes. He recognized many of the names. Most of them were either known Death Eaters, or those he knew to be in deep cover.

The warm placidity of the spell didn't help when he saw the one that was nearly at the bottom of the front page. "Goyle," he croaked. "Gregory Goyle. A broom accident." He threw the paper down on the floor. "Oh, Merlin. I thought they all lived."

Minerva picked the paper back up and looked at it. "The date given is yesterday. Maybe it really was an accident."

"I wish I could be sure. His mother is very loyal." He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. He knew he would mourn later. He couldn't expect others to care for his Slytherins.

"I remember last year that I caught him cheating," McGonagall said, her mouth trembling. "He'd copied someone else's test, except he was so carried away he wrote down the other boy's name on the paper instead of his own. I finally convinced him that he was so bad at using a crib that he shouldn't even try. I have a copy of the picture where he and the others were turned into slugs. His death _could_ have been an accident, Severus. You don't really know."

"Regulus Black tried to go to Dumbledore about the same time I did. Only his mother found out first."

Minerva buried her face in her hands for a moment, then looked at him. "I am so very sorry, Severus. You did all you could."

He looked down at the other newspapers. "I don't want to do the crossword puzzle any more."

"You don't have to."

"He was the most amazingly stupid boy I have ever known," Snape said. Funny how his voice was so flat. "He was designed to go through life being the muscle for someone else, probably Draco. How could he even _have_ opinions, let alone ones that were different?"

"You saved the others. I know that doesn't help."

Winky came in with a tray then. "Here's something to eat, Master."

"Don't—I can't!" Severus said, then left his bed and bolted for the bathroom. He vomited what little he had in his stomach into the toilet. No spell could help this pain. If he had only kept his mouth shut and let them think that nothing was wrong with serving the Dark Lord. He couldn't desert the rest of them by hiding in the clinic. He would have to face his fate Saturday at Malfoy Manor.

The little house elf helped him wash and change. Even after two days of complete rest, he still felt weak, and better Winky than McGonagall seeing him like this. Oh, if he was this way now, how could he stand the pain when the spell was removed tomorrow?

As he lay back down again, he said, "If I hadn't been so ill, I could have spoken to Goyle's mother. I could have made her believe that nothing was really wrong."

"According to what Albus said about Mrs. Malfoy, her sister contacted her to brag about the spell. I doubt Narcissa was the only one that Mrs. Lestrange spoke to," Minerva said tartly. "It was hardly your fault that you were so sick."

"If I hadn't run away from the pain…" he whispered. Dumbledore never would have found that chest bound in chains if he had only stood proper guard.

"I am making this a command in the name of the Headmaster," she said. "You are not to blame yourself in any way for what has happened. I swear, only you could give anyone so much argument while under the Imperius Curse."

He felt something in his mind shift, then, though once more part of it objected. Guilt no longer tore at him. But he knew that would last only till tomorrow. "As you wish," he said dully.

"Oh, Severus, I am heartsick at losing another student to _him_! It's not right. But I have a few other commands for you as well. You will eat this tray and keep it down. Then you will sleep without any nightmares. When you wake up in the morning, you will eat a decent breakfast and keep that down as well. I will be there when Albus takes off the spell. We do care about you." McGonagall had tears on her face now.

Under the spell, her orders began taking effect. He began to feel sleepy after he ate, though the potions he drank with the tray probably had something to do with that, too. Severus thought he ought to feel ashamed that the curse had so much power over him, after having watched the Potter boy throw it off when the Dark Lord had regained his body. But the strength of Minerva's imperative overrode that feeling, too. Voldemort had never used the Imperius on him, though he didn't know why. Perhaps his old master thought that crashing through his mind was enough to assure his loyalty.

As he fell asleep, he was vaguely aware that Poppy had come back to replace Minerva, and that Winky refused to leave him. For once it was a comfort not to be alone.

When he awoke, the little house elf was curled up on the floor beside his bed. Snape felt truly rested for perhaps the first time since the clinic. Winky woke up, greeted him happily, and fetched him a tray. He actually enjoyed his food, even with the ever-present potion at the end of his breakfast. Snape recognized it as the mood-enhancer. He certainly did _not_ miss the detoxicant. After he was done, he was content to lie on his bed without worry. Nothing really mattered right now, not even Goyle's death. There was something vaguely wrong with that part, but he pushed it to the back of his mind where all other pain was hiding. Then Winky helped him to shave and dress, though afterwards he continued to lie on his bed. He dreaded what was to happen. If only he could feel like this always.

After an hour or so of such blessed peace, the Headmaster came in, accompanied by McGonagall. "How are you this morning?" Dumbledore asked.

"It's hard to say," Severus replied calmly. "But I should speak to the parents of my apprentices soon. Goyle's funeral is tomorrow, and I should go to that. It shouldn't be so soon, but it is. That will give me a chance with some of them. It has to be all of them. I don't want anyone to think they have been singled out. Someone should speak to Miss Edgecombe's parents, especially her mother. I should hate to see the girl have an accident this close to the beginning of school."

"I'll talk to Flitwick," Minerva said.

Odd how his mind was still working even under the pink cloud that was lodging inside. He would have to put off the clinic with a promise of going to it on Sunday. He couldn't miss Narcissa's dinner.

"I am so terribly sorry I had to do this, Severus," Albus said. "I hope you have had enough rest to withstand everything else I've done to you. _Finite incantatem._"

The Imperius lifted like a fog breaking up. Goyle's death struck fresh, as did all the other emotions repressed over the last few days. Memories roared through his mind as though freshly-made. He tried to stay in the present.

In a strange way, losing his student helped keep him in one place. It helped to know that Minerva was here. He couldn't expect the Headmaster to mourn a Slytherin, but he already knew that McGonagall did. He had no trouble believing how incompetent the boy had been at cheating!

She took his hands and he let her. "Severus, are you still there?"

"Yes," he said, struggling with so much emotion he could barely talk. "Goyle," he said. "Why couldn't I save him?" He fell into a storm of weeping for his lost dunderhead.

"He saw the paper yesterday," he heard McGonagall say to the Headmaster. Dumbledore nodded, the twinkle in his blue eyes fading.

At least this time they let him grieve without interruption. So many times he'd had to suppress his feelings because there was too much to do, or enemies about.

Eventually, the first wave subsided, though he knew Goyle's death would hurt for much longer. It could have been worse. It could have been all of them, including Draco. He was surprised at how much he was going to miss the oafish young man bound for a lifetime as his godson's right hand.

He drank some water and allowed Winky to wipe his face. The Headmaster and McGonagall looked worried. For a moment time shifted again, as if they were sitting in judgment on him after yet another episode of treating the Boy-Who-Lived too harshly.

Severus shook. What had he done wrong this time? He couldn't remember! Then he saw Winky, and that helped him back. He took a deep, shuddering breath, took the dishcloth the elf had brought him, and cleaned his face more thoroughly. His mind started working again. "I should start taking the detoxicant again. Nagini always sniffs me at a meeting, and she tells her master what she's found somehow. I shouldn't be different from the last time."

"You are going to the clinic on Friday," Minerva said. "Poppy has already spoken with Magister Lowenstein. You don't have to worry about the dinner on Saturday."

Snape saw the Headmaster's face relax a little. "I'm…I'm not lost now," he said. "The clinic would delay matters somewhat. I'm going to be summoned before the start of school anyway. By then I should have my mental house in better order. If there's some way the Dark Lord can put all the blame on me, he will probably spare the children." He thought of something else. "I need to speak with Narcissa. It may be that her sister has told her more than she would anyone else."

"She contacted me just after you…after you became ill," the Headmaster said. "She was extremely worried about Draco, and extraordinarily grateful that you stopped the suicide-spell. She swore that she would tell us anything we wanted to know. Mrs. Weasley will be her contact, due to their existing relationship. Her sister did call her and bragged about the curse, which was how we learned it was powered by at least one Dementor. If you can convince Tom that you were already sick from the potion regimen and that you are especially sensitive to anything to do with Dementors, you may yet come back to us alive."

"I will not sacrifice any of my apprentices for that, Albus," Snape said, surprised at the edge of anger in his voice. He bit it back. "I wonder how my actions affected him. I'm surprised I haven't been sent for me already." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

McGonagall looked pleased. "You know we'll be glad to help you with any plans."

Severus nodded. He might ask Minerva for assistance, but he would, at this point, cheerfully die in a back alley before requesting anything from Albus Dumbledore. It was true that his time under the Imperius Curse had let his mind and body heal, but part of him would never forgive the old man.

"I will have to make sure you have any Order secrets hidden away before you go," the Headmaster said, though he looked unhappy at the prospect.

"You had best not assume anything. If you can break my walls, so can _he_. I should leave anything of importance in the pensieve. Perhaps you ought to make a list. I'm…I'm not reliable just now."

"That can wait till tomorrow," Albus said. "I want to make sure that it's necessary first. You have already done more memory work than is good for you."

Snape was sick of this. "Will you please just stop _pretending_?" he shouted. "I know what you really think of me! It's always for my own good, isn't it? At least that's what you tell me. And when my mind _is_ laid bare before you, you can barely stand to look at it. Just…just stop it, please." To his humiliation, he burst into tears, though he had thought himself cried out for once. 'Snivellus' was only hiding, waiting to jump out any time he didn't have the strength to make believe he was an adult. He took several sobbing breaths. "I'll do what you want. I have to protect them. But I can't stand being _grateful_ for your gentle ministrations any more." He didn't care if Dumbledore sent him to Azkaban for this. At least Moody didn't feign kindness.

"I see," the Headmaster said wearily. He rose and left the room.

Minerva gazed at him with a sad expression. "He really has been dreadfully worried about you, Severus. We all have. I know this summer has been horrible for you. But you've hurt him, and I wish you hadn't."

"I know. I should have played the game for a little while longer." What he really felt didn't matter. He began weeping again. This time, McGonagall patted him on the shoulder and left. Winky stayed. "Oh, Merlin," he said to himself. "If only it was _real_." None of it was. He'd been fooled before by the Death Eaters, and he'd let himself be fooled by almost everyone here."

"Winky real, Master," the elf said in her tiny voice.

"Yes," he said. "I know you are." He went to the loo, washed his face, and hoped he would keep down his breakfast. He still needed to talk to Narcissa. She would tell him things she'd never mention to Dumbledore.

After holding a cold washcloth to his face for a minute he looked more like himself. Severus went to the parlor, started the fire, and Floo'd Malfoy Manor.

Draco answered it. "Professor!" he said happily. Then his smiled faded. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Better than I was," Snape said, trying his keep his voice crisp. "And you?"

The boy shifted uneasily. "I…no, nothing's wrong."

His godson was remarkably bad at lying for a Malfoy. "It was a loyalty spell, and we both failed it. You need to speak frankly to me. I told you that you could always come to me if you had doubts."

"I talked to Greg Sunday evening. He almost crashed his broom on purpose, but pulled up just in time. He was alive then, I swear!" Draco said. "But he died the day before yesterday, at least that's what the Prophet said. Mother offered condolences to Mrs. Goyle this morning. I don't know why the funeral is tomorrow, though."

"Possibly because your mother's dinner is on Saturday," the Potions Master said.

"I don't think it was an accident," his godson said in a low voice.

"I don't think so, either. Fortunately your mother is a great deal more protective of you. How you do feel about the Dark Lord now? You may as well tell me the truth."

The boy fidgeted. "I never thought Father was wrong about anything," he whispered. "But he is. And Potty and the others are right." He bowed his head as if expecting a reprimand for such outspokenness.

"Yes, they are." Snape took a deep breath. "You must be very careful. You must not betray any of the other apprentices, no matter how they feel about this. You have already put your life in my hands."

Draco smiled. "It's always been there. Sunday, for instance."

"I suspect I will have to answer for that on Saturday," Severus said. "You must not interfere. None of you must interfere. If someone tries, you must stop them. The first rule is to stay alive. Only idiot Gryffindors throw their lives away." If he hid in the clinic, then his apprentices would be at risk. Switzerland would have to wait.

"Or you."

"I intend to sell it at a high price," Snape said gently. "I will, of course do what I can to survive as well. However, I would be a fool not to prepare for the worst. Again, none of you may try to stop it. I would be punished even more severely for not teaching you properly." He fought for self-control. He must not break down in front of the boy the way he had in front of the Headmaster or Minerva just a little while ago.

"You have taught me. I was too blind to see anything but my own privilege till this summer. Till I saw what they did to you," Draco said. "I wish I'd listened to you more. It's amazing, really. I thought you and Father agreed on everything. I once found some old letters from you to him, and thought, er, well, never mind." The boy's face colored.

Snape allowed his lips to curl as if amused.

"I mean, I know he's not faithful to Mother. I even wondered once if you and her might be, um, she's always happy to have youvisit…"

"I can assure you on the word of a Snape that Narcissa has always been faithful to your father. It is a pity that he does not return the favor."

"Oh." His godson looked happier. "And since Father's partners are always beautiful, well, um." He stopped, clearly aware that he was digging himself deeper with every word.

"If you saw the letters that I'm thinking of, I must remind you that firsties and second year students can be remarkably silly. I fear I was no exception. Lucius was five years ahead of me, and was prefect for the two years that our schooling overlapped." Perhaps if he minimized what happened then for long enough, he might believe it had been trivial himself.

Then any thought of the future fled as his arm began to ache. "I believe we are going to meet sooner than Saturday," he said, his heart sinking.

Draco nodded glumly.

"Remember what I told you," said Snape. "Stay alive." He cut the connection and raised a new one to Dumbledore's office. "It's not Saturday," he said softly. "And…and I am sorry for throwing your kindness in my face." What had happened didn't matter so much now.

"Must you go?" The Headmaster looked truly ancient now.

"Yes. Don't worry. The secrets of the Order will be safe. I can make sure of that."

"I am far more concerned about you."

"Nothing like a present threat to focus one's mind," Severus said. Pain stabbed through his arm. "I can't—I have to leave."

He fetched his dark cloak and silver mask, and then a vial from his cabinet. Snape didn't feel strong enough to walk all the way to the Apparation point, but he had no choice. _If I survive this, perhaps I'll let Hooch drill me on a broom after all_.

The Mark ached more as he walked so slowly away from his life. _Not now!_ he wanted to shout. Part of him had wanted to run to the clinic instead. But he couldn't leave his apprentices defenseless, not when one of them was already dead. He said his mental farewells while he was still inside the wards of Hogwarts. _Goodbye, Albus._ His image of the Headmaster entered the 'Potions Office' inside his mind and disappeared. _Minerva. Hagrid. Poppy._ Their forms went behind that door as well. _Winky, too. _Just before reaching the boundary, he visualized closing that door and locking it. _My few good memories are safe now. I hope_.

At last he was able to don the other cloak and the mask and let the Mark take him.

Everyone stood in a huge, shadowy hall. It took true mastery of Apparation to gather people inside like this without risking damage. Snape saw the Dark Lord on a throne with Nagini by his side. He went to his knees, as did all the others. His apprentices were there. Save one, of course. Only one hulking young man knelt at Draco's side, not two.

_Should I take the potion now?_ No. He had to make sure his students were safe from suspicion before he did. True, it would be a much quicker death than any offered here.

"Just a few days ago," the Dark Lord began in his high, hissing voice, "I sent a spell out to detect and destroy traitors within our group. I am pleased to announce this enchantment worked. Every black box on the front page of the Prophet was a potential spy, since they already had treason in their hearts. Yet one of our number fought against my command and caused me a great deal of pain by plunging a knife into his own Mark. He must be dealt with today."

Snape glanced up through his eyelashes at the red-eyed monster too many followed. _I remember when he was Tom Riddle. I remember when he represented the only hope I had after Dumbledore failed me. I might have been dead long years ago by my own hand without that hope. I owe him my life._ Those first days, before the killing began, had been wonderful. In some ways it was the only taste of friendship he would ever have. He had been treated like a comrade, not an outcast barely tolerated.

He was foolish to let his emotions play tricks on him. He knew better what these people were really like. It didn't matter any more. He raised his head. "My lord, it was I."

Voldemort's eyes widened. "How dare you come here expecting forgiveness? You stopped the spell from completing its mission. Your method sent a backlash that could have struck me down, and one of your own apprentices turns out to have been a traitor!"

"Yes, my lord," Severus said, bending his gaze back to the floor. "Many died before my rash action, master. How long did the spell have to work before I stopped it? I wish I had known about Goyle. He should have brought his doubts to me. I could have shown him what loyalty truly means."

"Why aren't you trying to hide what you did?"

"I am certain you knew whose blade it was the moment the knife went in," Snape said. He must be mad to gamble like this. No doubt telling the truth was the one maneuver his master would never expect.

"Approach me. On your knees!"

He knelt, but didn't move. "My lord, I dare not come closer. The old fool must have suspected something. I heard two prisoners in Azkaban felt your spell, and were prevented from dying. That must have triggered what Dumbledore did to me. He searched my memories quite thoroughly, and forced others from where I had them safeguarded. I don't think he found what he was looking for, because I have spent the last two days under the Imperius Curse. He lifted it only an hour or so before you called me. He may have left me commands I do not know about, master. That would explain why I was allowed to leave the school with the flimsy excuse I gave, especially if he suspected I was coming to you."

"You know I can tell if you're lying or not!" Voldemort hissed.

"Of course, my lord. I depend upon it." For all he knew he was telling the absolute truth.

"Bella, approach him carefully and cast Revealo Incantatem."

Severus withdrew his wand and laid it carefully on the floor to show him himself weaponless. Mrs. Lestrange chanted the spell, and the remains of Imperio appeared as shrouds of purple surrounding Snape's head, which dissipated as everyone watched.

Bella's eyes looked hesitant under the mask. "It seems he's telling the truth about the spell being cast on him. I can't tell who did it or how he was under it, though."

The Dark Lord breathed rapidly in and out of his flat nostrils. "You must have hidden some things quite carefully indeed, or Dumbledore would have sent you to Azkaban."

"I…I don't know. My memories are somewhat disorganized."

"Snape must have felt the touch of the Dementor through Goyle," Pettigrew said. "I remember what it was like all the year when they were at Hogwarts. Since he's been in Azkaban, he may be more sensitive to most to any curse that involves one."

"Approach me," said Voldemort. "Leave your wand where it is."

Severus shuffled forward, his eyes still on the floor, and stopped when he saw the toes of his master's boots.

"_Legilimens!_"

Snape screamed as Riddle's mind tore through his. The only mental refuge he found was in his construct of the Headmaster's office, and there he was faced with two other old men he thought he'd forgotten. Dumbledore's face was harsh and unforgiving, while huge holes were torn in the walls and floor. Then he was lost as what little order his memories had dissolved.

He woke to reality. He was on the floor looking up as Voldemort bent over him. "The old fool didn't spare the whip or the goad when he walked through your mind," Tom Riddle said with a rasp in his voice. "What was being under Imperio like?"

"Restful," Severus whispered. "Why...my lord, why can't I move?"

"Because I don't know what commands the Headmaster left in your mind, either. Ah, my poor Shadow! How the two of us treat you! Unfortunately, I am going to have to return you in damaged condition to make him think I suspect you of treachery. Win back the old man's trust and you will be rewarded."

"My apprentices, my lords?"

"Are all loyal purebloods save for that young idiot Goyle. His fate ought to make even the stupidest reconsider any wavering." The Dark Lord raised his head and spoke more loudly. "You have been foolish, Severus. You should not have let any degree of misery from one apprentice taint your own mind. I felt that point in my own Mark, though naturally I overcame it with ease. Bella, Pettigrew. Punish him so these new members know the cost of such stupidity. Do what pleases you, but leave him alive when you dump him in the Forbidden Forest as close to Hogwarts as you dare. I shall be quite unhappy if either one of you goes too far."

Snape mercifully lost consciousness after the first few hexes.

Draco Malfoy

Draco was awed by the chance his godfather took, though astounded to know that the story of the Imperius Curse was true. Zabini nearly got to his feet when the Professor screamed and fell to the floor under the Dark Lord's wand. Malfoy grabbed his robe and said, "Stay down! We have to be obedient!"

"Who died and made you Umbridge?" hissed Avery.

"_He_ did," Draco said softly. "We were talking on the Floo when the summons came. He said we had to stay alive and not interfere."

Vince said nothing, though a tear ran down his neck from under the mask.

The Dark Lord made his announcement. It was hard for them to watch Bella Lestrange and Wormtail hex and beat the Potions Master without raising a wand in his defense. _But it doesn't make sense,_ the young Slytherin thought. _If the Headmaster really used the Imperius curse, how could Snape be blamed for anything he did? Did Dumbledore _want_ the Dark Lord to kill him? I thought the Gryffs were supposed to be on the side of the Light!_

But his godfather had told him that Potty and the others were right. Draco was confused. This couldn't be the way things were supposed to be, either.

At last it was over. His aunt and Pettigrew vanished, along with the professor's limp and bleeding body.

The Dark Lord had told them to watch, and now told them to stand. Malfoy could tell that both Weasley and Edgecombe were ready to throw up, mask or no mask. They weren't alone. Even Ted Nott looked disgusted.

Then Draco thought of something else. If Snape died, all the Slytherins would probably be pledged to his Aunt Bella. That alone made _him_ want to puke!

"Apprentices," hissed their master, "You are all dismissed. I am pleasantly surprised by the order you have kept during this meeting. I will remember this when I come into my kingdom. You may bow to me."

Draco and the rest obeyed, and filed outside. Those who couldn't Apparate on their own would be sent home by the Dark Lord, of course. Before his friends disappeared, though, Malfoy turned to them and said, "Anyone who comes to the Manor is certainly welcome to practice what we're supposed to learn. Our wards are quite strong."

"I doubt that includes me," Weasley said. The older boy's voice shook.

"Since you have been chosen by our lord to serve him, of course it does," Draco said smoothly. If only he knew who else felt the same way he did! The Headmaster probably did, but was it safe for any Slytherin to get involved with the old man? Unless, of course, being under the Imperius had been set up on purpose to help Snape with the Dark Lord. _Oh, Merlin, what will I do if he dies? My aunt enjoys her work so much._

If only he could speak freely with any of his friends.

But Greg was dead, and Vince hadn't said a word since Monday night.

He Apparated back home, though he wasn't sure if it was under his own power or that of the horrible man he owed allegiance to now. His mother was waiting in the parlor. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yes. Professor Snape isn't. He was punished for trying to help Greg, to help any of us. I, I don't think _he_ knows about me. I hope not." Draco got an idea. If his godfather could help his apprentices through the Dark Mark, why couldn't they help him? Even the ones who didn't have any doubts shouldn't object to that.

He swallowed before he took the next step. He might be the next one under a pair of wands or being kicked in the ribs. Then he took a deep breath and went ahead. "Mother, may I invite some friends for a party Friday night? I know it's short notice, but we won't make too much noise or cause trouble. I'll see them off long before the dinner on Saturday night. I'll be asking both boys and girls, but they're all of good family and Marta can keep an eye on us if you wish." Mother's house elf was just as bossy as Kreacher in her own way.

Narcissa nodded. "Invite them for both nights. If they are not asked to the dinner, they can stay upstairs out of the way. Anything…unpleasant needs to take place in the lower levels. The walls are much better warded there, and any spells you practice less likely to be detected. Oh, and don't forget—we need to go to Diagon Alley next week and finish picking up your supplies for school. Young Mr. Goyle's funeral is tomorrow. Perhaps you should issue most of your invitations there. It's not quite proper, but it would be easier. I had hoped to speak with Professor Snape there." She blinked and her mouth trembled.

"Yes, Mother," he said, and left the room to allow her to react in private. He went into the nearest bathroom and was suddenly ill. As soon as he washed up, he rolled up his sleeve and looked at the horrible black thing on his arm. Why not practice now? Draco held his wand to the Mark. He didn't know exactly what spell to use, but closed his eyes and visualized Snape in his mind. "My strength to yours, from apprentice to master," he muttered.

He dropped his wand as he reeled with pain and confusion. Young Malfoy bit his lip in fear. He forced himself to pick up his wand to try again. He felt less the second time, as if something—or someone—was fading away.

_You can't die, professor, I won't let you!_ he thought. For a moment he felt so weak that his legs buckled and he hit the floor on his knees. But that was all right. That meant his offering had been accepted. He put his wand away, left the bathroom for his room, and collapsed onto the easy chair in one corner. He rang for a tray. _I have to rest and eat. Then I can try it some more. When everyone is here, we can give what we have all at once._

Bella Lestrange

She laughed to see Snape so helpless. It was clear he was no longer the favorite. She'd been terrified on Sunday morning when her Lord fell, his hand to his chest. It had been mostly her hard work that had kept Riddle alive, as Pettigrew had been too busy panicking. Her master's breathing had grown more and more labored as that dreadful hour wound on. If the pain hadn't stopped when it had, Bella knew that Voldemort would have needed a new body.

She really hadn't expected Snivellus to confess so readily. In his place she would have gladly thrown her lord one of those idiot apprentices to torment instead. It still annoyed her that her master still showed the Potions Master so much affection even now.

The two of them dumped Snape's body next to a tree in the Forbidden Forest, though leaving him in the nastiest part of Knockturn Alley as a free victim to the predators there certainly had its charms. The Headmaster would have had to answer questions as to why one of his staff members had ended up there as well. However, the Dark Lord sometimes had a depressingly literal turn of mind, and would be upset if she changed the orders.

Snape was alive _now_, and that was all that counted. Not that he would last long. There were enough nasties in the Forest that Snivellus might end up as someone's dinner anyway.

"Let's go, Bella," Pettigrew said.

"I suppose so." She kicked Snape one more time in the ribs. Then she waved her wand and said, "And a Crucio to grow on!" The man's body quivered, then went limp.

"I think you did too much." Wormtail bent down to check Snape's pulse.

"He's still alive, isn't he?" Not that it mattered as far as she was concerned. As long as she didn't check, she could truthfully say that Snivvy was and that Peter must be mistaken to say the opposite.

"Barely. We'd better leave."

"Aw, ickle Peter scared by the vicious trees!"

"You know there's more here than trees—watch out!" He Apparated away.

She turned and gasped. A Muggle car revved its engine and headed straight for her! Bella Lestrange would have preferred Aragog to this horrible machine. She Apparated out as well.


	24. Chapter 24: Funeral Games

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 24: Funeral Games

(Though not _his_. Calm down.)

Filius Flitwick

The Weasleys' former car stopped three feet from the limp body of the man and honked its horn over and over again. Tattered shreds of Acromantula webbing clung to the rear-view mirror on the driver's side. The sound finally stopped when the tiny Charms Professor flew by on a broom and gently patted it on the hood. "Thank you," he said. Flitwick was glad it was still daylight. He shuddered at how it would be like to search this place at night.

The car doors popped open. Flitwick levitated Snape off the ground with extreme care and gentleness into the rear seat of the Ford Anglia. Fortunately it was used to transfiguring to become wide enough for all the Weasley family and their gear, so Snape was able to lie down properly in the back even with the doors now closed. A stretcher was simply too unprotected for this section of the Forbidden Forest. The small wizard charmed the seatbelts in back to wrap around the unconscious Potions Master and guard him from falling. The car rolled forward in first gear and took each bump as if carrying eggs.

Once to the edge of the forest, the rear doors flew open once more. Flitwick spelled the seatbelts open, then slowly floated Snape out of the machine into a conjured stretcher. The car took off. Filius was glad that he and the dour Slytherin had freed it earlier this summer.

He stopped for a moment and checked his charge. Snape was still alive, though barely. He had clearly been physically beaten and Flitwick could almost smell the many hexes on the poor man. Soon they were both in the infirmary.

Both Madam Pomfrey and the Headmaster were there. Dumbledore almost looked his age just now. "Is there anything I can do?"Filiushadheard all about the Potions regime and was terrified of causing more harm.

"Stay out of Poppy's way," Dumbledore said.

They both watched the mediwitch beginning her preliminary exam. "I wish I knew more healing spells," Flitwick said.

"Your work on the Kettle of Ceridwen variation may be our only hope," Albus said. "I'm glad that Mrs. Weasley and Binns between them remembered it. Given that the only one capable of making it as a potion is…" The old wizard sat down and put his head in his hands.

"I wish I could have everything ready sooner than Saturday." He had a horrible feeling that his efforts would be too late. Yet an incomplete effort would be useless.

Dumbledore sat back up and sighed. "So do I."

They both watched Poppy work. Then she looked up. "Filius," she said, "do you know the Knitbone Charm?"

"I'm not certain what you mean, madam. Why not Skele-Gro?" He felt like a wart the moment he mentioned it.

"That dreadful Swiss regimen," the mediwitch said. "Maybe you know it under another name. The Osteo Malagum, perhaps?"

"I believe I do." Flitwick searched his memory. "It will be terribly painful." The charm forced bones to line back up and adhere to their basic form, though it did not restore anything lost the way Skele-Gro did.

"I know," the older witch said in a tired voice. She gently smoothed the Potions Master's hair away from his forehead.

"I see." The small wizard walked over, brought his wand to bear, and chanted the spell. The unconscious man cried out briefly, shook, then went limp again. "Does he have any head injuries? This spell doesn't help with soft tissue damage. It may have been better to leave any skull fractures alone."

"I'll check for that now. But he had at least one extremely bad reaction to the Cruciatus this summer, and I very much fear—"

Flitwick finished her thought in his own mind. They all knew about the Longbottoms. He also knew that Severus would rather die than lose his sanity to that extent. "I know some charms for pain," he said. "They won't last as long as a potion, but I'll renew them as often as necessary." Then he noticed that the skin around Snape's lips was blue. "If you will allow me, I will research some for his heart and lungs as well."

Pomfrey nodded, obviously too overcome to speak. Flitwick was glad to make a temporary escape from this chamber of agony.

Poppy Pomfrey

"Will it do any good for Filius to keep working on the variation of the Ceridwen spell?" Poppy asked. She searched her mind for healing techniques that didn't need potions.

"How badly off is he?" Albus asked, his own face ashen.

"He's dying. He might last till Saturday, or he might not. And we have no idea if Flitwick's spell will work." Her heart sank as she continued to monitor Severus.

"I don't want him to leave us without knowing how we truly feel about him," Dumbledore said, who looked ashen. "Even if that's all we can offer, he deserves it." He paused. "Are there other healers at St. Mungo's or at the clinic in Switzerland who could help?"

The mediwitch appreciated the Headmaster's delicacy. She considered who she knew. "They might be able to keep him alive," she said. "But how much of him would actually survive?" Her voice shook. "Would you really wish that kind of _life_ on him, Albus? If he does fully recover, he'll have to go back for the sake of the Order. How many times will he be able to do it before he's killed or turned into a mindless lump of flesh? I wish I hadn't insisted on those blood tests. He could have had some time this summer when he didn't feel ill." She sat down and started crying, hopelessly. "If he gets through this one, what about the next? And the one after that? Even if you tell him it's over, that he's finally done enough, he'll worry over those students of his. And I have to keep patching him together just so he'll be torn apart again…"

Dumbledore offered her a handkerchief and sat down as well. "It will be over someday, I promise you. Riddle won't win."

"I know," the mediwitch said wearily. "But will Severus live to see it? Or if he does, will he be sent to prison with the other Death Eaters because the Ministry wants to look efficient? What am I saving him for, Albus?"

"For all the rest of us, Poppy," the Headmaster said gently. "Others have already died in this war. He won't be the first or the last. We will go on, because we must."

She looked at him. Tears ran down the ancient wizard's face and into his beard. "I know," she said hopelessly.

"But I fear you may be right about Azkaban," he continued. "The moment my protection is…is gone, he won't have a chance against Moody or those fools in the Ministry."

"And whose fault is that?" she replied tartly.

"Mine. I've told Harry that he needs to respect Snape, but I have never given him any reason to do so. The Occlumency sessions only made things worse. There are things I can do with the Ministry to help Severus as well."

"Perhaps you won't need to," Poppy said waspishly, knowing she was venting her own despair on the Headmaster. She examined Snape again. Her patient's color was a little better, and he seemed to breathe easier than he had before. Perhaps Flitwick's spell had eased the ribs enough to allow the lungs to expand with less pain.

That was odd. The Mark was warmer than the area around it, but didn't seem to be painful to the touch. Its magical signature was also different than she was used to seeing. To her eyes, it always had a black aura to it if it were visible at all. This time its feel seemed _lighter_, and she had no idea how that was possible.

Poppy was glad Severus was more comfortable, but that didn't change the prognosis. The Potions Master had been hurt too badly this time. He could probably last till Saturday, but not much longer. Albus had clearly pinned all his hopes on an ancient superstition. At this point it didn't matter. If the ritual gave Severus an easier death, she certainly had no objection.

She looked at the Headmaster, and waved her wand over him, too. "I'm sorry I lashed out at you," she said. "Nothing is going to change for a while. It would be best if you lie down." _And if you even think about attempting Legilimens to go look for him, I will put you in a body bind._

He winced elaborately. "Even I know better than that, Poppy. It is a temptation, if only to say good-bye, but I know I helped bring him to this through my meddling." Dumbledore got up, stepped over to Snape, and took both limp hands in his. "Go in peace, Severus. We'll watch over your apprentices if you can't. I want you to come back. I'll miss you. But you've given so much—" The Headmaster couldn't speak as more tears flowed out of his eyes. He took a deep breath and gently placed the Potions Master's hands back down. "If only you'll come back, I'll never complain about your temper again!"

Pomfrey wanted to smile. _That_ would last about a week! But she knew what Albus meant. She was heartsick over the prospect of losing her most obstreperous patient.

But she dare not lose two. "Headmaster, I still have an extra bed around somewhere," she said firmly. "You _must_ rest now. I will gladly summon Dobby if you need help."

"You mean that, don't you," the old wizard said as he wiped his eyes. He patted Severus on the shoulder as gently as he would a newborn child, and left.

The mediwitch levitated an easy chair over, along with a lap table and some paperwork. It was going to be a long vigil, and she needed to rest when she could as well. If only Flitwick could put his spell together sooner!

Draco Malfoy

Goyle's funeral was well attended by the pureblood families, including the Edgecombes. To Draco, it was nearly a Slytherin house reunion. If only his godfather could have been here!

"A pity that Professor Snape could not attend," said Greg's mother, echoing his thoughts. "He was the only teacher at Hogwarts who really took an interest in my boy."

Narcissa calmly stepped in before Draco could say anything. "His health has been quite bad this summer. When I sent him an invitation for Saturday night, I was unable to contact him. The Headmaster told me that he was indisposed. Those Swiss have him on a rather nasty regimen to counteract the side effects of his potions work throughout the years."

Draco wanted to hex Mrs. Goyle till she confess how Greg had really died, and then hex her again for her hypocrisy acting as chief mourner. Mother would object, though. He noticed the unhappy faces of his friends went over to talk to them.

"Has anyone heard how the professor really is?" Zabini asked, fidgeting uncontrollably.

That was strange. Blaise used to hold himself as still as a rock. Before this summer.

"Mother is trying to find out," Draco said. "I hope we know something soon. I'd like to be able to tell everyone better news soon." He'd tried to send strength to his godfather through his Mark till he was exhausted. Mother had caught him at it, and had made him sleep and eat before trying it again.

"You don't look good yourself," Pansy said.

"Oh, I'll be all right. I'm worried about Vince, though. He won't say anything, but you can tell how he feels. I hope you can make it to the Manor tomorrow night. Here's your invitation." A quick Engraving Duplication spell combination had done the trick. Mother rarely allowed that, but this had been very short notice.

"Thank you, Drake," his fiancée said coyly.

"I mean all of us, including the Edgecombe girl and even Weasley," he said softly.

She pouted.

He used to think it was adorable. "This is too important, dear," he said, taking her hand. "This is our chance to talk about what's happened without anybody listening in. Of course we'll have times for just the two of us together. Please, darling, don't make a fuss. I don't know what I'd do without you." With Pansy, one had to ladle it on with a trowel. He didn't dare antagonize her, though. Their future marriage had been arranged since both of them were toddlers.

She looked up at him adoringly. "I'm worried about the professor, too," she said quietly. "He was so…_different_ yesterday. Who knows what the Headmaster is doing to him now?"

"That's one of the things I'm worried about. He probably knows who we are by now. We might not be allowed to go back to Hogwarts, or be under restrictions if we do. I'm…I'm more afraid of what my aunt did after the three of them disappeared. That's why I'm inviting Weasley and Edgecombe. Pettigrew might have told his apprentice what went on, or Auntie might have bragged to hers."

"That's going to be strange with those two there," Pansy said, shaking her head.

"We'll just have to be careful what we say, especially, because her mother makes her tell everything. Of course, we know how to deal with _that_." Draco had managed squealers before and no doubt would again. Snape had taught him a lot.

"Yes," Pansy said with a cruel smile. "Amazing what that Mudblood came up with, isn't it? Too bad she's a Gryff. Did you hear what she did to Umbitch when the woman tried to hurt her precious Potty?"

Draco had, but tried to look surprised when Pansy related the story. "Maybe I'd better not whinny if the Minister shows up at dinner Saturday night," he said as he made a clip-clop sound with hollowed hands.

Pansy laughed at that. He remembered then why he'd never strangled her no matter how annoying she could get. Her merriment was like that of a slightly tipsy angel, and he could forgive a lot just to hear it.

"I wish I'd known that when the three of us tried going after the little bastard on the train last spring," he said ruefully. "Mother made sure the Prophet didn't publish the pictures, but Snape received copies somehow and used them to remind me to look before I hex."

Pansy giggled. "I saw them, too. You were still awfully cute."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't worry. I won't get caught like that again. First a ferret, then a slug—I'm slow some days, but that lesson's learned. That's one of the things I want to talk about. If…If my godfather doesn't come back, we'll have to watch out for ourselves. And for the younger students." They'd have to look out for the firsties especially. Snape had talked about the way he organized Slytherin often enough that Draco thought he remembered most of it. The professor had sacrificed himself when he could easily have blamed one or more of the apprentices. The least they could do was to carry on his work.

Pansy nodded, her face serious now. "I've heard stories of what it was like before Snape was head of the house," she said. "I don't want it be like that. The DA could be the Marauders all over again if we let them. We have to hold together."

"No argument about that!" Draco pecked her on the cheek and moved on to talk to the rest. Then he saw poor Vince standing by the closed coffin. "I miss him, too," he told his friend.

Crabbe nodded. The rumor was that he hadn't said a word since Monday afternoon, though Greg's death hadn't been announced till the next morning. Draco had a terrible feeling why. "I'm going to need you more than ever, Vince," he said. "Don't go away where nobody can find you."

"They killed him!" Vince roared, pounding one fist on top of the lid. "They killed him!"

"It was a broom accident," Draco said, and tried to pull the huge young man away. "It could happen to anyone. Come with me, Vince. We need to talk."

At last his friend shuffled away from the bier, as if Draco was a tugboat hauling a barge several times its size. Young Malfoy had his friend sit down with him at one of the tables in the next room, away from others. He waved down a house elf and ordered. "Butterbeer for me and firewhiskey for him, a double."

The elf looked doubtful. Then Vince bent down and began sobbing into his ham-like hands. "They killed the professor, too," he said in a softer voice.

"He's still alive," Draco said. "We'd know if he weren't." He leaned over and whispered, "I've been trying to send him strength through the Mark. He's still there. I'll ask Mother to Floo the Headmaster and find out for sure, but he's not dead, honest." Not yet.

"But they killed Greg."

"I'm having a get-together Friday night," Draco said. "It's better if we talk about that there." He was terribly afraid his friend was right. Mrs. Goyle was a fierce woman, a Black on her mother's side. He was surprised, actually, that she hadn't been on the Ministry raid last spring with her husband.

"All right, Drake," the larger young man said humbly. "You know what's best. Could you show me how to do that strength thing?"

"On Friday we'll send him everything we have all at once. I think…I think he'll last till then," Draco said. He hoped he was right.

The drinks arrived. He sipped at his butterbeer, and made sure Crabbe drank all his firewhiskey. Vince just cried, then, till his napkin was sodden, while Draco made soothing noises. He wished he could cry, too.

A few moments later, Mrs. Crabbe stood near the table and rested her hand on her son's shoulder. She was a thin, tired-looking woman with sad eyes and nondescript brown hair. "Thank you," she said to Draco. "I've been so worried about you not talking, love," she added as she stroked Vince's hair. "We're going home now."

"Not till we make sure Greg is all right," Vince said, wiping his face. "Drake and I both need to be there. He's got his wand, doesn't he?"

"Why, I don't know," his mother said. "It would be odd if he didn't."

"He needs his Beater club, too. He was one of the best that's ever been."

"I'll go ask," Mrs. Crabbe said. She hesitantly approached Mrs. Goyle, who was obviously angered by the question.

Crabbe leaped to his feet. Draco hastily followed. "Don't you talk to m'mother like that, Mrs. Goyle!" Vince said gruffly. "She was only asking because I wanted to know. He was my best friend ever." His fists were clenched. Vince didn't get upset very often, but could go off like a Longbottom cauldron when he did.

Mrs. Goyle blinked, and said, "His broom was in pieces, and his wand was broken as well. It was in his pocket when he landed, you see. But what's left is with him. I hadn't thought about the Beater club. Plink, go up and bring it down here."

A house elf scurried away, and quickly came back down with a club. Mrs. Goyle handed it to Vince. "Lay this on top of the coffin. It will go with him at the end."

Crabbe mumbled his thanks and shuffled back into the other room. Draco followed him. Vince opened the heavy lid. Greg lay there, his face black as if he'd been strangled, and deep, nasty marks around his neck.

"Don't say anything, Vince," Draco muttered hastily. He'd never seen a broom accident that left injuries like that. "He might have landed on some dangerous bushes. You know the weird stuff they grow on this estate."

"They don't grow Devil's Snare outside. Doesn't like light," his friend said.

Oh, _now_ Vince had to remember his Herbology! "It doesn't matter right now. We'll talk about this on Friday at the Manor when no one else is listening. Give him his club, Vince. He won't like it if he can't knock Bludgers into someone wherever he ends up. And leave it on top of the lid the way his mother said. This is her house. Besides, everyone should see the club. They all know how much he liked being a Beater."

Crabbe did as he was told. As always, Draco marveled at his friend's strength. He didn't think he could have lifted the lid himself without magic, let alone hold it this long. Young Malfoy made sure his friend was seated with another firewhiskey while he delivered the rest of his invitations to the other apprentices. Weasley's would have to be owled.

At last it was time for the send off. He and Vince stood in the front rank along with the blood kin in the circle after one of the uncles had levitated the coffin outside. "_Incendio!"_ everyone chanted. The coffin, and their friend, went up in flames.

Vince broke down completely then. His mother led him away. Draco felt faint, then felt a firm grip on his own elbow. Mother was always stronger than anybody thought, and easily steered him towards the Floo. She made her excuses to Mrs. Goyle, and they both returned to Malfoy Manor.

Narcissa ordered Marta to put him to bed. Draco didn't argue. The old, snippy house elf treated him like a child, but this time he didn't mind.

He woke up from his surprise nap at dinner time. He made sure he ate well. If he wasn't strong, a lot of other people were going to be in trouble. Besides, his appetite was greater than it had been since his last growth spurt.

"Draco," his mother said at the table, "You mustn't do—what you've been doing for tonight and most of tomorrow. I know you're worried about your godfather, and so am I. But the Ministry owl came while you were resting, and you've received permission to visit your father in Azkaban tomorrow. Lucius will guess what you've been up to, and that might lead to questions and answers that nobody wants to hear. You don't have as much experience keeping things from him as I do. I told him nothing at all happened on Sunday. Marta has made sure none of the house elves will speak of it, not even Kreacher."

"I'm going to tell him what Aunt Bella did to the professor," Draco said. "He won't like that." He was glad that Snape had reassured him that he wasn't involved with either of his parents. Draco knew that his father still felt protective towards the Potions Master. Mother was right, though. Father wouldn't like him having doubts.

Narcissa inclined her head. "That is certainly appropriate. I wish I could tell her what I thought of it, but your godfather was clear on how I must show him less public favor than I would like to in order to protect my reputation while Lucius is away. However, your father may be able to influence others even in his current position." She drank some tea. "I am quite surprised that the Headmaster behaved so…oddly in regards to the professor. It may be best if your godfather is removed from this game entirely for his own sake before it's too late."

The thought terrified Draco. Unfortunately, his mother might be right. If the two strongest wizards in Britain were going to treat his godfather like a straying Quaffle, Snape might not last much longer. "I know. We mustn't be selfish." He choked on his pumpkin juice. "He's done so much for us."

"I would be unhappy as well," his mother said. "He's been my representative at Gringotts this summer, as well in several legal actions. You may as well know, if you don't already, that I am contesting Sirius Black's will on behalf of the remainder of the family. Since Black was also Harry Potter's wizarding guardian, his departure leaves an opening. I am petitioning to replace the unlamented Mr. Black, because of my blood relationship with him. I don't expect either action to succeed, but they will certainly muddy the waters. We will be in an excellent position, I might add, if either action proceeds all the way through chancery. Circumstances have changed since I began the suits, and we both know which way our loyalties lie. However, you may have to endure a visit from young Mr. Potter. I pray it will be supervised, since then we will have all the reason in the world to allow him to survive it. I do hope that won't be a problem."

_My godfather isn't the only one who can put a touch of the whip in a voice,_ Draco thought with admiration. His mother could do it too. "Just because I regret taking the Mark doesn't mean I want to have the stupid Gryffindork or his horrible friends around me," he said, aghast at the prospect. "But I can show him that a Malfoy knows how to behave anyway."

"Good. Severus was ah, awkward among those of good breeding when he was younger. It's obvious that Mr. Potter was raised in much the same way by those wretched Muggles. It may be our duty to show him proper manners. Even though his mother was a Muggleborn, he's still a Potter. He really should see more of the real wizarding world than the Burrow."

Draco couldn't argue with _that_. From what he'd heard, the professor had been raised by canal rats in Knockturn Alley. That could explain a lot about Potty, if those Muggles were the same sort of people. No pureblood should dress as if they'd found their clothes in a dustbin, or had to borrow them from the Weasleys.

"I wish you had become friends that first year, the way your father wanted," Narcissa said. "Really, you could have guided him much better."

"I suppose I shouldn't have taunted the redhead," Draco said ruefully. He'd had another chance later on that year in the Forbidden Forest, but had been so frightened that he'd run off with Fang instead of sticking close to the Gryffindor. If he had once tried to help the Trio with a prank instead of trying to get them in trouble, that might have worked as well. "Snape tried to tell me where I was going wrong, but I was a Malfoy, so of course I knew better." He'd give anything to have those dark eyes pinning him down, or that rich voice raking him over the coals once more. "Last year it was just so much fun to play along with the toad, I didn't listen to the professor either."

"Her name is Madam Umbridge. Despite her somewhat middle-class origins, she has earned that dignity."

"Mother, if you had seen her last year you wouldn't think she had earned anything," Draco said. "The Weasley twins ran rings around her. Even Trelawney would have made a better Headmistress, sherry and all. The Professor was ready to strangle her. We all thought it was funny the way she'd flutter her eyelashes around him, but we didn't dare say anything.

"It was weird. Umbridge just took points from girls, but always gave detentions to boys. Blaise had one, and told me about her quill." Draco shuddered, thinking about the scars on his friend's hand. "I made up my mind I wasn't having any, and joined the enforcers. I talked Blaise into doing it, too, and told him to keep his mouth shut no matter how often she was wrong. Sometimes I think he should have been a Raven. But Professor Snape was right. I should have taken my chances. He told me she wouldn't last long, and the memories of the other students were longer. "

"What was special about her quill?" his mother asked.

"When you did lines with it, it cut into your hand. It's supposed to hurt a lot. Potty would never back down, and he had to do a lot of them. And since the writing hand is usually the wand hand, too, that would slow anybody down." Except it didn't. The Gryffindor had charged like a warhorse down the hall of the train compartment and summoned his friends. Pain never slowed down Professor Snape, either. Nothing did, at least till now. _I'll have to learn that,_ Draco thought. _Better late than never. How can I take his place, if only a little, if I give up so easily?_

He spent the evening resting and eating. He wanted to send the professor more strength, but Mother was probably right and Father would be able to sense what he'd done. Draco tried to discern how his godfather was. As far as he could tell, the Potions Master was still alive, but he wasn't skilled enough to figure out anything more.

Draco did spend a little time on the Floo chatting with those he'd invited to the party. Well, except for the Edgecombe girl, whose mother guarded her from anyone's influence but her own, and Weasley, who worked at the Ministry. He still thought both of them would come to his gathering. Mrs. Edgecombe would soon learn that her daughter's Dark Mark came with obligations that she could not control—besides, Mother had promised to talk to her. Weasley would be the first of his family to be invited here for a long time. Draco couldn't blame the stiff-collared young man for being embarrassed by his clownish father and his peasant mother.

The next day, after breakfast, he used the Portkey the Ministry had sent him along with his permit at the appointed time, and soon found himself in the anteroom of the prison in Azkaban. Draco surrendered both the Portkey and his wand before being allowed to go any further. He was glad that the Dementors were gone. _I'll probably see them again after what I've done,_ he thought.

He was quickly escorted to his father's cell. It was actually a fairly pleasant, though small, room furnished with a bed, night-stand, and two chairs, with a modest cabinet. A screen covered one corner, which Draco very much feared hid the lav. Father must wield more influence than people thought to be in such a comfortable place. He'd had visions of cruel stone cells with bare pallets and drains.

Lucius swept him into a warm embrace. "You're looking well, son," he said.

Draco wasn't used to such open emotion from his father. "So are you," he replied. He wasn't that much shorter any more. That felt strange.

"Your mother reassured me that everything went well this weekend," said his father, letting his arms fall to his side. "Have a seat."

Draco took the plain wooden chair so his father could have the one with the worn cushion. "We…we were summoned Wednesday afternoon and were told what happened on Sunday. Goyle died the day before, and his funeral was yesterday. I'm having some friends over tonight to, um, talk about a few things. Mother said the lower levels were warded so we could get some practice on some new spells there, though with the extra wands we shouldn't be monitored anyway. But we need to learn to coordinate better."

Father nodded. "That was brilliant of Snape to come up with that solution to the problem. It would be difficult to practice properly with the Ministry learning too much too quickly." He suddenly turned for a moment and twisted a lamp a quarter turn. "Now we can be a bit more frank. But I heard that there was a problem with him at this last meeting."

Draco tried hard to look unconcerned. "It was Snape who stopped the loyalty spell, or so he said. But he claimed the Headmaster had put him under the Imperius Curse, and when Aunt Bella chanted the spell to reveal it, there were clouds of purple everywhere."

"Those dissipate in less than a day," the older man said. "The spell must have been withdrawn not long before he felt our master's call."

"The Dark Lord said he had to be punished anyway," Draco said. "But I think, I think Aunt Bella hit him too hard. Mother hasn't been able to contact him. I can feel enough through the Mark to know he's still alive, but that's all. That's why I invited both Weasley and Miss Edgecombe to the party tonight. They might have heard more about what happened after my aunt, Wormtail, and the professor left the hall."

Lucius frowned. "Severus hasn't been allowed to visit me so far, but I keep hearing that he's not well."

"He had to go on a regimen for potions poisoning. I think he's been sick most of the summer from it. But you should have seen the Crucio he let loose at one of our practice sessions! We'd all had a chance to try it, and the target was down on the ground. It wouldn't have taken much to finish him off. But when the Professor fired off his spell, it tore the man apart! I didn't think you could do that with the spell."

Lucius smiled. "I wish I could have seen it. He's always so controlled in public."

"Most of the time he still is. But this last meeting, he was…he was giving up. He said that the Headmaster suspected him now because of two prisoners here who were affected by the loyalty spell, but didn't kill themselves in time."

His father nodded. "Dumbledore isn't as stupid as he looks. You'd do well to remember that. Why was the Dark Lord upset in the first place?"

"The story is that sometime on Sunday morning, when the spell was released, Professor Snape put a knife in his own Dark Mark to stop it. Goyle, I always thought he was really one of us, but he died. The paper said it was on Monday, but maybe his mother just said that. There were a lot of black boxes on the front of the paper on Tuesday morning."

Lucius winced, probably thinking of how much that would hurt. "I should have felt that. I wonder why I didn't?"

"They have a lot of wards around here, but then the prisoners shouldn't have felt the spell either. I don't think Greg's death was an accident. Vince doesn't either, but I tried to make sure he didn't say anything wrong at the funeral. Pettigrew said at the meeting that since the spell was powered by a Dementor to be a suicide-charm, the professor would be more affected if any of his apprentices fell to it because he was here once. Maybe that's why the Dark Lord didn't let Aunt Bella kill my godfather. But if the Headmaster is really using Imperio on him, how can he be blamed for anything he did?"

His father looked thoughtful. "I never thought the old fool would use an Unforgivable. But he fought in the Grindelwald War, too, and they used everything then. He must be desperate to resort to such measures.

"Draco, you must protect yourself. Keep a low profile at school next year. It would be too suspicious to pull you out now and send you to Durmstrang. We'll need eyes and ears at Hogwarts. Pretend to cooperate as much as possible. After all, your mother may win her suit for Potter's guardianship. Malfoy pride is not the same as Malfoy stupidity. If you persist in thinking so, you may end up a slug permanently.

"Once I'm out of here, I'll lie low as well. This must be a quiet year. If nothing happens, it'll be easy to convince the Ministry that our raid was the final blow of desperate men and that the trouble has blown over. I'm afraid your godfather may end up a hostage instead of a spy. He must be able to convince Dumbledore that he's an innocent pawn in this affair. Perhaps my sister-in-law has done us all a favor. If Snape lives, the old fool will have to believe that he's the Dark Lord's victim, not his servant."

"If he lives," Draco whispered.

"Yes." His father's face hardened. "We must find out what his current condition is. It would be easy for the Headmaster to allow Severus to die and blame it all on our master. We can't allow that to happen. Your sweet aunt must learn that Snape is truly valuable to our cause, and not just her personal whipping-boy." Lucius stood up, took a step, and then sat back down again. Draco knew his father wanted to pace, but there was no room.

Lucius continued. "Your duties this year will be to learn and to practice what you've been taught. Become a model student, no matter how the Gryffindors annoy you. I must admit, I can't really blame you for teasing the Weasleys or the Mudblood, but it has to stop. No more pranks. Besides, you're going to face retribution for helping Madam Umbridge. Let them have it."

"Father!"

"Yes, I know. I told you to go along with whatever she wanted. I had no idea she was _that_ incompetent. But you're young. You can be patient. See where not being patient has landed me! Pretend you are just being a good sport, as is the custom of this country. Be seen going out of your way to help others. Nobody will expect that!" Lucius laughed. "It will baffle most and dismay the rest, and that will be fun by itself."

"I, I was thinking that if Professor Snape isn't able to teach next year, that we would look after the firsties. He's told me how he listens to them, with the hot chocolate, and how he sets up the study groups so nobody is left out. I, I wished I had listened to him my first year."

His father's cold face softened. "So do I. At least you saw reason your second one. It is a pity about the Goyle boy. I'm not allowed contact with the other prisoners, of course, but I suspect his father is affected by all this as well. Who would have thought my friend's son would have had any doubts?"

"I could have talked to him if only he'd told me." Draco knew, though, that Greg would have been afraid to express anything he thought was wrong.

"You would have had to turn him in," Lucius said. "But I like your idea about watching over the first years. Snape is the best Head of House that Slytherin had had in a century. You could do much worse than emulate him in that respect. When I was a prefect my last two years, I did my best to look after the brats as well."

"Why didn't you become Head Boy?" Of course, Dumbledore had been Headmaster then as well. That no doubt explained it.

"Nasty rumors about me and a younger student," his father snarled. Draco was startled by the sudden change. Lucius continued. "As if it mattered! I had an arranged marriage staring me in the face, and didn't know your mother as well then. I thought I'd earned every bit of fun I could find before then. I heard how he was treated when I was gone. Frankly, he was far better off under my protection than afterwards."

Draco forced his face to stay blank. He remembered the letters he'd found addressing his father in childish terms of love. _Snape lied to me. He made it sound like a silly crush, when it was…when it was…_ He ducked his head, hoping this horror didn't show in his expression. _I know I've been a brat and a coward. Sometimes I push Pansy too hard, and I know she doesn't like it. But I've never—_never!_—looked at a younger student like that, not even a year behind me. Not even that little firebrand Weasley girl_.

No wonder the professor enforced such strict standards when it came to the younger students. He'd benefited from them himself his second year, when Vince and Greg had been doing a detention together with Filch. Marcus Flint and his cronies had decided to have some fun with the 'stuck-up baby'. Draco had thought then that his godfather's wrath had been because of their special relationship, but Snape had gone after any older student bothering a younger one, even if they weren't in Slytherin.

It was common knowledge that you could fool around one year up and one year down, but no more. Of course, that was for all of Hogwarts, and not just Slytherin, but their Head of House had reinforced the rule with his own personal promise of torment to anyone involved in such activity, even if he was the only one who caught them at it. No wonder Snape was always so buttoned up. He had good reason not to feel safe.

"I'm surprised you never guessed before," Lucius said with amusement in his eyes.

"I, I found some letters once," Draco said haltingly. "The professor said he was just being silly, the way the girls were over Lockhart in my second year. Well, and the Ravenclaw boy who brought flowers that one day. I didn't think much about it."

"Snooping again, boy? I'm surprised the wards didn't snap your fingers in two." His father looked unhappy.

"They almost did," Draco said. He felt his face going hot now. He wished he'd kept his mouth shut now.

"Well, I did everything I could for him. When his parents died and he had nowhere to go, I made sure he could stay at the Manor. It was a struggle to teach him manners, of course, but well worth the trouble. Once he was in the fold, he turned out to be one of our most valuable members. I never blamed him for crawling to the old fool to get out of Azkaban, of course. My influence could only extend so far, and I felt it was my fault that he was forced to such expedients. I would have done exactly the same thing in his position.

"Severus has always been very dear to me, Draco. He's proved himself a thousand times over. I can't think of anyone I trust more. He's all fire underneath that coating of ice. You saw a bit of that, I think, when he performed that Crucio." His father looked like a cat who had just drunk a bowlful of cream.

Draco turned his face away. He went over the conversation he'd had with Snape in his mind. True, the professor had denied Mother's infidelity, but had been vague about his father's. He hadn't actually denied being involved with Lucius, but had just given the impression of being stupid as a student. "Yes, father," he croaked. "I was just surprised. He looks…he looks at women or girls, not men, is all, if he um, notices them that way at all." The day that Mandy Brocklehurst had come in with her robes so tight, for instance, Snape's black eyes had focused on her just like his had done, only the professor quickly transfigured the garments much larger and looser on the spot. In fact, just after the TriWizard Tournament was over, Mrs. Weasley had visited the school and had been on her way out when Draco had noticed the professor's eyes flash, only to return to their normal blankness quickly when the older woman's light scarf had blown away from her neck and shoulders for just a moment. He decided not to mention that bit to his father, though. "I…I was just surprised," he repeated.

"What we have is special. No doubt he will marry someday to carry on his line. He has never betrayed my trust, though I must admit I wondered if he was ever tempted by you," his father said.

"It's never been like that!" Draco knew _that_ look. He'd gotten flowers once from that boy in Ravenclaw, too, though he'd pretended to everyone else they'd come from Pansy.

"I know. And being certain that Narcissa is safe with him watching over her almost makes this horrible place bearable."

Draco decided not to mention the way his mother sometimes looked at Snape. He believed his godfather was telling the truth about that. Then he realized how someone else looked that way at the professor, too. "What about Aunt Bella? Did she ever like him?"

"Only to kick him around because he wasn't as generous with her as he was with me," Lucius said. "Then he started mooning over that wretched Mudblood, who promptly rewarded him by marrying his chief tormentor. I took care of matters then. Once he saw her at the wedding, he gave up that nonsense!" He sighed. "I'm glad you're old enough for me to talk to you about this. I'm sure your mother would be scandalized. However, she knows all about her sister. Bella never let marriage slow her down, and frankly, has been upset for years because I don't like to share. I do hope your godfather isn't too badly hurt. In a way I'm glad the Headmaster had to use Imperio. He never would have done so if he'd been certain that Snape was _his_ lapdog."

_But I won't be yours,_ Draco resolved. _Or Voldemort's either._ "Of course, Father. I just hope the professor doesn't die."

"I feel the same way," Lucius said gently. "I've missed him."

Someone rapped at the door. "Time's up!"

His father turned the lamp back to its normal position. "Do well at school, Draco, and remember what I told you. It's up to you now to help restore our name."

Draco briefly embraced his father, though just now the touch bothered him. His father and Snape, doing _that_. Fortunately he wasn't able to imagine his godfather as a younger student. He was certain he would throw up if his mind was able to offer him that picture.

He left the cell, signed for his wand, and touched the Portkey to return him to Malfoy Manor. Everything felt strange now. Narcissa hugged him, unusually demonstrative for his mother, and he took comfort in her arms for a moment.

They sat in the smaller parlor and he gave her a carefully-edited version of the conversation he'd had with Father.

Narcissa turned her face away for a moment, then looked back at him. "You mustn't blame Severus," she said. "I believe for him it's always been necessity, rather than choice."

"You _know_?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Not till after we were married. Oh, dear, I never thought it started that long ago."

"I didn't say—" he stuttered.

She smiled sadly. "Your face went so red when you talked about helping the first year students, my darling, just after you danced around the…the other thing. I…put my foot down when you were born, and for quite a long time your father listened. I was the mother of his son, you see." Narcissa was quite pale now. "I had to accept what he was. I still loved him. But Severus has little choice, and last year…well, at the beginning, he was your father's apprentice through the Mark. There are duties and responsibilities both ways there, or so I am told, much like the claims on both sides between a family like ours and one obliged to us. The Snapes used to be a client family to the Malfoys a few centuries back, then broke away. When they fell a couple of generations back, Lucius' father tried to enforce the old ties. That failed, too. But that isn't your professor's fault. He's climbed out of the gutter the only way he knew how. Knockturn Alley is a cruel place, my dear, and I'm afraid your godfather learned some unpleasant lessons there. Your father was happy to take advantage of the situation. The fact that Severus normally desires women only makes his um, fealty of higher value than if he usually inclined to men.

"But, my darling, you know that Snape has cared for you as he would a son. We have never regretted entrusting your welfare to him. Someday, of course, he'll have a family of his own, and his children will be obliged to serve you. Fortunately your tastes aren't—aren't quite like your father's."

"No!" he shouted in horror. And what did Mother mean about last year?

"Good. That means I've done _something_ right. I'm certain you'll manage the situation much better than Lucius has. Of course, your father will have to approve your godfather's bride, and that has been a bit of a problem, but eventually things will go as they should. Severus is somewhat rebellious, but that's normal for Snapes."

"If he lives." Fear cramped his stomach.

One crystalline tear spilled from his mother's left eye. "Yes. If he lives." She wiped her face with a lace-edged handkerchief. "I have some Charms books that might have the enchantment I suspect you're looking for. Here is the key to the glass cabinet in the large parlor. Memorize where everything is and put it back exactly the way you found it."

'Yes, Mother," he said dully, holding the small golden object in his hand. He wanted to go up to his room and throw things just now, or weep into his pillow, or _something_. But other things were more important. "I'll start looking now."


	25. Chapter 25: Deathwatch

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 25: Deathwatch

Author's note: Thanks, as ever, to all my loyal reviewers. Thanks once more to Snape's Nightie, who is assisting me with Britpicking. Not HBP compliant, nor ever will be. Ten points to the house of the first reviewer who can guess Annie's last name (you know, the woman who kept pigs that Molly met at the romance convention. Hint: she is Paul Sheldon's number-one fan.)

Peter Pettigrew

Wormtail hastily dodged Mrs. Norris and scurried down to the hall. He hated this kind of work, but it was what he was best suited for. At last he made it inside the infirmary by way of the kitchen, where he picked up some gossip from the house elves, though one tiny one was curled up in a corner around a mug of butterbeer.

The black-haired wizard lay on a bed in the quiet infirmary, desperately still, while Madam Pomfrey sat in a chair by him.

Peter had always liked the mediwitch. She had never asked too many questions about his own bumps and bruises, though she had made the occasional caustic comment about the Marauders. He had never really hated old Snivellus, but it was far safer when the rest of his friends went after the ugly Slytherin. Sirius Black became bored _awfully_ easily.

But Pettigrew had always been impressed by Snape, especially this last year when the tall wizard had taken over so many apprentices. Renewing his own Mark had hurt a great deal, and that had been only once. Snivvy had managed ten, and from what rumor said, had gone on to put the Second Bond on them as well. _I haven't done that yet with the Weasley boy,_ Wormtail knew as he watched the unconscious man from a safe vantage point. _Then again, Bella hasn't done it with hers, either. Now we're both glad we didn't_. The Master had explained why Snape had felt the torment of his traitorous apprentice more deeply than they would have with theirs, once they had returned. When asked how he knew that they hadn't extended greater control over their apprentices, the Dark Lord had just smiled nastily. Pettigrew had decided then and there that Weasley wasn't the sort to make trouble and didn't need any further restraint. He was certain that his insane partner had been bright enough to agree, though for once she hadn't said anything.

Yet Snape was still worthy of respect for having so much courage, though it had brought him here. Even as Scabbers Peter had seen the revenge the Potions Master had taken for years on any Gryffindor. Only the Weasley who served him now and that bushy-haired Mudblood escaped most of the wrath generally unleashed on members of that house.

Wormtail would always remember the night more than two years ago when he'd lost his sanctuary. Chased by his own friends through the Forest, and during a full moon as well! A Grim and a werewolf on one side, and a pack of Dementors on the other had made his escape difficult. He'd sympathized with Snivellus as he had never done before.

Of course he had never really been a full member of the Marauders. He'd just been useful, was all. "Peter, go get us some food from the kitchen." "Peter, come and watch this!" "Wormtail, don't take on so, it was only a joke! Wait till you see how it looks on Snivvy!" "Sneak back into the classroom and get my books!" "Wormtail, what did you say on your Transfiguration essay?" But of course the glorious Marauders never understood. He still remembered Sirius Black's wrathful face and shout: "You should have died before you betrayed them!" Oh, yes. Bold talk from someone who gave himself up to the Aurors with a laugh and cowered in Azkaban, when he could have escaped any time he liked.

Being the servant of the Dark Lord was frightening, but not as much as being the pet of the Weasley twins had. Wormtail remembered resentfully how the two had treated him. He'd almost forgotten he was human while being their experimental toy. Oh, he had _plans_ for Fred and George when his day came!

He came back to the present with a start. Madam Pomfrey was at the Floo, now, almost crying as she spoke with some older wizard with a beard, asking him to work on a potion. That didn't make sense. Why wasn't she pouring her usual stock down Snape's throat? He scurried up a little closer and listened in.

"Magister, he's dying. I don't know how much the Headmaster has told you, but Professor Snape is badly hurt from…work that we asked him to do." She reeled off a list of injuries and hexes that sounded as if they should have been fatal. Had he and Bella really done all that? Or had Snivellus received more since his return? Surely not from the mediwitch, though. Pettigrew trusted her.

Then the Floo connection broke, and Madam Pomfrey sat down and wiped her eyes. Peter hastily went back to his first hiding place. After some time, she stood up with a sigh and turned over her chair to the Headmaster. What was the old man up to this time? In his position, there wasn't anything he could do but report back to the Dark Lord if he did anything to Snape.

Dumbledore only sat there, though, and didn't even take out his wand. Pettigrew knew better than to presume on the old wizard's apparent lack of attention to anything else, though. If he changed back into human form and attacked the Headmaster, he'd soon be a pile of ashes on the floor or taken away to Azkaban. Neither alternative would fulfill his mission.

After what seemed like forever, Dumbledore bent over and began weeping. Peter didn't understand. Why wasn't he doing anything? Maybe the Master was right, but if so, why was the Headmaster so unhappy? It was obvious that Snape was badly hurt, as he began making odd noises and twitched. The victims who sounded like that almost never came back.

Flitwick came in not long afterwards and performed a charm. Snape gave a sigh, and became limp again. The short wizard patted Dumbledore on the shoulder, wiped his own eyes, and left the old man sitting by the bed.

When McGonagall walked in and urged her old friend to lie down, only to sit in the chair herself, it finally dawned on Pettigrew that this was a death-vigil. Bella's final Cruciatus had been one too many. He remembered the last Muggle who'd made noises the way Snape had now. Bella had laughed, and told him that even if a Wizarding Healer had done his best, the fellow would end up just like Frank Longbottom. "He wiggled and gibbered just the same way," the horrible woman had said just a couple of months ago.

Wormtail left to report to the Dark Lord. He was glad when he resumed his human form once out of the anti-Apparation field around Hogwarts and went back to their sanctuary. Once there, he bowed before Voldemort, for once out of earshot of Bella Lestrange. "He's dying, my lord," Peter said. "He's making sounds like this—" he was a good mimic—"and twitching the way Madam Lestrange said Frank Longbottom did once. I, I should have told you what Bella did to Snape just before we left him in the Forest." He tallied up the extra hexes, including that last Crucio. "I made sure he was alive before that horrible Muggle car came after us, but he might have been injured by it as well."

The red eyes gleamed with fury. "I will deal with her," the high voice said. "However, if my Shadow has survived this long, we may hope he will continue to do so. Did you see what the others were doing to try to heal our lost brother?"

"Nothing! Flitwick gave him a charm to help with the pain, I think, but they aren't giving him anything but a bit of water. Pomfrey was talking with some wizard with a beard, begging him to develop a potion that was safe. She listed all his hurts and cried a little. I don't understand why he can't have the usual ones. Then she sat with him for a while. After that the Headmaster was there, but he didn't do anything but weep either. But that doesn't make sense, unless he knew I was there. The next one to sit down was McGonagall. I don't understand, my lord. If they're so worried about him, why aren't they giving him any potions?"

"He's supposedly been getting treatment from a clinic for what they used to call Brewer's Bogt," the Dark Lord said, after a moment's silence. "At least that is what I've heard. However, that would still make an excellent rationale for lack of treatment if they wish him to die and appear faultless. However, that does not excuse either one of _you_! I wanted Snape punished for show, not destroyed. If you two have ruined him, perhaps you'll experience what it's like!"

Peter cringed. "I tried to stop her, my lord!"

"We'll find out, won't we?" His master sent Nagini to bring Bellatrix to him.

She strode into the room and bowed. Voldemort hexed her to the floor.

"What was that for, my lord?" she asked, once she got her breath back.

"Did I not say that Snape was to be punished, not killed?" The Dark Lord was furious. Pettigrew slunk into a corner, hoping not to be noticed.

"He's tougher than he looks," she said. "Besides, he and that pack of useless brats have only wasted our time this summer. There's so much else we could have done, even with only the three of us. You can't imagine how bored I've been."

"My dear, do not presume on my fondness for you. Our numbers must grow, especially with many of our more effective followers in Azkaban. We must do as we did before and build on the younger generation. Snape is our key. He has grown since we were…away. Not only is he a Potions Master in his own right, but has taught his skills to hundreds. On top of that, he has been Head of Slytherin for fifteen years. Almost every pureblood family in Britain owes a debt to him. To be honest, I thought the old man would have driven our kind from Hogwarts by now. Without him, that could still happen."

"Where was he when we fought in the Ministry? Where was he when I and my husband rotted in prison?" Bella cried, though she didn't get up from the floor. "He spent last year cowering behind my brother-in-law's robes. Oh, he's marvelous at putting a Crucio on someone helpless, but what real good is he? His foolish leniency towards that idiot Goyle nearly cost you your life!"

_Oh-oh,_ Peter thought. _Our Master doesn't like being reminded of any weakness._

"I need him, Bella," the Dark Lord said with a sigh. "I need people who can _think_ and not just obey. We shall have to win his trust all over again if he recovers. You had better hope that he does, my dear. I cannot think of any revenge he would choose that could be worse than what I plan for you if we lose him to death or madness."

"I hear and obey, my lord," Bella said.

Wormtail could tell she didn't really mean it. _Maybe Snivellus will be grateful if I warn him when he comes back. Oh, Merlin, I hope he does. _He was so afraid of the woman sometimes, afraid of the Master, afraid of everything. Snape was the only one who stood up to anyone around here. _And look at what it's got him,_ he thought. _Maybe I'm better off after all._ Then he realized something. "What will happen to the rest of the apprentices if he dies?" he asked. He wasn't sure how to train the one he had. How would they manage the others?

"That is a very good question, Peter," the Dark Lord said, looking at him piercingly. "If they are not properly cared for, they may decide young Mr. Goyle was right to have doubts. In fact, Malfoy's son may convince the others that the professor needs to be avenged if his godfather should die."

"Draco will do what his father tells him," Bella said, now on her feet.

"I am tired of hearing from you," Voldemort said, and hexed her into silence.

Pettigrew thought she looked almost as ugly as that portrait in 12 Grimmauld Place just now. He remained quiet, though. She had ways of avenging herself out of the Master's sight.

"Peter, go back to Hogwarts and stand vigil for us," the Dark Lord said. "Severus deserves better than to be alone in that nest of do-gooders. You saw how he was treated last year, and Kreacher told us the rest. Oh, they weep for him now, but they aren't raising a hand to save him. I want a reliable witness to what happens to him."

Wormtail nodded. He still doubted that Madam Pomfrey would be a party to any plan to do away with Snape, but Dumbledore was capable of anything against the Slytherins. He'd seen how the Headmaster had put Snivvy in the wrong even after Lupin had almost killed him in the Shrieking Shack.

He bowed his head, then Disapparated.

Severus Snape

The Potions Master stood on a barren, sandy shore strewn with rocks and watched the tide come in. It wasn't cold, or hot, or _anything_ for that matter. He knew the sand and the small stones ought to feel gritty underneath his boots, but they didn't. The sky was gray, sodden with clouds that never released any rain.

He knew he had to be careful not to let the water touch him. Snape felt the pull of the tide. Part of him longed to let it take him. Yet even this half-life was better than the death that awaited him in the sea.

Sometimes he found himself disturbingly close to the foamy edge for no reason that he could see, and had to find purchase in the odd sand beneath to move away. A few times he'd suddenly been pulled closer to the rocky cliffs behind him without doing anything. He didn't understand it, especially when his left forearm became warm without any pain.

He knew he was really in the infirmary at Hogwarts, at least his body was, and that he might end up in the surf without wanting to if the efforts to heal him failed. Perhaps he was a fool to continue struggling like this, though he was certain the afterlife awaiting him was probably much worse than this gray shore.

Severus felt no pain here, though as time passed it became increasingly difficult to resist the pull. What was the use, really? If they were able to heal him, surely they would have by now. Why shouldn't he just give up?

For some reason it felt as if it had been a long time since his arm had grown so oddly warn. Now he dare not let his thoughts wander. Every time he did, he slid closer to the waves. Sitting was no help at all. The ground underneath him didn't let him put his fingers into the sand to stop his progress towards the water, and he barely got to his feet in time.

He turned his back on the ocean and tried to walk away as far as possible. That brought him to a sheer cliff that blocked his progress. At least that offered him a rocky spur to hold, though the effort began to weary him. Severus tried to take a strip of cloth off the bottom of his black teaching robe so he could tie himself to the projection, only to find that he could not pull so much as a thread from any of his clothing.

The wind whipped up. His hands hurt now from the effort of hanging on. He turned his head and saw the Headmaster walking along the sand as if on an ordinary beach. "Albus!" Severus shouted, trying to be heard over the sound of the increasingly nasty weather. "This is too dangerous for you! Go back!" He knew it would be impossible for Dumbledore to take him along, unfortunately.

"We are going to try a new spell tomorrow," the old wizard said as he drew nearer to the cliff. He looked more ancient than ever. "You must endure till then. I know it will be hard."

"What happens if it doesn't work?" The pull was stronger now, as was the wind. It took all his strength to hang on here.

"Then I will come here again to say good-bye," the Headmaster said. He wiped his face. "I have asked too much of you already to force you to live imprisoned in St. Mungo's."

"What if…what if that's better than what's out there waiting for me?" Severus didn't want to show how frightened he was, but couldn't help it.

"Greater love hath no man, than to lay down his life for a friend," said Albus. "You sacrificed yourself for those students of yours. I cannot believe you would be condemned after that."

_It must be nice to be a Gryffindor,_ Snape thought, _and be so certain that virtue is rewarded. I see that Slytherins are still 'my' students rather than ours or his. But there's no point carrying grudges here. It doesn't matter how I feel, not really. I've been a fool to think it ever did._ "Thank you for coming, Albus," he said softly. "But you must go back."

The Headmaster held out his arm. "Then come with me."

Snape shook his head. "I would only drag you down with me."

"How do you know until we try?"

That was a good point. At least until Dumbledore discovered that as soon as he came too close, the wind slammed him away and nearly blew him into the surf as well. Twice. "Thank you for trying," Severus said in a voice that broke. "You _must_ go, Albus."

The old wizard nodded, then faded away. Not long after, Snape's grip slipped away from the rock and he was halfway down the beach toward the water again. Now he was truly weary. Once more he turned his face away from the sea and struggled back towards the cliff, only to fall face-forward into the sand. He clawed his way back to his feet, but swayed as he stood. He suspected that in the real world, his body was truly failing.

"You'd better hang on!" said an odiously familiar voice.

Snape looked to his left and saw Sirius Black strolling on the beach as if it were a holiday. "Why would you care?" he retorted.

"Oh, I don't, not really. But what they've got ready for you—oh, I don't want to talk about it," Black said, rolling his eyes.

Severus felt the usual rage well up in him. Then he sighed, and let it go. He knew his crimes much better than the Gryffindor did. One attempted murder and a life of being annoying was nothing compared to his own offenses as a Death Eater. Even this summer he'd nearly torn a man to bits with an Unforgivable. No doubt Black was simply being accurate.

"What? No sneers? No comebacks? You must be slipping, Snivellus."

Another voice spoke, though Snape couldn't see the source. "Oh, Sirius, I am disappointed in you."

A woman said those words, a woman he had not seen for years since he'd held her body in his arms after the Dark Lord had killed her.

"Lily?" he whispered, as he swung his head from side to side looking for her. The pull of the sand kept getting stronger. He stepped backward merely to stay in place now.

She materialized next to Black. "You were supposed to encourage him to stay alive by telling him how much the others need him, Sirius, not frighten him with hints of what lies beyond this beach. I see you didn't mean it when you said you'd learned your lesson." Potter's godfather disappeared.

"Lily," he said again. She looked to him here as she had the last time he'd seen her alive. "He has a right to be angry with me for the way I've treated your son. All of you do."

Her green eyes glowed like jewels. "You helped him a great deal this summer. But why did you give Harry your memories of me?"

"They would have been useless if I'd kept them," Severus said bleakly. "I'm here, after all. I'm glad I was allowed to see you one last time before I go…wherever it is I'm going." He drank in the sight of her face. If he were allowed memory in the Pit, he would nourish his heart on this one, even though now he would add Molly Weasley's freckled hands and warm embrace to his list of comforts.

"Only those who refuse healing are sent to torment," Lily said soberly. "Even Voldemort will be allowed that choice, though there is pain in both directions. Yet the worst ends as soon as the soul consents. At worst _you_ would be given another life after a sleep and a forgetting. As part of our own healing we were shown what you have endured, Severus, and what you have done since." Her eyes grew brighter.

_Tears? For_ me Snape wondered. Moaning Myrtle cried endlessly, but only for herself.

"But please…please try to stay in the world, no matter how cruel," she continued. "Someone needs to fight for Harry. Albus has such complex plans that he forgets that other people are real at times. You've done more for my son with the Dursleys in two months than Dumbledore has all these years."

"I'll…I'll try," Snape said, still unable after all these years to deny Lily anything she asked of him. "The Headmaster spoke to me of a spell. If that fails, I don't know if I can find my way back."

"That's all I ask," she said, then faded away.

The beach narrowed as the tide continued to come in, and never receded the way a normal ocean would. It was harder to stay on the beach instead of being pulled into the waves. Even when he turned his back and dug his heels into the strange sand he made little headway against the creeping line of foaming water.

The cliff seemed impossibly far away. It shouldn't be if the beach were narrowing, but so it was. _Red Queen's race,_ he thought, wondering where he'd heard the term. Lily had been kind beyond words to reassure him that he wouldn't face what he really deserved in the afterlife, but he knew better than to believe her. Black's gloating look had told him the truth.

The sky darkened. Despite his wearying struggle, he kept sliding towards the crashing surf. "I'm trying, I'm trying," he muttered out loud to himself, though by now he'd almost forgotten why.

For just a moment he felt Poppy's hand on his forehead and her soft voice murmuring to him. The sensation faded, and then he did feel pain. _A sleep and a forgetting, _he thought. That sounded very attractive just now. He was surprised that his 'body' hurt so much. Wasn't death supposed to bring an end to pain? Or was the soul pressed and squeezed for departure from the world the way a tiny body was in birth? _Oh, I hope Lily is right!_ Severus thought desperately.

Spheres of light gathered and floated over the water towards him, and he heard singing. _Perhaps it won't be so bad after all. Black might have been lying to me._ Surely this wasn't how demons came to fetch their prey.

Then he heard other voices that sounded like his students. A golden lifeline, writhing like a snake, made its way from the cliff so far away and wrapped itself around his left arm. He clutched to it with both hands till he was dragged all the way up to the rock again. The line disappeared before it could take him further, but he found that he had regained enough of his strength to hang onto the stone again. He kept hearing the voices in an odd rhythm, as if they were chanting a spell of some kind. _I hope those dunderheads aren't trying anything stupid in my absence,_ he thought. It would be a poor trade to see them in danger for his sake.

Once more his left arm felt warm, and not in pain, the way it had earlier. This time the sensation was much stronger and filled him with energy.

Was there a way through the cliff and back to the real world? He'd been too pressed to stay out of the water to consider the matter. Severus began exploring the rocky side of the cliff with one hand, while hanging onto one of the projections with another. The pull of the sand beneath his feet had slowed enough that he could move to one side and then the other without being brought low from losing his balance.

If only he could find a rock to stand on! At least that way he could rest and think without the constant struggle. He continued to explore. If his idiot apprentices had risked themselves in this spell, they would need someone to help them out of the trouble they were undoubtedly in. Perhaps he could find a cave or other opening here that led back to the infirmary. He didn't know if that was possible in this strange place, but it was worth a try.

Draco Malfoy

They were gathered in a room below the ground level in Malfoy Manor. Draco explained what he planned to do. He'd been lucky that he'd found the charm he needed in the first book he'd picked up from Mother's locked case. The various spells had been divided into elements. As intriguing as some of the others sounded, he recognized the one he needed as soon as he'd read it. It was unusual for a group of people to pool their strength to help one in the Wizarding world. Perhaps there was a reason for it, and they would soon find out what it was, but he knew his godfather's time was running short. The connection through his Mark was fading. He could barely sense the professor at all now.

Weasley, who had actually shown up, looked thoughtful. "Won't _he_ find out what's going on?"

"He might," Draco said. "I've already tried this a few times. I thought we could send more strength as a group. You and Miss Edgecombe won't be part of it anyway, since you two are apprentices to the others. But I wanted you to know what's going on."

Percy Weasley looked worried. "Professor Snape visited me that night as well, I mean, the way he did the rest of you. I don't know why he bothered with a Gryff, though I didn't get in as much trouble in his class as everybody else did my year. Pettigrew hasn't tried anything like it. I don't know why."

The Edgecombe girl took a deep breath. "He…the professor touched my Mark, too, but he said for me to be careful who I let do it. I thought it was a dream till I started feeling funny the time we practiced Crucio's on that old man. I asked Mrs. Lestrange what was going on, but she said to shut up and do what I was told. Just like Mum, really. And then last Sunday…"

"Don't talk about that!" Weasley said sharply. He turned pale.

"It was too bad about Goyle, wasn't it," Draco said quickly. No one must start wondering if Greg had been the only one affected by the loyalty curse.

Vince nodded glumly. He hadn't said much since the funeral.

"So," young Malfoy continued, "what has Mr. Pettigrew told you so far about the professor's condition? Both Mother and I have tried to get some word, and nobody will tell us how, how ill he is."

"Why can't they just heal him?" Libby Rosier said, with a bewildered look. Her twin brother Charles looked equally confused.

"He's on a regimen for breathing in too many of our mistakes," Draco said, "and Mother said he couldn't take other potions that might conflict with it because of the potions themselves and the toxins that get released into the blood." He tried not to show how much that frightened him. The Gryffindors had a perfect excuse for not lifting a finger.

Weasley took a seat on one arm of the couch, instead of sitting next to Pansy on it.

_He's the oldest apprentice,_ Draco thought. _No doubt he thinks he ought to be running things instead of me._

Percy began. "Mr. Pettigrew thinks Professor Snape is dying. The staff appears to be taking shifts at his bedside, even in the middle of the night. Dobby is accidentally breaking things, while Winky is into the butterbeer again. The other house elves stand around and talk instead of working."

Draco swallowed. Dobby only broke things when he was terribly upset about something. "Only those who wish to take the risk of the Dark Lord's displeasure need to be involved in this rite," he said. "If _he_ wanted the professor dead, I believe he would be gone already. I will understand anyone who doesn't want to be in on this." _For now. Of course, I'll remember their names for later._

_If there is one._

Vince spoke first. "He looked after us. It's our turn now. The only reason he's is trouble now is because he wanted to help Greg. Of course I'm in, Drake."

Draco nodded. "Anybody else?"

The others, one by one, slowly came around. He was sure that Zabini was only pretending to be reluctant. He knew others besides Goyle had been affected, since he'd been one of them. To that number he would addEdgecombe and Weasley—the Ravenclaw could not keep her mouth shut, and the older Gryffindor had reacted rather quickly to what she'd almost said. Besides, Wormtail for a master would be enough to make anybody have regrets. Draco also thought it was interesting the way the two Rosier twins had looked at each other when Edgecombe had mentioned last Sunday. Of course, he wasn't certain about Zabini. Nobody ever was! As things turned out, though, nobody really wanted to abandon the professor, though it was obvious that nobody wanted to incur the Dark Lord's wrath, either.

Pansy had one good thought. "How do we know Professor Snape is still alive?"

"We don't," Draco said. "If he's already dead, the energy we raise will stay with us. That's what the book said. I think if we try to reach him we'll find out one way or another."

"What happens if our lord is angry about what we did?" Avery asked. His father was in Azkaban, just like Lucius Malfoy.

"Then it was all my idea and you just went along because of my natural superiority," Draco sneered. "Aunt Bella would enjoy smacking me around, but I doubt she'd kill me. We're being recruited underage as if it, and on top of that we've already passed our lord's test. There's a limit to how many supporters he can knock off and still have anybody left to follow him."

"The professor took the heat for one of us," Vince said softly, his fists clenching and unclenching. "You won't have to stand by yourself."

Draco nodded at his friend, very glad that the hulking young man was on his side. "All right," he said to the rest. "We'll get something to eat and drink, and go through the ritual to make sure we're all on the same page. Then we'll start."

Marta, who had been watching all this, eagerly went for some trays.

Weasley approached him. "I thought spells like this had to be done fasting."

"This one was in the Earth Charms section of the book my mother had," Draco said. "We're going to feed strength and act as a physical anchor to a straying spirit, as well as some energy for healing of a wounded body. It would help if we had a couple of Hufflepuffs here, actually." He'd almost swallowed his tongue at what some of the charms for this purpose had asked for, and suspected there was no way either Pansy or Libby would put up with _that_. He almost mentioned them to the straitlaced Gryff, but decided with five brothers and one sister that Percy Weasley probably had a reasonably decent idea of the birds and the bees anyway.

He let the young man take a look at the one he'd chosen. Percy skimmed it quickly, then nodded. "This is all right, then. I didn't think we had enough er…young ladies here for any of the really old ones." A tinge of pink suffused Weasley's fair skin.

"Oh?" Draco said.

"Yes, well, sometimes Mum talked with her granny on the Floo and forgot I was there if I stayed really quiet. Amazing what they get up to in that village."

Draco remembered some of the gossip he'd overheard at parties when he was younger, and said, "Not just villages. But a Malfoy can't ever look embarrassed, you know." Not even when hearing from one's father about shagging a firstie. Since Father was five years older than the professor, and had been kept from becoming Head Boy in his seventh year, it stood to reason that anything had started in his sixth. That, minus five, made it clear how old Snape had been. Draco wished he hadn't done that math so easily.

"Mmm. Well, you can count me in. I didn't think Slytherins showed any loyalty to anyone but themselves."

"If you had Snape show up the night you received your Mark, then you should know better. I think he could call an army of his students if he cared to. I know you Gryffs take it in the shorts in Potions, but try being one of us anywhere else. He's the only one who gives a damn, no matter what the Sorting Hat says about unity."

"I heard that Minister Umbridge had a group of loyalists there at the school last year. I'm in her office now, you know."

"My condolences," Draco shot off, and then regretted it. "And yes, I was a member. Professor Snape told us all we were idiots, she wouldn't be there for more than year given she was teaching DADA, and what did we think was going to happen to her puppets when she left? I shouldn't denigrate your superior, of course…"

"No, _I_ shouldn't," said Weasley. "At least not where others could hear. However, feel free to proceed as you will, Mr. Malfoy," he added sharply.

"Ah." How very interesting that the Gryff had a little bite to him. "I wish I had listened to the professor." Draco blinked several times, wondering if he'd ever hear that deep voice lecture him again. "Excuse me, Weasley, grit in my eyes. Stupid elves never clean down here."

Marta arrived with the food, and everyone ate their fill. They started going over the ritual's procedure, and hastily adapted it to a group rather than single witch or wizard.

Once they began to get ready, Draco was surprised to see the Edgecombe girl come forward and join them. "You're my aunt's apprentice. She can do anything she likes to you."

"No matter what I do I get yelled at anyway," she said, her chin set. "Besides, this might be interesting."

"All right," said Draco. "But _she_ can do a lot more than yell."

"So can my mother," she said with a grimace.

They went to a larger room where they could stand in a circle. The wards on the Manor didn't matter, at least Draco hoped they didn't. Besides, Hogwarts had even more. The Dark Lord's spell had affected the professor even there, so perhaps their spell would too.

Everyone pulled up their sleeves to show their Mark, except for Weasley, who had to take off his shirt. His was on his shoulder. That made sense. The older boy worked at the Ministry. Sometimes the cooling spells failed in summer, and younger employees wore Muggle t-shirts or old-fashioned undershirts. Plus, if Moody had anything to do with the security system, Weasley might have to show that his left forearm was bare to prove himself untainted.

They rehearsed a couple of times. Then Draco led them in the spell.

"Earth is our beginning, earth is our final end,

There it is we spring forth, there we learn to bend,

Cradle us and hold us, we will ever be your friend."

There was a bit more after that, chanted all together. Then everyone touched their wands, their real ones, to each Dark Mark and hoped for the best.

Draco felt his strength rushing out. For a moment he was dizzy, suspended in nothingness, as if his godfather was already dead. Then he was back in the room and found himself on the floor. He felt wrung out, as if he'd played six hours of Quidditch and was starving once again. Vince helped him off the floor, though the bigger boy looked pale. Everyone did.

"Wow," Zabini said, who was shaking as he rolled down his shirtsleeve once again.

Miss Edgecombe was looking at the book, though she was drawn and gaunt-faced. "It says here that the energy released will be only what is needful. How bad off is he?" Her voice quavered.

"I think if we'd waited any longer it would have been too late." His own voice was hoarse. "Let's order some more trays. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm hungry."

Marta waited for them out in the hall, probably to stop any fooling around. A good thing he hadn't picked one of the other rituals! Mother's elf was happy to go up to the kitchen and bring more food. Unfortunately, it was Kreacher who brought it. Draco forced himself to be polite to the nasty little bugger. He'd never seen the infamous portrait of Mrs. Black, but had heard plenty of stories. Kreacher enjoying bragging about his former mistress. If there really was a row of house elf heads at 12 Grimmauld Place in the parlor, Draco was ready to help Kreacher join them any time he liked. The fact that Kreacher adored Aunt Bella said it all.

Once he ate he felt a bit better. As far as he could tell, everyone else did too. He was still ready to turn in though it was barely after midnight, and he'd been staying up a lot later this summer. His guests looked ready to drop as well. They left the lower levels of the Manor and had the house elves show them to their beds.

Draco stood by his window looking at the moon, now rapidly waxing. Lupin was going to be DADA professor again this year. If his godfather…if he couldn't make the Wolfsbane potion, someone else was going to have to. _I don't know how yet,_ he thought. _I'm going to hate it if I have to help the Mudblood, but that's better than the whole school in danger._ He wanted to run away. He wanted to beg Mother to transfer him to Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, and not have to deal with any of this. Last year he'd been so scared of what he'd heard about the quill he knew he had to cooperate with Umbridge when she wanted a sucking-up squad to help her with her dirty work.

But the professor hadn't run. The professor had stood there to protect the rest of him. Draco was certain his godfather knew exactly who had needed his help and who hadn't. Somehow Snape had kept the Dark Lord from finding out who the survivors were.

"You can always go to Headmaster Dumbledore," his mother said from the doorway.

He turned and smiled at her. "I know. But I'm still afraid. He doesn't go to meetings, but I have to."

"I can send you away. Your father would complain, but he would understand eventually."

"No," he said impulsively. "Greg never would have joined if I hadn't, not even with his mother the way she is. The professor would have talked her round, or maybe you could have. Maybe…maybe the Dark Lord really does want my godfather to die, but just didn't say so. I can't leave my friends behind to let them get hurt because of something I thought up." He dreaded what the next meeting might be like. But he'd rather be turned into a ferret again than run. Even though it was pretty hot, he shivered.

His mother held him in a rare embrace. "It's all right to be frightened. If you need to speak to the Headmaster before school starts, let me know and I'll arrange an appointment. I'm sure you have your father's backing for wanting to help Professor Snape, and that should help. He can't do much from Azkaban, but he can write letters. We still have much influence. But do remember that you must keep how you feel about…certain matters from him. He would not be quite so patient then."

"I know that!" It still sickened him to know what his father was really like. But he was a Slytherin, too, and used whatever weapons he could in this battle. "It's all right," he said, slipping out of her arms. "I can stand by myself."

Narcissa gazed up at him. When had that happened, that he was taller now? "I know I haven't been a very good mother," she said, "but I want you to know that I love you more than I can say. I will help you however I can. What happened Sunday changed everything. No matter how things looks, I have chosen sides. I wish we could all be on the same one, but I had to choose you."

He knew that Goyle's mother had chosen differently. "Thank you," he said. "And I have to choose…I have to choose to stay here." Draco was still frightened.

Mother laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'll have Marta send up some hot tea with some peppermint in it. Thank you for what you tried to do for Severus tonight."

Draco sat down once she left the room. If only he could find out if the spell had helped! He looked down at his Mark. It didn't look as black as usual. In fact, the moon's light made the lines of it look lighter against his skin than it ever had before. It still felt warm even though the spell was over.

_Live, professor, oh please live…_

Winky

Winky opened one bleary eye. Oh, she was bad! Her master was so sick. She should stay with him no matter what Mistress Nurse said. She shouldn't come down here to the kitchen and drink butterbeer, no matter how sad she was.

Nobody else was down here late in the evening. Good. The other elves laughed at her sometimes, or scowled like Dobby. She picked up the hem of her tea towel and cried.

Then Winky heard a noise, like another mouse trying to get into the pantry. She'd heard one a day ago, but hadn't found it. Mrs. Norris had complained to her that _she'd_ had to chase it, but hadn't been able to catch the nasty thing. Winky had told her how sorry she was. Here was a chance to make up.

The house elf opened the lower cupboard very, very slowly. She couldn't make noise or change the smells in there too fast, or the mouse would run. Then Winky squealed as she caught the naked-tailed rodent and threw it into the portal that sent all household vermin into the trap under Big Furry's hut. In a day or so, the giant would pick up the cage and release anything in it out in the Forbidden Forest near one of the Acromantula nests. After many mice-generations of this, the word had been spread, or why it was so rare to find them in the kitchen any more. That was what Dobby said, anyway.

Well. She felt better now. The rat's paw had looked funny, and she tried to remember what she'd been told about that. There was a rat who was special. She shrugged. Big Furry would see for himself when he got around to it.

Winky went to the infirmary. Master was so sick, she had to be with him!

Poppy Pomfrey

Madam Pomfrey awoke and dressed. The shifts had been staggered so everyone could get some sleep. It was one hour till midnight. Fortunately Trelawney had finally returned and had been able to help. Sybil looked extraordinarily different after her stay with those Muggles in the States. She'd given up the tinted glasses and the clouds of incense, and looked more like the slightly faded, middle-aged witch she actually was. Though in the flush of her latest enthusiasm, which appeared to be natural health, nutrition and mental improvement, Trelawney was far more tolerable like this than last year. Some of her ideas for improving the students' and staff's well-being actually made sense.

Tonight Sybil looked subdued, though. "It must have been something horrible," she said, looking down at the comatose Potions Master as Pomfrey quietly approached the bed. "He's always been so strong. Not only is the Snape line robust, but on his mother's side, too. They say the Sorcerer of Russia was poisoned, stabbed, shot, and clubbed. But when someone finally found his body in the Neva, he had water in his lungs. That meant he was still alive when they threw him in. If he hadn't been tied up without his wand, he might have survived all that."

Poppy had heard the story, too. "If you had any idea what Severus has endured this summer, you'd be amazed that he's still alive, too. I wish I'd never had him take that blood test for potions overload."

"The Muggles have done studies about the brain and what the chemical environment does to mental states. It was a reasonable thing to test for." Sybil had been reading the Swiss protocols while sitting here, judging by the papers on the lap-desk. "When students like Longbottom come in smelling of their latest potions disaster, it almost turns my stomach. That incense is the only thing that kept me from throwing up. I'll have to put a venting spell on my doorway nest year."

"That will probably help," Poppy said. She took out her wand and monitored Snape's current condition. Then she did it again. "Sybil, would you please find the Headmaster and ask him to come here? I hope you don't have to wake him, but please do it anyway."

Trelawney left. Severus stirred for a moment and muttered, "Trying." He looked quite gray in the candlelight.

Pomfrey pushed a lock of hair off his forehead. "I know, Severus. We miss you. Come back to us, please." Even at the point of death Snape was fighting.

Dumbledore walked in, a robe hastily thrown over a nightshirt. "What is it, Poppy?"

"He's failing," she said. "He's still struggling, but he can't last much longer. I thought you would want to be here."

"Yes." He sat down in the chair. That was unlike the ancient wizard, who never did so with a lady standing. Till now. "Of course he's fighting to live. I…I found where he is now and spoke to him in a dream-state. He's afraid to die, Poppy. He believes God is a Gryffindor and will judge him the way I have." Albus pulled out his wand. "I promised him that I would say good-bye. I hope it's not too late."

The mediwitch put her hand over the old wizard's. "No. You cannot. You would not come back this time. We can't lose both of you."

"I promised him. I have broken so many of my pledges to him. I can't break this one."

"You must. Show me the way and I will go, Albus. I have seen so many off on their last journey already. It won't be that hard for me." She knew the not-sand of that gritty not-beach. Though she rarely used that magic, it was her turn now.

"Now I have to say that we can't risk you." The Headmaster sighed. "You're not exactly young either. You have to let me go. I already know the way, and won't get lost. It must be soon, or he will be gone already."

"No," Poppy said, though it broke her heart to think of poor Severus alone in the dark. "I have to think of the Order, too."

They watched the dying man. For a moment he scowled and murmured, "Black." Pomfrey didn't know if Snape spoke of the darkness approaching him, or of that idiot Gryffindor who had caused him so much pain. Then the Potion Master's face relaxed and smoothed out.

_"Lily,"_ Severus whispered, so low Poppy almost didn't hear it.

The mediwitch turned her face for a moment and wiped her eyes. _Oh, Merlin, if only he is really seeing her. She would never lead him to hell, no matter what James or the others said._ She looked back. For a brief moment Snape's eyes opened, though they were blank, and his lips parted once more, as if saying a final farewell. A pale light settled around his face. His eyes closed again, but the odd light remained.

"I never could manage Latin," Sybil said gently. "'Let flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.' There are powers higher than magic, Poppy. We must plead with them for Severus now."

She added, "After midnight it will be Saturday. Flitwick didn't choose that date just because it would take him that long to get ready. I talked with him just before I came up here and he had to consult with both Vector and Sinistra for the right day. I know this is a silly question, but if Snape has been off his regimen for a while, why can't he take some healing potions?"

"No, it's not silly at all, Sybil," Poppy said wearily. She watched Albus carefully to make sure he didn't try anything stupid while she was distracted. He looked positively ill with grief now. She would have to take care to have _him_ watched the way she had had to look after Severus a few times. "I've been talking with Lowenstein for the last several days. He must be sick of the sight of me, and even more tired of me handing him samples to analyze. Snape still has a bloodstream full of toxins that would react badly to anything I've got." However, it didn't matter. Not now. Severus was dying, and would not last till Flitwick rolled the dice for one last time. She went to the cabinet, lit her wand, and began looking.

"Wait," Albus said. "I've never seen the Dark Mark do _this_ before."

Poppy looked back. Dumbledore held Snape's left arm. The short-sleeved gown revealed the forearm entirely. The Mark _glowed_, with a golden color she had never seen on it before. Severus took a deep breath and began resting more easily. The wound he had inflicted on himself to save his students healed entirely and was gone.

The mediwitch monitored him. The Potions Master was stronger, but not healed. His heartbeat and breathing were steady, though his mind was still crushed by his ordeal. His body would endure for another day, perhaps two, before it failed again.

The Headmaster gently touched the tip of his wand to the Mark. "I have never seen anything but evil come from this horrible thing," he said, then closed his eyes for a moment. "I hear voices," he whispered, "chanting an old Earth charm. Who are you, I wonder?" He was silent for a moment, then opened his eyes and smiled broadly. "Oh, Severus, it was all of them. Your apprentices…" He sighed in relief. "They worked a miracle for you. Now we must complete it."

Poppy was happy, but remained practical. "You should go back to bed now, both of you," she told Sybil and Albus. "I can manage now that he's a little better. I'll wake up at any change, and you'll need your strength for tomorrow. If I recall correctly, we begin the rite at dawn, and that's only a few hours away even this late in summer."

Trelawney nodded and left. Dumbledore required a little more urging. "Thank you," he said, "for calling me when you thought he was leaving us. I may still have to say good-bye to him as I promised if Flitwick's spell doesn't work. This, this healing has given us enough time to try it, but I know that is all."

"Sybil was right," Pomfrey said, sitting down at last. It felt odd to admit that the Divinations teacher was right about anything. "You know Severus wouldn't want you to risk your life for that."

"His apprentices already have," Albus said, looking a bit frightened. "Especially since two of them technically don't belong to him. They could face severe punishment once they're summoned again. I may have to find a way to bring them to Hogwarts early, though I don't know how I'll manage without singling them out. I have no idea how to protect the Weasley boy."

"Let's get Severus well, and let him worry about it," Poppy said. "Now, go to bed!"

He scurried off.

She sat at Snape's bedside, and set up a charm to alert her should his physical condition deteriorate once more. She was over her little tantrum; if he could but live, his mind and soul would have a chance to heal, even if he ended up in a room next to the Longbottoms after all. Pomfrey smiled to herself thinking of the wards she could set up to keep Moody out in such a case. Perhaps there was one that would let him in, but only if he left his wooden leg behind. Lucius Malfoy—if she could obtain one hair of his, she'd make sure he never bothered anybody again, let alone her patient. It wouldn't be fair to Draco to use the Law of Similarity; the younger Malfoy adored his godfather and shouldn't be kept from visiting.

_Oh, my dear Severus, please live,_ she mentally begged. _Live long enough, and let us heal you. Flitwick has worked so hard. It would be a waste to give up before he's had a chance._

Poppy wiped a few tears from her eyes. Perhaps there were some wounds too deep for healing, but this time they would try.


	26. Chapter 26: The Kettle of Ceridwen

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Author's note: First, over 400 reviews! Yay! Secondly, I am going to have a brief hiatus for the Christmas season. I have lots of cards to get out, presents to buy and wrap, a house to clean, and relatives to visit. I very much suspect little writing is going to get done after this chapter is done for a bit. But I think you'll feel satisfied by where I leave you.

Chapter 26: The Kettle of Ceridwen

Albus Dumbledore

He awoke when the first rays of the sun reached his bed. Albus rose, feeling refreshed and hopeful. If he understood the Charms Professor rightly, a successful spell would heal Severus not only in body but in mind, heart and soul. In fact, even those who merely assisted would receive some benefit.

If the enchantment failed—if it failed, at least the Potions Master would die knowing he was loved. It would be a terrible thing if Severus left them feeling the way he had when Dumbledore had seen him on the edge of death. Oh, the Slytherin had been courteous enough not to say what had been on his mind, but Albus had heard it anyway.

The Headmaster rose, dressed, and drank a quick cup of tea. Once in the infirmary, he was reassured by Poppy's tired smile that Severus had made it through the night. One by one, the staff members of Hogwarts came in through the door, then filed over to the side, save for a few who would come later. The last one to arrive for now was Flitwick.

The small wizard looked exhausted. "This is the morning we have been waiting for," he intoned in a high, clear-pitched voice. "This is the day that will begin a new life for our beloved Severus Snape. We do not have the Kettle of Ceridwen, nor the mistletoe that slew Baldur the Brave, but our hearts are willing and full of love." A large table sprang up next to Snape's bed. The comatose man did not stir. Flitwick continued. "Each of us will lay an offering as a symbol of what our beloved means to us on this table, then speak our feelings to him. Every member of Hogwarts on the grounds today will be part of this to make a whole."

Dumbledore didn't quite understand why the preparations had taken so long if that was all there was to the spell, but he patiently waited along with the rest.

Flitwick went to the door and opened it again. All the house elves of Hogwarts walked through one at a time. Each one left something on the table, usually a bit of food.

Dobby left a sock. "This is the sock that the wonderful Harry Potter threw at Master Lucius, so Master Lucius would give me clothes and I could leave him," he said, sniffling. "Wish this would work for you." The elf patted Snape's hand and left.

Winky set an empty bottle on the table. "No more butterbeer ever, Master Potions Master," she said in a whisper. "Never, never never." She leaned down and wept into his shoulder. Instead of leaving like the rest of the elves, she curled up under the bed and refused to budge.

Then came the ghosts. The House ghosts visited first. The Baron lingered the longest. "Professor, I have seen many Heads of Slytherin. You are one of the greatest. Come back to us." Torrents of silver blood flowed down the robe, though none of them ever reached the floor. One drop fell and made a shiny mark on the table. Peeves came in directly afterwards, and sullenly left an offering of a broken tree branch. The Friar, the Gray Lady, and Nick also paid their respects to the dying man.

Albus heard the oddest thing then—the toilet in the infirmary lavatory was flushing itself. Poppy hurried over to it and came out with the ghost of a girl in pigtails and glasses, who wept copiously and dripped real water on the floor.

"Myrtle, dear, this is Professor Snape," the mediwitch said. "He became a teacher after your time here as a student."

"Oh, yes, I hear about him all the time," the ghostly girl said. "He doesn't look as spiteful as they say. Did Tom hurt him too?"

"Yes, dear. We're afraid he's going to die." Poppy was extremely pale.

"Wait, I remember him now. He hid in my bathroom once when some other students were chasing him. He shouldn't have been in the girls, but his nose was bleeding and I couldn't kick him out. They made fun of me, too. But sometimes you just _have_ to cry. He was mad when I saw him, but he didn't try to hex me or anything. I told him I didn't like it when they were being rotten to me either." She left a modest trail of tears over one corner of the table, away from the silvery spot of the Baron's blood, then returned to the bathroom.

Other ghosts also came, each one with something to say about Severus Snape. Dumbledore realized how much trouble it must have been to figure out what the population of Hogwarts really was, and how to get them here.

Professor Binns was there now, speaking softly to Severus, though Albus couldn't hear what the History Professor said.

One faint shade showed up, clearly still new to his present state. The tall, bulky young man carried a Beater's club over his shoulder. "Professor," he said. "This is Greg Goyle. I guess I was supposed to haunt Mum, but she couldn't see me. At least she pretended she couldn't. So I decided to come here. It's not your fault, sir. You stopped the spell in time for me to land in some bushes. But when Mum asked me if I was all right, I told her what happened. I told Drake, too. He said he wasn't mad at me. The next day, though, Mum said we had to go down to the basement, and that's when the plant got me. Wish I'd remembered that _Lumos_ works against stuff like that before it was too late. But if you need any help, I'll be around. Say hullo to Drake and Vince, all right?" The last ghost drifted off.

Then Flitwick carried in an empty frame with a blank canvas. He chanted a spell, and each one of the portraits appeared, though some rather briefly. Madame Ardis, or as most knew her, the Fat Lady, had a bit more to say. "I must say that I am ashamed of my Gryffindors sometimes, knowing what some of them did to you," she said. "Believe me, I let them know about it, though clearly not often enough. Especially that Sirius Black. He stabbed me with that awful knife of his, you know, and after all those times he charmed me out telling on him, too! I know you have the password anyway, since you're a teacher now. But don't worry if you ever forget it. I will always let you through."

Phineas Nigellus was short and to the point. "You have upheld the House of Slytherin."

After seeing and listening to the many portraits, Dumbledore was actually surprised that Flitwick had managed to get everything together this soon. When he had thought of the population of Hogwarts, he hadn't been anywhere this thorough.

At last the portraits were done. Now it was the turn of the living staff.

Firenze had difficulty getting into the infirmary, though he kept the sound of his hooves quite soft. "Before I began to teach here, I knew you from the Forbidden Forest. Aragog respects your name, Severus Snape, and even Bane would not willingly face you. You have walked in sunshine more than I have ever seen you do before this year, yet your heart does not follow, and lingers in the shade. May all of you walk in the light again, here or in the Summerlands." He left a clump of heather, which filled the infirmary with its glorious smell. The centaur bowed formally in front of the bed, then left.

It was on the tip of the Headmaster's tongue to ask Firenze if he had seen the Potion Master's future, but he forced himself to keep quiet. He might not like what he heard.

Dumbledore heard a bit of thumping at the door once the Divinations Teacher was gone. Hagrid came in, ducking underneath the top edge of the door. Then he looked behind him and said, "It's all right. I know it's a bit tight for you, but come on in anyway."

Grawp was obviously terrified of such close quarters. Everyone moved out of his way as he deposited a bone on the table, mumbled, "You smell funny. Brother says, don't die," and backed slowly out of the room.

"He doesn't like being crowded," Hagrid said. "But the boy wanted to pay his respects. Nothin' like being thrown up on to further a closer acquaintance."

Dumbledore thought it fortunate that the half-giant hadn't brought any of his animals, then revised that when he saw Fang come in and slobber over Snape's right hand. "Yes, he's right sick, isn't he, old boy," Hagrid said. "But we're trying to make him well. Don't worry, he'll be pouring flea potion down your throat in no time." The dog whined after sniffing the unconscious wizard, then settled under the bed next to Winky.

The half-giant looked down at the Potions Master. "Don't give up now, Snape. We'd miss you something awful. The place won't be the same without you shouting away at the rest of us. You pretend not to like anybody, but even Fang knows better than that. I know you always take tea, but maybe you'll have a tot of this in it for a change." He left a jug of firewhiskey on the table, then withdrew to one side.

Filch shuffled up, Mrs. Norris under one arm. "Don't know who I'd trust to watch the halls with me at night the way I do you," the caretaker said. "Mrs. Norris knows she can come to you the same way she does to me when she sees one of the little brats out too late." The cat meowed agreement. He put her down, and she leaped up on the table, dropping a well-chewed catnip mouse. "And this is for you to look at later, nobody else, mind. May 1979 and no torn pages on this one." He left something wrapped in brown paper on the table next to the mouse.

Vector, a pale, thoughtful-looking woman with mouse-brown hair was next. "Perhaps I live too much in my numbers and not enough in the world," she said, leaving a book. "But people like you suffer and die so I can. Perhaps it's time I look outside my world and into the real one."

The Headmaster blinked. She had always refused to apply her Arithmantical speculations to the current situation, claiming they would only muddy the waters. Vector gazed directly at him, and nodded once, briskly. Ah. So she had changed her mind.

Madam Pince left another book, though what she said was so quiet that Albus couldn't hear it. But there were tears on her face as she walked away.

Sinistra was next. She looked as if she had stayed up all night to meet this dawn. "I can't see any solutions in the planets for you, Professor. I hope you find someone more suited to you than me." She left a tiny hand telescope.

Remus Lupin stepped forward. He looked worn, as well he should, given his next transformation was only a week or so away. No doubt he feared the Shrieking Shack, and no potion to ease the ordeal.

Even unconscious, Snape tensed as the werewolf approached his bed. "I would give anything for you not to be afraid of me," Lupin said, his voice choked with emotion. "I was amazed that one day when you weren't. But I have learned the price you paid for it. How can you trust me? I have made promises over and over again, only to break them the moment Black asked me to. I see, I have always seen, what's been done to you. All I ever did about it was to talk to the others, and most of the time not even that. I could have told the teachers that you weren't making up stories about us, and I never did. I needed them so much. I let you be the sacrifice so they wouldn't turn on me."

McGonagall lifted her head and stared at Remus, her eyebrows raised.

Lupin continued. "Even last year, I never told Harry half of what went on at 12 Grimmauld Place. And I still haven't told him that you really did try to stop Sirius from going on that raid.

"I can't make up for all those years I stood by and did nothing. I can't make up for all the sleepless nights you spent making the Wolfsbane Potion for me. I can't even pay you back for that afternoon in Hogsmeade when you ordered too much so I could eat.

"There is one thing I _can_ do." Remus lay a brass key on the table. "As caretaker of 12 Grimmauld Place, I give you door-right, hearth-right, table-right and bed-right to the house. You will be made welcome when you enter by thought, word and deed, even if I have to hold Moody's leg over the fireplace. If it's any consolation, Mrs. Black's portrait hates me too. I swear I'll tell Harry the truth about the Marauders, and not just the good parts, since it seems that talking is all I can do."

Albus knew too much was being said about Order business here, but didn't know what to do about it. Looking at the faces of those in here it was obvious little of this was new to them. It didn't matter right now. What really mattered was saving the Potion Master's life. Only truth would do that.

Remus finished, "If you live I ask only one thing. Save Wormtail for me." Then Lupin withdrew from the bedside. Severus trembled for a moment, then relaxed.

Madam Hooch stepped up next. "I won't harass you about flying on a broom again," she said, and dropped a few bits of straw on the table. "Even though you're better at it than you think you are. We all push you to do more. I don't know why we do that."

Dumbledore knew he was guiltier than all the rest in that respect. Now it was Madam Pomfrey's turn. She laid a wrapped ham sandwich on the table. "Mrs. Weasley couldn't be here today, but she gave me this several days ago. I told her how ill you were, and she remembered the Kettle of Ceridwen. A good thing she always puts preservation spells in her wax paper! I know she'd want to be part of this. As for me, I have known you since you were eleven years old with bruises you wouldn't explain. I wish I could have taken you home for the summer, rather than leaving you to Knockturn Alley or the Malfoys…" She took a deep breath. "You have been broken so many times, and still come back. Do it once more." She wept.

Albus was ready to lead her away, but she motioned him off. Poppy took a piece of paper and put it next to the sandwich. "When you became Head of Slytherin, you asked me to examine every single student of yours the first day they came back to Hogwarts. You made it a House requirement so none of your students could wiggle out of it, or have to face their parents' anger because they dared tell someone what happened to them. Now I am making it a requirement for all students, no matter what their House. I…I don't think you'll mind."

Poppy had lobbied for this for several years now, but he and the other Heads had always objected. Now everyone was quiet. _I wonder how many times Harry has hidden what the Dursleys did to him over the summer?_ Albus could tell that McGonagall was thinking the same thing. Sprout and Flitwick hung their heads, probably going over lists of names from their own houses. In fact, Sprout was thinking, _I knew something was wrong with Dolly Matliff when she came back her third year, but I thought it best to leave it to her friends…I really thought she was over it when she married that Umbridge fellow. They didn't stay together long, though. Maybe if I'd done something right away she'd be happier now._

Flitwick was also chastising himself, this time for paying attention only to his students' minds and not to the rest of them.

Trelawney stepped forward after Poppy hadput her schedule for physical exams next to the sandwich. Sybil set a half-empty cup of tea on the table. "You have a future, Severus," she said. "I don't mean this in any stupid portentous way, but you do. I just hope that part of it is with us. You tried to talk to me last year when I was being an idiot. Sometimes you'd last almost ten minutes before you yelled at me about the drinking. You offered to make any potion I needed to get over it, but I always made you leave. Besides, the only potion that would really help would have been something for that jammy cow Umbridge to drink!

"I told you that once, and you laughed. I don't care if you laugh at me, Severus. Just come back."

Now it was the turn of the other Heads of Houses. Sprout lay a bloom of lavender on the table. "Severus, you see plants mainly as potions ingredients, but you know my subject almost as well as I do. Let this lavender bring ease to your heart. I've got a bale of it drying, and I'm saving it all for you this year. I agree with Professor Sinistra, though. Somewhere there is a woman who will be to you what my love is to me. You deserve to be happy." She wiped tears from her eyes and walked away.

Flitwick was next. The tiny wizard put an amulet on the table. "You taught me not to give up on students this last summer, when you had more reason to despair of yours than anybody. I…I miss our rounds of 'the science of potion-making versus silly wand-waving'. I hope this spell works, Severus. I wish I were better at saying what I feel when I'm serious. Wear this amulet when you can't sleep. It has a charm on it to ward off nightmares, though sometimes I wonder if you'll have anything left to dream about." He turned on his heel and blew his nose on a handkerchief as big as his face.

Minerva walked up to the bed and took Snape's hand. "Oh, my dear friend. What can I say or do to bring you back? I failed you when you were a student, too. I should be surprised you can teach any Gryffindor without losing your temper. Even so, I still hear the way you say 'wretched know-it-all' as if it were a badge of honor. You know I mean 'idiot ferret' the same way. I'll watch over that mirror-kisser if you can't, but we both know you'll do better at it." Tears ran down her thin cheeks. "Doing the puzzle by myself is no fun, Severus." She put last week's paper down, held Snape's face in both hands, and kissed him gently on the brow. McGonagall moved away after a moment, her own face deathly pale.

It was almost his turn. Albus opened the window. Fawkes flew in, landed on the bed and nuzzled the poor man. Then the phoenix gave of his song. Severus smiled in his deathly sleep during the golden melody. Fawkes dropped a feather on the table when the bird was done.

Then Dumbledore lay the Sorting Hat on the Potions Master's chest. At first it was silent, and the Headmaster feared the spell would end there. Then it said, "I shall have to change my song for Slytherin this year. Few of any House have shown your courage, Severus Snape. Few have walked in the dark places and returned alive the way you have. Most can go forward in battle when their blood runs hot and the enemy is before them. But only a few can endure your path. Let Hogwarts be your support, not your burden. And when the final battle comes you will be given the weapon most suitable to your task."

No doubt it was difficult to come up with new verses on the spot. Albus lifted the hat and left it on the table. It, alone of all the other offerings, would have to return to his office. He contemplated the Hat's words, and suspected that the Whip of Slytherin, not seen for centuries, might enter the fray once more.

Now it was his turn. He stepped forward. The Ministry wouldn't do what he wanted, and so he had to find something else to give. "In the name of helping this school and the Order, I have hurt you more than anyone else in this room," Dumbledore began. "Not just this summer, but over the years I have minimized your achievements, chosen others as favorites, and demanded things from you I would never dare ask from anyone else. No matter how poorly I've rewarded you, you remained more loyal than a Hufflepuff. This summer…this summer I helped crack your mind open like a nut.

"But you've heard words from me before, and have no reason to trust anything I say. It is time for action. I asked the Ministry for a pardon for you, Severus, one that would free you from your bondage to me, but Fudge still refuses. I received the same response when I asked for you to receive the Order the Merlin you've earned so many times. Apparently I must remain your legal guardian or you will lose the scant protection I can give you, at least for now. I know how galling it must be to be dependent at your age. However, this day I give my wand-oath that I will never use or threaten to use that power against you again. Hogwarts will be your sanctuary, not your prison. If you cannot teach, then I will find you another place just as safe.

"My heart wants you to stay here. We need your strength. But I swear I shall support you now, not undermine you. I shall take the burdens that are mine, and that includes Harry Potter. I forced you to teach him last year when I was afraid to do it myself. That was wrong. It will stop. If you must stay at that Swiss clinic, I will find a way. I have asked for too much for too long.

"Oh, Severus…" His voice broke. He lay down a thick envelope full of papers that he hoped the Slytherin would sign. Adoption would give the Potions Master more rights than his current state, as well as a claim against anything Dumbledore owned not already entailed to other members of his family. "I remember now what I said the last time I spoke with you, and why your face changed when I said it. I will help you look after _our_ students. For so long the members of your house haven't really belonged here because of me. I…I wish I could promise that will stop. I will try. Please, live long enough to look at these. I have looked on you as a son for many years, but I haven't treated you as one since the moment Harry Potter came here. These papers will make you one of my family in Wizarding Law as well." He took a deep breath. "Oh, Severus, come back to us. I can't promise to always remember what we owe you. I know I'll do something stupid the first week. But return anyway, I beg you." Only the truth would serve for the pledges made for the sake of this spell.

The room remained the same. It was halfway till noon now. Snape's breathing remained even, but faint. No special healing grace appeared. Albus felt his heart sink.

Flitwick looked grim. "It hasn't been a waste, Headmaster. None of this has. It was right for us to do this no matter how it turns out."

Then Dobby burst back into the room. "Master Headmaster, sir! Master Mad-Eye is in your office, says he must talk to you!"

"Bring him here," said Poppy, a gleam in her eye.

Dumbledore blinked, then realized what the mediwitch was thinking. Moody was here, and technically had once been a teacher, even if he had spent most of the year in Barty Crouch Jr's chest. It remained to be seen what would happen.

Afew moments later, Alastor Moody stumped into the infirmary. He stopped when he saw the table and the unconscious man. "So Snape has gotten himself bunged up again," he said. "He must be getting careless in his old age."

"It's a long story," Albus said, and glanced around. There were likely a _few_ teachers who didn't know everything by now, but he preferred to err on the side of caution. He motioned for everyone else to leave. However, Minerva, Poppy, and Sybil held their ground firmly, while the rest were clearly taking their time about departing.

The Headmaster sighed, and put a brief muffling spell around the two of them. "One of his apprentices failed the loyalty test."

"More than that, I should think," Moody said grimly.

"Yes, well, we hope Tom believes it was only one. Snape had to explain why. Also, I suspect putting a knife in his own Mark affected Tom as well."

Mad-Eye gazed down at the Potions Master, then took in the contents of the table. "He's really dying. I didn't think it was possible. But what's that strange aura around his Mark? Never seen anything like it."

That was saying a lot, given the old Auror's experience. "We believe his apprentices attempted a healing spell through their Marks," Albus said. "It's new to me, too." He cancelled the muffling spell, making sure Moody noticed.

The old fighter stood silently a moment, apparently lost in thought. Then he spoke. "'And Thokk said, everyone must weep for Baldur for him to return from those lost shores. What Hel has, let her keep.'"

Dumbledore knew the quotation as well. "Then you understand what we are trying to do. I cannot force you to participate. All I can do is to ask." His heart failed him. He knew that Moody believed Snape was really a traitor and was only feigning loyalty to the Order.

"I know," Mad-Eye said, looking uncertain. "All of Loki's constant vigilance did him no good at the end, even living in a house with four doors always open so he could see who was coming." He sighed. "I don't even have a wife the way he did to keep the poison off me if I were ever tied beneath Nagini's fangs.

"Well, Snape, I know what you're like and you know what I'm like. I still want a chat with you someday when we're not going to be interrupted. But if those silly-ass dunderheads of yours think you're worth saving, who am I to contradict them? I wondered why Weasley accepted that invitation to Malfoy Manor when I told him not to go. I owe you for his life that Sunday morning, I daresay."

He fumbled in his pocket for a pouch, and drew out a ragged sprig of gorse. "This is the only thing that grows on its own on the island of Azkaban. Ugly, isn't it? But in that soil and with so many Dementors, it's amazing that anything grows there at all without constant tending. One of these days I should plant some in decent soil and find out what it does there.

"We _will_ talk again someday. I'll follow you no matter where you hide, and perhaps you'll tell me the real truth for once. But I promise no Dementors or the threat of one. I smell their sickness on you now, and maybe that's what is really killing you. Death ends the game, and I'm not ready." Moody dropped the gorse on the table. "Live, Severus Snape. Stop running. You're the only prisoner who has ever beaten me. I want a rematch."

The wind blew in from the window full of the scents of fading summer. The breeze felt warm, with no hint of future winter chill. A pale light began to glow around Snape's bed, like the one when he was so near death, but this one turned brighter and golden, till it was so dazzling nobody could see much inside it.

Dumbledore felt bathed by peace and love, as if he stood in the Garden among the roots of Hogwarts. He believed what the Bride had told him now; Snape would never be Headmaster. Albus regretted it, but it was time to love Severus for his own sake. For a moment he imagined he saw her beloved face in the light, saw her hold the Potions Master in her arms as she had held him, and saw her brightness become one with the glory around her.

Moody shook his head and firmly turned away towards the exit. Albus let him go. They had been extraordinarily lucky that the old Auror had decided to add anything, and that the enchantment valued honesty as much as sentiment.

Everyone else stayed. As far as the Headmaster knew, Winky and Fang were inside the blaze of light, though he couldn't see them. Dobby stayed in the corner and wiped his eyes, while Filch honked openly into a yellowed linen square. Lupin looked full of regret.

Madam Pomfrey had her wand out, trying to monitor her patient even while a miracle took place. Hagrid beamed with delight, while Minerva's face was lit with joy.

At last the light faded. Albus steeled himself for the worst. He knew it was possible that they had only given Snape an easier death. It had been worth it anyway.

Then Severus opened his eyes. For once there was no initial flash of fear, rapidly replaced by a veiled expression or anger. He just _looked_ at everything, as if coming back from a far place. "What…what happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse. He still appeared pale and weak.

"We performed an ancient spell to bring you back," Dumbledore said. He sat down, as his legs began to collapse underneath. He'd been so busy watching others he was overwhelmed by his own feelings now. _I hope Severus finally realizes how much we care for him, how much Hogwarts itself cares for him._

"It…it felt strange," the younger wizard said. His lips curved upward in a timid smile. "So many things…I didn't know…"

"Everyone please leave now," Poppy said briskly. "Please let him rest. We can talk about this later when he's better."

Winky and Fang came out from under the bed. The little elf stuck out her lip, and Albus knew just how she felt. He did as he was told anyway, though Hagrid had to help him stand.

Dumbledore followed Flitwick down the hall. "Thank you, Filius," he said. "I never would have remembered to round up the ghosts or the portraits, especially."

The tiny Charms Professor nodded. "I had hoped that he would be restored to full strength immediately, but I suppose that was expecting a bit much."

"Having him alive and apparently sane is more than I expected. I feared we were only giving him enough heart to die in peace, instead of in fear or pain." Both sat down in the nearest classroom. "Once we're both not so tired, I'll hold a staff meeting to work on his schedule. He made one up for me with all his duties here, and it would be difficult to manage even without…other obligations. It's not much help to bring him back only to kill him from exhaustion."

"Of course, you are making an assumption. You have yet to ask Professor Snape if he wishes to return to teaching at all. I seem to recall a promise you made."

"I know." It hadn't taken him long to return to his usual state of mind where Severus was concerned. "He should go back to the clinic as soon as he can be safely moved. We need to know if his treatment ought to be continued, and if so, what we need to do to make it possible for him to endure it. If they insist on treatment in residence, we'll have to go along with it. I only hope that _he_ will cooperate as well."

Flitwick grimaced. "Only too true. _If_ the professor returns to teaching, though, Winky ought to be assigned to the Potions Department full time. Every once in a while, an elf will adopt a human and there's no use trying to fight it. Dobby will have his hands full with Gryffindor once the students come back anyway, and seems to have no objections to a rival. What was that business with the sock and 'Master Lucius', anyway?"

"I'd rather not talk about that," Albus said with a sigh. "But I fear I must. Malfoy feels a certain sense of ownership as far as Snape is concerned, and it goes back a long way. You'll remember why he didn't make Head Boy in his year?"

"Oh." Flitwick said. "The rumors. I take it they were true, then."

"Yes." He didn't understand why he hadn't investigated more thoroughly, or taken action to protect Malfoy's victim. Then he did. _My old prejudice about Slytherin,_ he thought to himself. _How many lives have I ruined with it? I knew by then that Bellwood favored the rich and influential, and wasn't likely to interfere with anything a pureblood cared to do unless it affected him directly. But I did nothing, because after all, they_ were _Slytherins, and thus already lost._ He had to tell Flitwick more, though. "Unfortunately, Snape felt obliged to renew the connection for the sake of the Order. I hope Malfoy will remain in Azkaban for a long time."

The smaller wizard looked distressed. "So do I,' Flitwick finally said. He took a deep breath. "I believe that Snape will wish to teach as long as possible, because that will give him the best chance to protect his students. But he should be asked. And he should be given reasonable alternatives, or he'll believe that you have once more manipulated him into staying in a situation that is still quite likely to kill him."

"I know." Dumbledore leaned forward and held his head in his hands. "It's bad enough that he has to risk his life every time Tom calls him. He doesn't need me nearly completing the job. I also know you warned me and I paid no attention." He had been too fascinated by the mechanics of the spell, and later too enthralled by the light to worry as much as he should have about the results. But now…now he knew that they had all been much luckier than they deserved. Only Moody's last minute appearance had saved Snape's life when failure seemed imminent. He shook with reaction. "I almost said farewell to him last night," he said in a hoarse voice. "Even now I don't know if his memory has failed him the way it did already."

"It could happen again, this time permanently," Flitwick said calmly, though his eyes were red with his own tears. "I will do what I can. Again, I request that Madam Pomfrey sit in on your meetings when Severus returns from being summoned. She is an Order member, and undoubtedly knows more than we all believe. She is probably quite good at spotting his injuries despite his attempts to hide them."

"And I'm not. Or I make things worse." Dumbledore took out his own handkerchief and wiped his eyes.

"Headmaster, you mean well. However, as we have seen this summer, you have trouble putting that into practice when it comes to the youngest member of the staff."

Oh, he _was_ in trouble! Flitwick never used that formal tone with him unless he was close to rage. "I know."

"If Madam Pomfrey is too busy, then Professor McGonagall should certainly be present. She is your Deputy in the Order as well as here at Hogwarts, and should know as much as you do. You will have to use the pensieve more so she can see what has happened, but give what's happened, I really think that's a better alternative."

Flitwick was clearly setting aside his own emotions and simply advising him. He ought to feel complimented that the smaller wizard hadn't given up on him. "Severus will trust me more if he sees that I must justify anything I do to a third party," Albus said. He felt exhausted. Part of him was angry, but he knew he'd brought this on himself.

"Yes. Also, you are not getting any younger. Sitting up late tires you more than you think. If Professor Snape should return under the Imperius or other spell meant to harm Hogwarts, then two wands are better than one dealing with it."

Dumbledore blinked. That was the first thing he checked for whenever Severus returned from any excursion outside the bounds of the school. Flitwick was right. "May I call on you if neither Poppy or Minerva are available?"

"Of course. I can be as ruthless as necessary if we need information, but I don't pretend it's for the subject's own good. I can't do Legilimens, but I know other spells nearly as effective that do somewhat less damage. I realize the professor is extraordinarily good at Occlumency, or many more people, including him, would already be dead. However, given that Severus really is on our side, I don't really see the need to interrogate him the way er, _he_ does. I understand that you must be certain of his loyalties, but Headmaster, I can't see that being a question any more after all this."

"True," Albus said. "Even Moody can't be totally convinced that Snape is a traitor, or he would have said 'good riddance' and turned away this morning."

"I wish he had been trained better. Unfortunately, those who learn physical methods of persuasion often find themselves blocked from learning other ones later on. I don't know why, really. I am actually quite surprised that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is able to use his mind in such a powerful way."

"He didn't start out like Moody," Dumbledore said. "Tom was a great deal more subtle in his youth. It was only when the first war started going badly for him and he needed to attract more followers who enjoyed torture that he began using magic that way. Oh, he always liked hurting people, but he developed his mental skills first. Alastor, on the other hand, was trained by the Ministry during the Grindelwald War and then sent on various missions. You can see the price he paid to survive. There are cases where people who have lost limbs develop other abilities to compensate, but Moody places his faith in that magical eye of his instead. He is very like Severus in seeing attacks everywhere. Unfortunately, neither one has to look far to find them. I think the professor developed his own mental abilities because of the threat Tom posed him. Otherwise he would probably concentrate on physical methods as well."

Flitwick looked thoughtful. Was he going to be brave enough to suggest that Severus learned some of his mental defensive techniques because of a certain nosy Headmaster? Albus wondered sometimes what the tiny wizard really thought, but Flitwick's mental Charms allowed only surface thoughts to escape, while anything deeper remained hidden. When Filius had joined the staff, Dippet had still been Headmaster and Dumbledore only the Head of Gryffindor. Everyone had accepted Armando's evaluation and welcomed Flitwick as Head of Ravenclaw. Albus had seen the smaller wizard's papers and knew of his brilliance. However, Dumbledore had never been given reason to make a thorough examination of his own. _Secrets bother me as much as they do Mad-Eye,_ he thought. But everybody had them. It was time he really trusted those around them and stopped prying, even if the war gave him an excuse.

Filius sighed. "You know I still work with the Ministry and St. Mungo's on occasion to extract memories from victims of crimes who are unable to speak. I am sworn to secrecy, of course, to maintain confidentiality. But there was a reason that the professor asked for me when his memory faltered. This was not the first time I have dealt with his problems. A pity that Lockhart did himself in the way he did. I was thinking of giving him a bit more training in the field, since he had such a gift for memory charms. However, with his unstable character, perhaps it was just as well I didn't."

"When you worked with Severus, was that a little over twenty years ago?" He remembered being notified that young Snape might require extra help after his parents' death. Oh, Merlin, if only he had given it!

The Charms teacher nodded, and looked sad. "I was also trusted with the judgment whether or not to return the memory. I couldn't see any reason to traumatize the boy further, and let the officials file it away with the other evidence in the Justice Section."

Dumbledore was glad Flitwick had made that choice. It had been enough to see what he had in Knockturn Alley when inside Snape's mind, without seeing the parents die over and over again. Sometimes he was justly rewarded for his obscene curiosity, though, as he had been when he had opened that dreadful chest.

He slumped in the chair. "I have to learn that I can't do everything by myself, I suppose. Now I know why Severus hates being reminded of it, too."

Flitwick smiled. "We brought him back from death by being united. That is how we will win the war."

Severus Snape

Severus opened his eyes. Judging by the light, it was late afternoon. "Trelawney," he said, his voice sounding rusty. "Now I know this must be a nightmare."

The witch smiled. "You are feeling better."

Snape was at a loss. He wasn't used to Sybil reacting like this. "I…I don't remember much about the last few days…" Now he was the one who was uncertain.

Her smile faded. "We almost lost you, Severus. We took turns sitting with you, but late last night was bad. Then you suddenly got a little better. Your Dark Mark glowed golden. The Headmaster said he'd never seen anything like it."

He searched his memory. His mental Hogwarts stood firmly, in better shape than it had been all summer. That was a relief. "I was on a beach being pulled into the tide. I knew it was the end. Then a golden lifeline wrapped itself around my left arm and took me almost all the way to the cliff. I was still there, but I could move along the side of the cliff without having to work too hard to keep from sliding back. I kept looking for an opening, but I couldn't find one.

'Then…then there was a bright light. I heard your voices, but I couldn't see anyone but Mrs. Weasley bending over me. I even hallucinated hearing _Moody_, for Merlin's sake. It was like…it was like all of Hogwarts was holding me up." He turned his face away to keep from showing the tears in his eyes as he remembered the utter peace and love that had filled him. Even now it felt as if he were floating, and not being frightened by it. After a moment, he continued. "It didn't matter what I'd done, or how ugly I am…" Again he had to wait a moment till he regained control. He didn't care if it was a delusion brought on by impending death. It was so much better than anything he'd ever felt before.

"It was real, Severus," she said. "We all gathered here to bring you back. Flitwick was in charge, so you can ask him how he set it up. There's a table full of stuff that people left as symbol of how they felt. I think I can remember who left what. I'm really surprised that all the ghosts and portraits had to be involved. I suppose that was why he was the one who put it together. I never would have thought of them."

"Everyone?"

"Oh, yes. And after we'd all had our say, we were all terrified it wasn't going to work and you were going to die anyway. Dobby went off for a bit, then came back and said Master Mad-Eye was in the Headmaster's office. Moody came here and quoted a bit from Baldur's saga, then left the gorse from Azkaban. The light started shining then. You opened your eyes and Poppy kicked us all out to make sure she could examine you properly and so you didn't get worn out." Her brow wrinkled. "Are you sure you saw Mrs. Weasley? She actually wasn't here."

Snape glanced over to the table and saw a familiar-looking wax paper package. "I'm…I'm pretty sure, Sybil." Being held in Molly's arms was something no man could possibly forget. The warmth of her embrace had been a balm to his soul.

"Hmm. Well, I can tell you who was here and who left what, if you like. Some of it, anyway."

"Yes. Yes, please."

"I left you the tea, to symbolize that you have a future. You can probably read the leaves as well as I can. Firenze left a clump of heather. I didn't know you knew each other. Now, Mrs. Weasley did leave a sandwich with Madam Pomfrey that she put down in Molly's name. Poppy is going to be run off her feet when the students get back, though, because she promised to examine all of them. It'll take all the first week!"

"No, only three days. I worked out a schedule with her once, but it was never approved," Snape said. "Most of them will take only a few minutes. At least that's what she told me."

"Well, it's a good idea. I don't understand why they never did it before. You have all yours done, right?"

"Yes. But don't you know that kind of thing only happens to Slytherins because their families are so evil?" Severus said, trying not to let anger show in his voice, and failing badly. "I think some children who are hurt so badly often get sorted to my house by the hat, but I certainly don't have a monopoly. Families and circumstances change after the Sorting, too."

"I'm sorry it took this long for them to make a change, then," Sybil said. "I'm glad it happened. In five years nobody will ever remember it was any other way. Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes." Trelawney helped him with the cup. He didn't remember plain water tasting so good before. Of course, that would change once he was back on the Swiss regimen. For now he was going to allow himself to enjoy what he could.

He looked at the table. It was overflowing with tokens and papers. He shook, realizing how much it meant to him. "It's too much," he said. "Too much…"

"Not for a lifetime," Sybil said. "You haven't been away from here since you were eleven except for a couple of years. Let me see, seven plus fifteen more or less, that's twenty-two, you won't be thirty-six till November, why, that's almost two-thirds of your life spent here. Far more than any of the other staff except maybe Professor Binns, but I don't think being a ghost should count, do you? I think that once this war is over you ought to take a few years off away from everything. Why, five years from today you could be married, have a couple of children, and be in the house of your dreams."

"I wish I could," he whispered.

Sybil looked away then. She was not a stupid woman, just scatterbrained, but if she knew anything of Order business even she could sum up his likely expectancy. She took a deep breath. "None of us know how long we're going to live. Some Muggles live over a hundred, while we all know how young some witches and wizards die." She gazed out the window at the slanting afternoon sun. "The point is to live in the time one is given and not to throw it away. Muggles have that problem, too, I found. I brought back a trunk full of books and lecture notes on how to make the best of whatever time one has."

"I suspect mine is going to be short."

Trelawney looked him directly in the face. "Then you had best decide how to use it," she said. "I'll lend you some of the books. Some of them have helped me immensely."

Snape made a derisive noise. "Muggles!"

"It couldn't hurt. The Wizarding World hasn't been that great for you. Perhaps it's time to decide for yourself what you can use and what you can't. I'll admit I had to wade through a boatload of twaddle to find what gems I could. I have a few problems, too. That's why I'm teaching Muggle Studies this year. I might as well do something useful, now Firenze has shown me for the fraud I am. At least you don't have to pretend you know what you're talking about. You're one of the best Potions Masters ever. But I suppose you hear that all the time."

"No," Severus said, his voice choked with emotion. "I don't."

"'You are, then. I'll say it as often as I wish. I've never seen anyone push away compliments like they were rotten fish the way you do. I don't know why."

"They're usually a trap, or a way to convince me to do something I don't want to," Snape said. He was horrified at his own bluntness. Was this what it was like to be a Gryffindor?

Sybil laughed. "The Headmaster does spread his traps with honey, or lemon drops."

"He's not the only one." Snape remembered how Malfoy had used his words to draw him into his web, more deadly in its way than Aragog's. Later on he had loved hearing himself praised by Tom Riddle and had failed to see the hidden danger.

"Your problem is that you don't spend enough time around normal people," Trelawney said. "It's students, us, or um, those others. You need something that's not connected to anything like that to play with."

"Wizarding Britain is small," he said mordantly. "And I really love Potions."

"Well, it doesn't look like either Madam Umbridge or the Swiss are going to let you do much of it this next year from what Poppy says. Take advantage of it."

"And do what?" he cried. "All I ever learned beyond that was from the Malfoys." Dear Merlin, he was weak if he was admitting _that_.

"Well, that explains a lot," Sybil said. "You have to find a way to fill the emptiness. You have to find something new. I had to." She bit her lip and looked away.

Snape had forgotten how much he usually despised Trelawney during this conversation. Now he realized that she had been wrenched away from everything she loved, too, and was still trying to make the best of it. "I'll look at some of those books, Sybil. I'm not strong enough to do anything else for a while."

"When Minerva comes, I'll fetch some of them. But I might as well tell you some more about who put what on the table." She was obviously glad to change the subject, too. "As I said, Mad-Eye left the gorse. He said it was the only thing that grew on Azkaban, though I think the place has some stunted trees, too. Moody promised if you and he ever talked again, he wouldn't call in a Dementor. Not much of a gift if you ask me!"

"Oh, yes, it is," Snape said. He closed his eyes for a moment and shuddered in relief. "You have no idea how much of a present that is."

"Well, I'm glad about that. That silly Dobby left a sock. The empty bottle of butterbeer if from Winky. She made the same kind of promise I did. Hagrid brought a jug of Firewhiskey, and it's probably just as well that Poppy put it away. I'm not…I'm not always as strong as I ought to be." She paused a moment. "Professor Sinistra left the little hand-telescope and I think she meant for you to go looking for a girlfriend with it. Didn't you two have a couple of picnics?"

"Yes. She's not my type. I don't think she's your type either," Snape joked. Molly Weasley was definitely his. Perhaps it had been the Astronomy Professor's wish that hadhelped him see the plump red-haired woman in the light.

"Very funny. I had a couple of picnics with her myself, though, and you're probably right," she said with a dramatic sigh. "Filch left the envelope, and the ragged catnip mouse is technically from Mrs. Norris. Good thing it's not a real dead one."

"Pity it's not a rat with a silver paw." Oh, my. He was telling tales out of school today.

"That would have been a better gift all right. The key is from Lupin. I have no idea where this Grimmauld Place is, but you have full house-right to it now."

"A long story, and it has to do with Sirius Black."

"Oh." She grimaced. "I know the Headmaster said he was innocent, but I never liked him much. Fortunately I was in Ravenclaw, but you wouldn't believe the stories the girls told about him even there. I'm glad he never really noticed me." She smiled wanly. "And I really wished he'd never noticed you."

"No argument there."

Sybil laughed. "That's the first time I've ever heard that out of you! Flitwick left this sleep-amulet. I wish I had one like it. Professor Sprout left the lavender, and said she had a bale of it drying. I heard a pillow of it bring sweet dreams. McGonagall left last Sunday's crossword puzzle. I don't see how you manage all the dreadful Latin. And the Headmaster left the papers. Do you want to go through them now?"

"Later, I think." Snape dreaded what could be in them.

"He promised never to send you away, or threaten it, no matter what. What has been going on this summer, Severus? Usually Dumbledore is the first to squash it if the Ministry is trying to bother you again."

"I wish I could tell you," he said unhappily.

"This stupid war!" she fumed. Then she blinked. "It wasn't…it wasn't the Headmaster who did this to you, was it?"

"No." He was severely tempted to tell her what Albus had done, but it had all worked out. The remains of the Imperius spell had convinced the Dark Lord of his loyalty, and the disorganization of his mind had protected his apprentices. The real blame for his current condition was Voldemort's, Bella's, and Pettigrew's.

"You…you weren't well for lots of last year, either," Sybil said slowly. "You haven't been well since…since all those stories about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named started coming out, either in the Prophet or the Quibbler."

"Please…Sybil, please keep what you are thinking to yourself," he said softly.

"I should have seen this." She looked distressed. Trelawney wrenched her attention back to the table and pasted on an artificial smile. "You'll be able to see the rest for yourself when you're up to it. I just wish you could have heard all the nice things everybody said. Wait! I could put this memory into a pensieve and let you see it, couldn't I? Would you like that?"

He turned his head away and swallowed. He wasn't used to having anyone care for him like this, except for Poppy. "Yes," he said. "Thank you." He was surprised not to be angry. _I usually react as if a kind word is an attack,_ he thought.

"Do you think you could manage some toast? You ought to eat something," she said.

"That sounds good," he said. His stomach chimed agreement for once. Severus discovered he could barely hold a slice properly, but the toast spread with butter tasted wonderful. He must have been off the detoxicant for a few days—he didn't have that nasty taste in his mouth from it, though he suspected he'd been given the others.

Snape became uncomfortably aware he was going to need help making his way to the lavatory. He really didn't want to ask for help with that, though it was fun to watch Trelawney turn pink when he did. "Call for Dobby," he said, letting her off the hook. "He's helped when I've been ill before."

She happily summoned the house elf. Dobby was pleased to let Severus lean on him as if he were a mobile walking stick, but insisted on staying right outside the door. "Don't want Master Severus to fall when he's so sick."

Once done, Snape felt better but wasn't sure how to get back. Dobby discreetly appeared inside and helped him to stand. "I want to thank you for the sock," the Potions Master said quietly. "I think I understand why."

"Master Lucius hurts you. Wish the sock would work." The two of them staggered back, and Sybil helped him into the bed.

It felt good just to lie beneath the covers and not hurt any more. He'd wallow in despair some other time. Perhaps he could manage one of Sybil's wretched books if he were going to stay awake for more than two minutes. "Trelawney," he said, hoping he didn't offend her by the question. "Dumbledore said you've had some true predictions. He says you've had two that he knows of, and that's good for any seer." He'd heard part of one. If only he had kept his mouth shut, Lily might still be alive. "What does it feel like when it happens?"

She sat down beside the bed. "It feels," she said, "like being raped by a god." Sybil's face went eerily blank, as if turned into marble. Her eyes rolled up into her head.

"_First the shadow, then the night._

_Two sun cycles for twilight._

_Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,_

_And store up joy for end of day."_

Her voice was harsh and loud.

Severus lay still in the bed. _Of course she's only showing me what a true prophecy feels like to her. Oh, please, Merlin, let that be the case._

She returned to normal, and took a deep breath. "It's really hot in here," she said, and fanned herself with one section of yesterday's paper.

Snape swallowed. His mouth was dry. "So that's what one is like," he said lightly.

"What?"

"Do you remember what you said after you told me what a prophecy was like?"

"I just said it. I'd rather not repeat it!" She looked indignant.

"This is what I heard you say," he said, and slowly recited her rhyme.

She lay down the paper. "You're not making fun of me, are you? I know I must sound stupid, but I'm trying not to be."

"Your voice was different. The way it was in the Hogshead…"

"I wondered who that was being thrown out! Was that you?"

"Yes," he said. "I wish…but it's too late now."

She looked sad now. "I won't argue about this being the shadow. I saw you last night, and I thought it was all over then. I wish I knew what's wrong with all the charts I do for you. They never come out like they do for other people. Let me see your palm."

Now it was his turn to feel stupid. She examined his right hand with both eyes and dry fingers. "There is a break in the life-line, but it continues after that. It doesn't have to mean death," she said gently.

"You don't have to soften it, Sybil."

"If it's any help, I don't think the sun cycles mean days. For one thing, after all the work he did to put this together Flitwick would hunt down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and put his head on a spike on top of Ravenclaw Tower for wasting all his effort. Since my charts for you never come out right, could I do a card reading sometime?"

He had his own opinions about astrological charts, but decided to keep quiet. As for cards, he would rather eat dragon droppings, and nearly said so, but sighed instead. "Perhaps some other time."

"Of course. You must be exhausted, putting up with my chatter. But if the prophecy is true, why not look for as much joy as possible till then? I can't think of anyone who deserves it more. You've been so unhappy for so long…"

_And so were you, and nobody saw it till last year,_ Snape thought. "You covered yours much better," he said wryly.

"I was just better at numbing the pain," Sybil said. "But I learned that you have to go all the way through, and then you can find the joy. Being numb doesn't work at all."

"Sometimes it's the only way I can do…what has to be done." He stared out the window and wondered how soon he would be summoned again. He couldn't hide the fear away any more. Yet imagining Molly's arms around him made it more bearable.

"I hope you do find someone, Severus," Trelawney said. "Rosebuds," she added with a smile. "That used to be an old word for virgin. But since you don't even look at the students, I suppose that could be a metaphor. When I examined your love-line, it had three branches at its end, and that usually means children. You don't have much time to get started!"

"True. I _would_ appreciate it if you didn't mention any of this to Madam Umbridge."

Sybil laughed. "I did offer you some of my sherry when she'd been especially nauseating. I just hope she never learned I fancy women myself. I'm sure she would have made something out of it. A pity that Hooch would rather her partner brought his own broom to the field."

Normally he would cringe at such familiarity. There was no reason for that now. Everyone here at Hogwarts had gathered together to save his life. "Hogwarts is our family," he said, only now recognizing it. So many of the staff had no other as well.

_How convenient for Albus that most of us really have nowhere else to go, and not just me, _a voice inside sneered. Yet Severus vaguely remembered hearing the old man weep when he lay here dying. Perhaps if one turned it around the other way, the Headmaster was looking for a family of his own as well.

For once he was inclined to make the effort. He was too weary to say much but looked up at Sybil with a faint smile. "I still think your prophecy is silly," he said, letting his eyes close. "I did see Mrs. Weasley here, and she doesn't fit that one at all!" His vision of her, with the warm strength of her holding him, had been more real than even his brief encounter with Lily. The Muggleborn witch belonged to his past, and to death. Molly Weasley meant life.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to read her palm, too," Sybil continued, "but she rarely visits Hogwarts and this summer was the first time I was um, allowed to travel. You aren't the only one who's being kept close."

Snape blinked. "I suppose not," he said, his voice fading. "I hadn't thought about it."

"Perhaps I made a mistake going to the States," Trelawney said. "Perhaps I should have continued the silly old fraud routine."

"I'll be glad to complain about it if you like," Snape said, though he was so tired his eyes kept closing as often as he opened them. _Two more years. Well, that's two more than I was going to have yesterday._ He almost laughed at Trelawney's other nattering. Lucius was never going to allow him to marry no matter how suitable the bride.

"I'm sure you would," Sybil said. "Get some rest, Severus. You've earned it."

He dozed then, only to wake up with his arm hurting. Snape pushed himself out of bed. He wasn't quite as weak as he'd been earlier, but feared he wasn't anywhere strong enough to face the Dark Lord. _It must be Saturday night_, _and Narcissa's dinner. Draco!_ Severus thought anxiously.

"Where do you think you're going?" McGonagall rasped. She must have replaced Sybil while he'd slept.

"Where I must," he said. He sat on the edge of the bed gathering enough will to stand up and dress. "Could you please call Dobby to help me get ready?"

"_Dormus!"_ Minerva said, waving her wand.

He fell back into bed, overpowered by the need for sleep. "This…will…only… mean…more…trouble…Minerva…" Part of him was grateful that he didn't have to go, no matter how he paid for it later.

At least he knew now there would be one.

Author's postscript: Merry Christmas to all! And to all a good night!


	27. Chapter 27: The Apprentice

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Author's note: All you Harry fans—at last your patience is rewarded!

Chapter 27: The Apprentice

Harry Potter

As soon as he returned from the boxing tournament, Harry Potter went up to his room, wrote a note about what happened, and sent it off with Hedwig to the Headmaster. Hiding this kind of thing didn't help, if it ever had. The day after that the Dursley household received an owl from the Burrow inviting Harry for what little was left of the summer. He quickly wrote to Hogwarts asking for permission to accept it.

The note telling him it was all right was signed by Professor McGonagall, not Dumbledore. Harry hoped the old wizard was all right. _Maybe he was affected by what happened on Sunday, too?_ he wondered. But the hands in the vision he'd had hadn't belonged to the Headmaster. If anybody at the school had been involved, it was probably Snape.

He didn't know how he felt about that. At the beginning of this summer, he would have cheered anything or anybody that struck back at the greasy git. But he'd felt the same way about the Dursleys, too. It was better now, but he couldn't be certain about anything any more. He didn't like that part. Harry knew he'd be glad to go back to Hogwarts where his friends would be around, Snape would yell at him, the Slytherins would sneer, and the DADA teacher would try to kill him. That's the way it had been till now, and he was getting used to it.

_As long as I can fly,_ he thought, _the bad parts don't matter so much._ After five years he was getting the hang of things. Why should they change now?

They had one last meeting of the boxing club Tuesday night to hand out the certificates and the trophies. Both he and Dudley got one for winning their weight classes, and so did one of the smaller boys for his. Harry felt guilty about not paying any attention at the time to Stewart Clapfish, who had worked just as hard for his cup as he and Duds had for theirs. That night he glanced around at his teammates. How much did he know about them, anyway? By now he was certain of their names and knew a little about their relatives. Had any of them lived in a cupboard? Did any of them know better than to call the numbers on the government pamphlets the way Bobby Macklin did? Harry was fairly sure that none of them had been attacked by suicide curses, or were on the better dead list of major evil wizards.

But that didn't mean their lives were that much better than his. He'd rather die than not to go Hogwarts now, even with its dangers, than be stuck here the way he had been before he'd gotten his letter. Maybe this boxing team was to them what Hogwarts was to him. Harry found himself thinking what his prospects would be in the Muggle world and was appalled. His best alternative would be to work for the same company where Vernon Dursley labored.

What plans did Dudley have for his life? He'd never asked. Before this summer he'd never cared, either.

His cousin was terribly quiet once the final session was over for the summer and they waited for Uncle Vernon to pick them up. Harry had a little pocket money from turning in stuff to the recyclers, and asked, "Ice cream cone?" as he jingled the change.

"Nah," Dudley said.

Now Harry knew something was wrong. "Look, my treat and everything," he said. Then a thought struck him. Why had he never pulled some of his money out of Gringotts and had it changed for Muggle currency and hidden it away for the next summer whenever he made his Diagon Alley visit for school supplies? He hadn't had to depend so much on the Dursleys all this time. He could have paid ahead to have treats delivered to his room, if nothing else.

"Nah," his cousin repeated. "But you go ahead. You're not as bad as you were before, but you could still do with a bit more weight. I hate the diet, but I hate being a whale worse."

"I wish it wasn't over," Harry said.

"Me, too. But if I want to talk to Mr. Bruno next summer or the one after that, I'd better be ready. I can't do that and still have ice cream." Dudley stared down at the ground. "Dad wants me to start on the factory floor and make my way to an office the way he did, but Mr. Banks says it doesn't work like that any more. I have to gets loads more schooling just to get started these days. I heard Mum and Dad talking once, and the fees at my school are ferocious. She wanted to take a secretarial course and help out a bit, and Dad was right upset over that. Mr. Bruno said that he brought in money even when he first started, but that I had to be in better shape or I'd never make it past the first year."

Harry wish he could make plans like that. After learning about the Prophecy, he just wanted to live. He remembered Career Day last year. Being an Auror sounded glamorous, and it was something his dad would have wanted to do. Sirius, too, probably. It had been fun leading Dumbledore's Army, at least till people started dying for real. His heart sank when he really thought about it. Every time he'd been in danger from Voldemort, somebody had died or almost died. Someone had said that Lockhart was still in St. Mungo's, and probably always would be.

He counted up the number of times someone had rescued him when he'd been in real danger. The Headmaster had probably been the one who'd taken him from the basement where the Mirror of Erised stood. Fawkes had brought him the Sword of Gryffindor. He'd sort of rescued himself and the others from Dementors. Dumbledore had shown him how to get away with Cedric's body after the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and had shown up again in the Department of Mysteries. It had been Hermione, of all people, who had saved his bacon with Umbridge and the centaurs.

And someone had done something with a knife to keep him from throwing himself out of the car on the way back from London two days ago. Harry had a sinking feeling who he was. He'd seen the Potion Master's hands enough in class to recognize them now. He _hated_ feeling grateful to the greasy git. _I remember the Headmaster saying Snape hated my dad because James Potter saved his life, and that never made sense. But now it does. Now I know what my dad and his friends did to him, and how he must have hated being grateful, too._ _But why didn't Dumbledore tell me the truth about my dad? He must have known I thought Snape was out of his mind to be so nasty about having his life saved. He's always telling me to show respect and call Snape 'Professor' all the time, but he never told me anything about what really happened. No wonder Snape didn't even want to talk to me last year. He probably thought I told everyone in Gryffindor how the Marauders used to play with him like a dishrag._ Snape probably thought he was arrogant and ungrateful enough to do just that.

His heart sank when he started totting up how many times Snape _had_ saved him. The counter-curse on the broom, for starters. The Potions Master had been the one to get him, his friends, and Sirius out of the Forest after the Dementors had fled. Even with the Time-Turner, if he hadn't been in the infirmary to begin with, he and Hermione couldn't have gone back to go after the Dementors. Besides, he knew that there were other things in the Forest that might have gone after them. Snape had been suspicious of Moody from the beginning, but nobody had listened to him till it was almost too late. Last year, Snape wouldn't give Umbridge any more Veritaserum. Harry still doubted the greasy git had tried to keep his godfather from going to the Ministry, but someone had warned the Headmaster that he and his friends had gone there. What could have happened if Snape hadn't told anyone?

He'd never said thank you for any of it. _All I did was to back talk in class and snoop into his private things,_ he thought. _He hated those lessons just as much as I did. Why wouldn't he think I'd spread anything bad about him I could?_ He shifted from foot to foot as he and Dudley waited for Uncle Vernon, wishing he'd never started this line of thought.

Harry had really expected Sirius to come back with a laundry list of all the horrid things Snape had done, but his godfather hadn't. Sirius had almost seemed sorry about it, but only around Remus. Once the werewolf had left the room the older man had smiled, as if remembering all the fun he'd had.

"Won't be long till you're with your real family," Dudley said.

That brought him back to reality. Harry liked it better now than the thoughts he was having. For a moment he was tempted to refuse to go back to Hogwarts, knowing what was waiting for him there. He'd been able to go to Muggle school before getting his letter without being hunted. Of course, now he'd never catch up. "I dunno," he said. "Some of it scares me."

"Like that horrible gray thing," Dudley said.

"Like that. Some people I know died last year," Harry said.

"That Lord Thingy guy Dad was ranting about when you first got back?"

"Yeah. Him. He was the one who killed my parents and he wants to go after me. I mean, I know it sounds stupid, but I'm not making it up."

"Ever thought about not going back?"

"Not till this summer."

"Makes sense. Could…could you do it? I mean, not go to Hogwarts?" Dudley actually seemed curious.

"I dunno. I'd be so far behind in school…" He thought about who he knew in the Wizarding World that could make it in the Muggle one. "Hermione reads everything. Put her in a library, and it wouldn't matter. Ron couldn't, unless his whole family came with him." The thought of Arthur Weasley loose in a computer store made him smile. The thought of the twins loose anywhere in the Muggle world almost made him laugh. "I'd love to see that snotty bastard Malfoy give it a try, at least without his money!"

"Oh, we have a couple like that at Smeltings, too," Dudley said with a grim look.

"I don't think too many of the teachers could leave there, though. Hagrid—do you remember seeing Hagrid? Anyway, he's big enough that Banks would mortgage his house to train him up. He'd make two of Frank Bruno, easy. But he doesn't like hitting people that much." He ran over the teachers in his mind. Someone in authority would try to put Dumbledore in a home, him being so old, though that wouldn't last long. Trelawney would probably be one of the writers for that New Age magazine Aunt Petunia kept hidden underneath her sewing basket. Flitwick would either be in a circus or head of some big company in the States where anybody could get rich. Professor Sprout would be one of the gardening authorities on the telly. It was hard for him to imagine McGonagall anywhere but at Hogwarts, though. And Snape—he reluctantly admitted to himself that the Potions Master would be running a lab somewhere, shrieking "Dunderheads!" at his assistants, and much happier than he was at the school. _Not that it would be hard,_ he thought.

"Are…are there any people who don't have magic where you are?"

Harry shook his head. "Only Filch, I think, and not many people know that. The ones without magic, they're called Squibs, and most of them probably end up in the Muggle world. Mrs. Weasley said she had a cousin who was an accountant." He tried not to remember the sour face she'd made talking about that. _It's not really her fault,_ Harry thought. _It's probably the way she was raised._ Mrs. Figg was a Squib, and she was nice enough.

But what was the difference between that and looking down on someone for not being a pureblood? _Well, Mrs. Weasley doesn't go out and try to kill all the Squibs or anything like that,_ he thought. As much as he hated Filch, though, it had never occurred to him to look down on the caretaker for that. He'd been on the wrong end of that stick himself enough to know how rotten that would be. He was glad the twins had left Hogwarts before Filch had been allowed to whip them, and had never liked any of the detentions, but…but now he was beginning to see how hard the job must be. _I'm glad I'll never have to do _that, Harry thought.

"Guess I'd better keep in shape and work on boxing, then," Dudley said, kicking a rock.

"Do…do you ever get mad at me for having magic?" Harry asked. His aunt had hated his mother because of it.

"Nah. Now, if Mum and Dad made a big deal about it, and thought I was garbage because I didn't, that might be a different story. But as far as I can tell, you're getting the worst of it. Besides giving me that pig's tail and setting that snake on me, of course."

"Well, you asked for it those times," Harry said.

"And I can still make you run a bit!" Dudley said, raising a fist.

Harry almost took off, then laughed. "Well, let's put on the gloves and make a proper bout of it, then."

His cousin lowered his hand. "Damn. I'm going to miss Harry-Hunting."

"I won't!" No. He'd never miss that. Harry made a face when he thought that Snape would never miss the Marauders, either. He was actually glad to see Uncle Vernon's car come up the road.

The peace at the Dursley house began to feel strained with both Harry and Dudley home the next evening. Uncle Vernon was keeping his temper, especially after Aunt Petunia made him drink some more of that weird herbal tea, but Harry was glad he was going to the Burrow.

But he was really surprised when Shacklebolt came Wednesday afternoon by to pick him up in a Muggle car. Harry didn't have to argue to take his stuff with him for a change. His trunk fit easily into the boot—either it was a really good car, or had been rearranged a bit through magic, but he wasn't going to complain either way. He almost forgot the boxing gloves, and ran back up to his room to get them.

Uncle Vernon…Uncle Vernon smiled when his uncle saw Harry with the gloves. It was official, then. The pod people had taken over. Harry wished he knew where their home planet was so he could send them a thank-you note.

_I wonder if I'll get my broom back?_ Harry thought as he waved good-bye at the Dursleys and got into the car with Shacklebolt. He knew it was safe with Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts. He wouldn't have been able to use it here anyway. _Maybe next year I can. I'll turn 17, and I won't be underage any more._ He could hardly wait to see his relatives' faces when that happened. It wasn't as much fun as it used to be to plot revenge, though. Dudley was still a thug, but one who'd kept him from throwing himself out a car and then covering for him over the headache. Aunt Petunia really loved Uncle Vernon and was scared of losing him. Maybe her parents did make a big fuss over his mum and forgot all about her. Harry still didn't know what Uncle Vernon's problem was, but his uncle was a lot calmer since he'd cut back on the whiskey and drank that herb tea.

Once they were a block or so away, Shacklebolt spoke up. "You're looking better than I thought you would, Harry. Glad to see it."

"Yeah. Went to a boxing class this summer. Dudley got put on a special diet, but so did I. Since I fix a lot of the food, I decided I might as well take advantage of it this time. It wasn't horrible for once." But the pensieve had made the most difference. If he'd stayed hateful to everyone, even the boxing class or the herbal tea wouldn't have helped a lot.

"Ah, Muggle boxing!" the black Auror said with a laugh. "Two idiots standing around in a ring that's actually square and pummeling each other to bits!"

"It's not like that, at least in my weight class," Harry said. "The really good heavyweights have strategy, too." He started explaining about jabs and feints and footwork and all the stuff he remembered from the manual.

"Now that's interesting," Shackebolt said. "Then you won't mind extra dueling classes next year."

"Not a bit!" Harry said. "We thought we knew what we were doing in the Department of Mysteries, but we were losing till the Aurors showed up. Sirius…Sirius was killed trying to protect us. If only he'd been watching where he was when Bellatrix struck him…" He stopped. It had never occurred to him to criticize his godfather for that. At least not till now."

"Good. I've been dueling with Lupin this summer, trying to shake him out of his coma. He took Black's death very hard, as you might expect. When Lupin is better, he and I will be going up as partners against Snape." The black Auror's face, which had been open and happy, became closed. Shacklebolt seemed quite busy with traffic for a couple of minutes.

"What for?" Harry asked. What good could that do?

Kingsley took a deep breath. "Snape is really good, but he can't practice all out where he might be seen. I should think that was obvious. In his line of work, he doesn't expect even odds. I've seen him a few times when he didn't think anyone was watching, or he was too busy to care, and two against one is fairly even for him."

Harry knew from the memory he'd seen in the other pensieve that the Potions Master had had to deal with worse than that. "Why can't he practice with the Headmaster?" It was obvious Dumbledore could wipe the floor with almost anyone.

"Professor Snape does practice his defenses with him, but he has trouble raising a wand against the Headmaster. He needs partners he can go all out against. I wanted to train Black, but he thought he knew it all and didn't need any tutoring. Sorry, Harry, I know you loved him."

"Yeah." Harry realized that he hadn't thought much about Remus all summer. He'd written once or twice, but had been busy. He'd enjoyed having less time to brood than usual. If he could use some of what he'd learned against Voldemort, though, it'd be worth it. He resolved to owl his friend as soon as he possibly could.

"If…if things don't work out, then we'll be practicing with Professor Flitwick. He is a member of the Order, though he doesn't go to meetings, and was a noted dueling master before he came to Hogwarts."

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. "Someone finally find out what the gr—what Snape is really up to?" He tried to forget that strange dream he'd had where he and the git had been in the boxing ring and Snape had gone down without raising a hand. That was weird, how the Potions Master had touched him on the scar and taken the pain off.

"Professor Snape to you," Kingsley said. "He's been getting treatment for what used to be called Brewer's Bog, and has been sick for most of the summer. At least that's what we've been told, since he hasn't been able to come to meetings. Tonks said that the few times she spotted him, he looked extremely ill, so I see no reason to doubt what the Headmaster says." There was a slight edge to his voice. Then he smiled. "Of course, you didn't hear this from me, but Lupin is going to teach Dark Arts again."

That was the greatest news he'd heard all year! Harry almost bounced up and down in the car. "Maybe he'll take the curse off and stay forever this time! He was the only one who taught us that much. Well, except for the fake Moody. But anybody, even Gildylocks, would be better than Umbridge was last year."

"Isn't that the truth?" Shacklebolt said.

Harry noticed that Kingsley hadn't corrected him on her title and smirked to himself. He rubbed his forehead for a moment as his scar tingled. But it had been doing that off and on ever since Sunday, and he'd already sent a note to Hogwarts about that.

Soon the Auror slowed the car, parked it in a public garage, and said, "We can Apparate the rest of the way from here. We probably could have done it from the house, but I wanted to talk a bit. I'm glad you're doing better, Harry. We were really worried about you for a bit."

"It just seems weird that my relatives were actually decent for a change," Harry said. "And the present I was given for my birthday helped, too. It was something really special, and I don't know how I'm going to thank the Headmaster enough for it."

"What was it, if you don't mind talking about it?"

"My own pensieve. It had memories of Mum and Dad in it already, and a few with the other Marauders in it, too. All of them were nice." He had been frightened for a little while that he was going to be forced to see more of his father and the rest tormenting Snape, but he'd gone through most of them and none of them were like that.

"I should think you ought to thank Dumbledore for that!" Shacklebolt said with a whistle. "Well, here's to more happy memories. I think you managed to grow a few new ones this summer, and I'm glad for that too."

"So am I!"

They Apparated to the Burrow. Molly Weasley ran to greet them both, but was soon called away. Harry quickly found out that everybody would be there that Saturday. After all, the twins had a business to run, Bill was still at Gringotts, Charlie was in Romania till he could get away, while Arthur Weasley had less time off in the summer than students. _That's something I'll have to give up when my school days are over,_ Harry thought, and didn't know if he should be upset or not. Before this year, he would have gladly worked in a factory if it meant not seeing the Dursleys. But now he realized that these summer months could be seen as a welcome relief from the burdens the Wizarding World placed on him just by being the Boy-Who-Lived.

What was wrong with him? He'd always looked forward to going to Hogwarts before, no matter how awful the year before had been.

Then he saw Ron and Hermione and ran towards them, over by the gnome patch. All three of them stood around shouting happily at each other.

Hermione smiled. Harry noticed she looked thinner and paler than she ought to. "Have you been sick?" he asked.

"Just a bit tired out. We've been up since dawn with a pick-up Quidditch game. The Lovegoods live not too far from here, and Luna was over on her broom, too. I keep telling everyone how bad I am, but that didn't stop them from dragging me into the game."

Ron said, "Hey! I sucked rocks as Keeper at first, but I finally got the hang of it." His friend looked ready to go another few rounds. "But you'd better sit down. There's room underneath that tree once we toss some gnomes out of the way."

Harry noticed that Hermione hung back and let him and Ron get rid of the pests. That wasn't like her. Once they sat down she took a small vial out of a blue jeans pocket and drank the contents. "I thought you were ok from the raid last spring," he said. "Did you get sick this summer?"

"It was just a cold, but I couldn't get rid of it," Hermione said. "Then it started getting worse. Mum and Dad took me to the clinic and they put me on all kinds of antibiotics, but nothing worked. So I wrote to Madam Pomfrey, and she started sending me these potions. I'm better now. Mrs. Weasley helped me look things up in some of her old mediwitch books, and the potions I needed for what happened at the Department of Mysteries pretty much wiped out my immune system for a while."

"Knew that greasy git was poisoning you," Ron grumbled.

"Ronald Weasley, it was that or have my insides turn into liquid," Hermione said. "And who do you think is making this stuff for me right now? But I still get tired easily."

Harry interrupted. "I had something weird happen this summer."

"When don't you," Ron said.

"Good point, but this was something for the Quibbler. First of all, my aunt and uncle were actually decent to me for a change."

"Owl Luna's dad right now!" said Ron. Hermione smiled, too.

"Too right. I signed up for an amateur boxing class at a gym along with Dudley, because the doctor was worried about him being too fat. It was fun, actually, and Duds wasn't anywhere as bad as he usually is. In fact, we went off to a tournament in London just last Sunday! I won my bout in my weight class, and Dudley won his, too." He lowered his voice for this part. "On the way back, I felt like I had to throw myself out of the car. Now, that wasn't going to happen with me in the middle and Dudley on the right side and one of the others on the left. I fought against it, but I didn't know how long I was going to hang on. I…I was having a bad time. Then it stopped and my scar hurt like a knife was in it." He almost told them about the vision. "That lasted about an hour. That stopped, too, and then I just felt like throwing up. Of course, that part was probably because Dudley brought a bottle up to the room the night before."

Ron grimaced. "The twins gave me some Firewhiskey when they took me out for dinner one night this summer. I feel for you, mate."

"Did you write the Headmaster about what happened?" Hermione said.

"Yes. I wish I knew what happened, but of course nobody's going to tell me," Harry said. He told them both about the pensieve, as well as the wonderful memories inside. "I don't mean I didn't like your presents," he added. "But those memories really helped. I still miss Sirius, and I always will, but I don't feel like wrecking things because of it now."

"That's good," Hermione said, and took his hand in hers. "We thought after last year your summer would be really horrible. None of us knew what to do."

Ron looked happier when Hermione took his hand, too. "Yeah," his friend said. "Mum offered to have you here again, and Dumbledore still said no. She didn't send a Howler, but only because Dad said it wouldn't do any good. She had a noisy one all lined up, too—it would have blistered the paint off that portrait of Black's mum."

"Wow," Harry said. "Wish I'd heard it." They let each other's hands go, before anybody could see them and accuse them of soppiness.

Ron laughed, and started talking again. For some weird reason, though, Harry couldn't hear it. His friend's mouth moved, but no sound came out.

He felt a chill come over him. Suddenly he was in a darkened hall, and had trouble seeing. Harry adjusted a mask and then wished he hadn't. Bellatrix Lestrange was laughing as someone fell to the floor with a scream. Harry started to get up from his knees. Malfoy—he knew it was Malfoy--grabbed his robe and said, "Stay down! We have to be obedient!"

"Who died and made you Umbridge?" hissed one of the others.

"_He_ did," Draco said softly. "We were talking on the Floo when the summons came. He said we had to stay alive and not interfere."

The tallest one in the group said nothing, though a tear ran down his neck from under the mask. Harry shook as Voldemort made an announcement in that terrible high voice of his. "You have been foolish, Severus. You should not have let any degree of misery from one apprentice taint your own mind. I felt that point in my own Mark, though naturally I overcame it with ease. Bella, Pettigrew. Punish him so these new members know the cost of such stupidity. Do what pleases you, but leave him alive when you dump him in the Forbidden Forest as close to Hogwarts as you dare. I shall be quite unhappy if either one of you goes too far."

It really was Snape, though he didn't scream very long before his body went limp. But the beating and the hexes didn't stop. Were they going to stop?

Then he was back under the tree, ready to throw up.

Hermione said, "What happened, Harry? You have to tell us."

"Leave him alone, can't you see he looks half sick?" Ron's voice was a comfort now, an anchor holding him here.

"No, it's better if I say it. Then I'd better write it," Harry said in a choked whisper. "I was in a dark hall and kneeling. Voldemort was there, and so was I along with almost a dozen others. Bellatrix was laughing when _he_ was hurting someone. Then he told Bella and Wormtail to punish Snape for doing…I guess he was the one who stopped that spell on Sunday." He remembered the glint of light on the blade of a dagger. "They weren't supposed to kill him, but they wouldn't _stop_. They're supposed to dump him in the Forbidden Forest alive." He wondered whose body he'd been in, but was glad to be back. He closed his eyes a moment and tried to remember if he knew anybody who had been there besides Malfoy.

"You have to owl Hogwarts _now_," Hermione said sternly.

"What, and lose a golden opportunity to have a new Potions teacher next year?" Ron said with a smile, but became more sober as it became obvious nobody else was laughing. "Well, you'd better tell Mum about this," he said.

"Come on." Hermione stood and motioned Ron to help.

Between the two of them Harry stood up, and they went into the kitchen. Harry repeated his story to Molly Weasley, who turned pale. "And the Headmaster probably ought to know that Draco Malfoy was there, too," he added. "I don't know who else, except I'm pretty sure either Crabbe or Goyle stood right beside me." _Just one of them,_ he thought. _Not both._

"Of course, dear," Molly said. "I need a quill and paper, I'll be right back."

Hermione stood up, obviously to fetch her own, but Ron motioned her to sit down again. "Mum will find hers pretty quick," his friend said. "Besides, Ginny's room is up the stairs, and you still look knackered out. Sure those potions aren't making it worse?"

"Your mum checked them out herself. She ought to know what to look for by now with this household," Hermione said with both fondness and exasperation. "The twins alone could keep the Southwark Poison Control center busy all by themselves."

Harry didn't doubt that. Then Mrs. Weasley came in and said, "All taken care of. I borrowed Hedwig as well as Errol, just in case. One of them should get through."

"I thought that stopped when _she_ left," Ron said.

"Perhaps that's what we're supposed to think," Molly said crisply. "Hermione, dear, it's time for you to lie down for an hour."

The bushy-haired girl protested, only to be overridden and firmly planted on the couch in a supine position, though Molly allowed her a book. Then the older woman chased both boys outside again. "Both of you have too much energy. Go use some of it up. Our neighbors still have some gnomes left, even though most of ours are gone."

Harry and Ron went back out under the tree. "That was a narrow escape," Ron said. "I thought she was going to set me on another Potions lesson."

"What?"

"Oh, yeah. I didn't make an O in Potions, no surprise there, but Mum sat me down and asked me how badly I wanted to be an Auror. Everyone knows that's where you're headed, and I want to be there with you, so like an idiot I said I'd do anything. Next thing I know Mum has a set of summer lessons in one hand and the wooden spoon in the other."

"That must have been some Howler she sent Snape!"

"I know. I wanted to take a look at it myself, but Mum just said sometimes asking nicely worked, too." Ron shook his head.

"I know, but on _Snape_?" Harry had to agree with his friend. He was glad to forget the brief vision that showed the Potions Master as no more than a heap of black robes. It was probably just false information like the vision of Sirius Black being hurt a few months ago. He ought to thank Voldemort for showing him something so pleasant.

Except it hadn't been fun at all. All the students probably fantasized about watching Snape go down, even in Slytherin, but this hadn't been like the dreams where he'd knocked the bastard to the ground himself. Mrs. Weasley had been worried, but she hadn't asked him if his scar hurt the way she usually did. "I wish someone would tell what's really going on," he said.

Ron shook his head vigorously. "Enjoy what's left of the summer," he said. "We'll find out more than we want to soon enough."

"You're probably right," Harry said, remembering what he'd discovered in Snape's pensieve. He'd never wanted to know his dad and friends could be like that.

He and Ron borrowed a broom each from the family shed. "Where's Ginny?" he asked, once they were up in the air.

"Over at Luna's. They don't live that far from here." Ron made a face as he practiced some maneuvers. "_Girl_ stuff. I'm glad Hermione is too sensible for most of that, though I can hear her laughing when she's in my sister's room sometimes."

It felt good to be in the air at all, though he didn't want to say that the broom he was on was so old and slow he thought he could go faster on foot. "Want me to toss some Quaffles your way for practice?"

"Yeah, that'd be great," his friend said, and took up station by a makeshift ring nailed to a tall stand. "This morning we only had enough for Workup instead of teams, and I didn't get that much practice as Keeper."

Harry had only heard of that version of Quidditch last year—you only needed one goal, and everybody took turn at a position. He hadn't played it that way, but it would probably be good for him to get a feel for what the others on a team had to do. "It'll be great this weekend when everyone can come here, won't it?" He threw the Quaffle towards the ring.

Ron quickly reached for it. His friend was better, there was no doubt about that. "Except for Percy. Mum is still hoping he'll come, but we can do without him.

Harry flew quickly to fetch it after Ron tossed it back in. "But he's your brother. He's not even a Slytherin or anything like that."

"Yeah, I know. Hermione's been on me about that, too. Says if he comes home it means he hasn't deserted us, blah blah blah."

For some reason Harry was reminded of Sirius the time he'd talked to his godfather about what he'd seen in the pensieve, and how he said that Remus sometimes made him and James feel bad about what they'd been doing. He felt uncomfortable knowing that he and Ron ignored Hermione the same way. "Yeah, well, maybe we should listen to her."

"Don't be ridiculous," Ron said, reaching out for the Quaffle again, but missing this time. "I mean, she was even worried about that stupid Slytherin the twins had so much fun with."

Harry flew after it and easily grabbed it before it went out of the Weasley's garden. "Well, did he ever get out of hospital?"

"How should I know? Not my day to watch him, mate. One less Slytherin, one less DE to go after us, is the way I look at it. Why are you so worried now? You didn't care back then."

"I know." Harry flung the Quaffle at Ron again. "But what's the difference between hating Slytherins and hating Mudbloods?"

"You're just having me on now! The Sorting Hat picks them out. Gryffindors are the best, of course, the Ravens have more brains than are good for them, the Puffs don't have enough, and the Snakes deserve whatever they get. We all know the Headmaster thinks the same way. You told me yourself that he was glad you chose Gryffindor." Ron caught the Quaffle this time. "Why don't you try tossing from a bit higher up? I always have trouble catching those."

Harry was afraid Ron was right. "I know," he said. "I remember the way the whole school treated me when they thought I was the Heir to Slytherin."

"But that turned out to be wrong, and you saved Ginny anyway," Ron said. "With the Sword of Gryffindor, too! Hey, I was a prat that year and you know it. But Lockhart was a bigger one!" They both laughed then.

Harry decided it was hopeless, and just helped Ron with his drill some more. _All right, the Snakes do deserve what they get. Maybe Dumbledore is right about that. But he talks about unity, too. Of course we all stare at Slytherin and wish they were gone. Maybe he really means that we'll be unified once they're out of here._ He offered up this speculation to his friend.

Ron laughed. "Wouldn't that be nice, mate! But then, we'd have to start beating up on the Hufflepuffs."

"Why would we have to beat up on anybody?"

"Way of the world, Harry, way of the world. When you're the top house you have to show it. Ok, maybe Fred and George shouldn't have hurt old Montague that much. 'Mione's probably right about that. It makes us look as nasty as the Malfoys. But the Snake was going to be gone next year anyway, so it's not like it's going to make that much difference."

_Except to him,_ Harry thought. _And his parents._ He remembered how angry they'd looked when he'd seen them coming up the drive towards Hogwarts. He tossed the Quaffle and said, "Well, let's hope his friends won't be out for revenge."

Ron sobered a little at that as he batted the missile away from the ring. "Hope his uncle won't be the next Dark Arts teacher. That'd be as bad as having Snape there!"

Harry cheered up. "Shacklebolt told me who it's going to be, and never said anything about keeping it quiet. Lupin's going to be back!"

That's great! Maybe we'll learn something in there this year!" Ron started heading down towards the ground. "Let's tell 'Mione. That'll make her happy."

Harry followed his friend down and into the house, barely remembering to leave the broom outside. Molly Weasley had some limits, and that was one of them. He and Ron tried to be quiet as they stepped into the parlor, but still made enough noise that Hermione opened her eyes. The book laid across her chest showed that she probably had been sleeping.

Ron looked stricken. "Didn't mean to wake you," he mumbled. "But Harry told me some really good news. Remus Lupin is going to be back."

Hermione smiled wanly. "I wondered about that," she said. "You see, Professor Snape sent me the seventh-year book and some notes on making the Wolfsbane Potion." Then she looked frightened. "I hope your vision today was just another cheat, Harry. If he's dead or too sick to brew, who's going to make it for Professor Lupin?"

Harry hadn't thought of that, and judging by the look on his face, Ron hadn't either.

His friend recovered first. "Well, 'Mione, you did make Polyjuice when we were only in second year," Ron said. "It can't be that hard, can it?"

She grimaced. "One of the stages means sitting up for 24 hours. I'm not looking forward to doing that every month."

"The school would give you time off to rest, wouldn't they?" Harry asked. "I mean, since you've been sick and all."

"The professor never missed a class that I remember that year," Hermione said. "And I had the Time-Turner, so he couldn't have used it to get caught up. I wish I hadn't had to turn it back in now. It looks like I'm going to need it."

Now Harry really hoped his vision had been a fake. He'd never thought of Lupin's potion. "We'll help all we can, I promise. Right, Ron?"

"Yes, of course," his friend said. "After all the drill I've gone through this summer, I can chop ingredients pretty well if nothing else. Harry's pretty good, when he wants to be anyway, like with that potion that Snape dropped on the floor."

Hermione didn't look happy. Harry volunteered, "And we'll take turns on Neville watch when we're in class. I mean, if he's in class." That was an easy promise to make. The odds of Longbottom making an O on his Potions OWL had to be really high.

"You had an E on your Potions OWL," she reminded him.

Ron snorted. "The Headmaster will get Harry in anyway, no matter what the greasy git has to say about it. But I'll help with Neville, too, if he's there. And if I'm there, too."

"That will help," Hermione said wryly. "I wonder if Professor Snape sent his notes to anyone else? The more who learn it, the better."

"Unless it's Malfoy," Ron said. "He'd just poison Remus and pretend it was a mistake. Besides, Snape's way too tough. He'll be back in the dungeons meaner than ever even if Harry saw what was really going on."

Hermione just nodded. Harry had the uneasy feeling she was just being polite. Another thought struck him. _What if Snape is the only one who can make the potions for her? If I hadn't been stupid about the Department of Mysteries, she wouldn't be sick now._ He had been very lucky that only Sirius had died, now that he thought about it.

Mrs. Weasley came in, tut-tutted over Hermione and felt the girl's forehead with her hand. "You can get up now, but stay out of trouble, dear. And don't let my son talk you into doing anything you don't want to. Did you hear me, Ronald?"

"Yes, Mum."

"Tomorrow morning it's back to lessons. If you don't want to have to study on Saturday, you need to keep up," the older witch said, then left the room.

"Yes, Mum." Ron sighed. "Mione, I never meant to push you so hard."

Hermione sat all the way up and pushed her hair back. "I do feel better. Honestly, Ron, don't give me that dying calf look. I'm quite capable of telling you no on my own account!"

His friend turned beet red. Harry rescued him. "Let's go back outside. I've a lot of catching up to do."

The three of them did just that. As much as Harry liked all the Weasleys, he was glad to have his friends to himself for a little while. He looked forward to the picnic on Saturday, though.

The next day and the day after that he was pretty much left to himself. Molly Weasley had been serious about the Potions lessons. Hermione didn't want to do much besides read and go over the Wolfsbane notes. Ginny was busy with the house while her mother and Ron shouted their way through learning Potions. Harry listened in. He had a sinking feeling he was going to need to know this stuff despite the E on his Potions OWL. Ron was probably right about Dumbledore making Snape let him into the class, just like the older wizard had lined up the Occlumency lessons. _Now the bat will hate me worse than ever,_ he thought.

He sat as close he could to the door of the kitchen, though, listening hard. Harry had never felt left out here at the Burrow before, but he did now. _When am I ever going to have anything that's mine?_ Once his friend and Mrs. Weasley were done, though, Molly fussed over getting the kitchen aired out properly. "I don't plan to get sick from your mistakes, dear!" she said to her son. "Your teacher might be better-tempered if he didn't have to breathe in all this muck every day!"

She could be right. Harry resolved to look up Brewer's Bog and find out more about it.

The next day was much the same, but in the evening the three of them and Ginny helped set things up for the picnic the next day. Molly made them go to bed earlier than usual, claiming that no one would get any sleep till after midnight the next day. He was beginning to worry, though. Neither Hedwig nor Errol had come back from Hogwarts yet.

Harry fell asleep quickly, despite Ron wanting to talk till the sun came up, but he awoke just a couple of hours later, or so he thought judging by the light coming from downstairs that meant Arthur and Molly were still up. He'd had another bizarre vision about standing around in a basement chanting a spell, then being connected with everyone else by a golden vine. But Draco Malfoy, Percy, and _Kreacher_ had been in it, so it was obviously just an ordinary weird dream. His scar felt _warm_, and didn't hurt or anything, so nothing bad must have happened. He was starving, though, so he quietly went down the stairs and around to the kitchen, now dark, to see what he could find. While he liberated the makings for a sandwich, a glass of milk, and a piece of pie, he couldn't help overhearing Mrs. Weasley cooing over at least one owl. "Now, dear, don't go upstairs and wake Harry," she said quietly. "He needs his rest. I don't suppose you know where your friend went to—oh, yes, of course. I'll see him in the morning then. Now just perch there till morning, and we'll all be happier.

Harry slunk closer to the door, making sure to keep in shadow. He heard the sound of paper being wrapped and shaken out.

"What does it say?" Arthur asked in his deeper voice.

"They found him not long after they got my note," Molly said. "But…oh, Arthur, Poppy's certain he's dying. She says they plan to try something tomorrow morning, but she doesn't think he'll make it that long."

Harry froze. Was it Snape they were talking about, or someone else? Despite his normal anger with the greasy git, he remembered the frightened look on Hermione's face. He even remembered what a werewolf under the light of a full moon looked like. _Padfoot isn't around any more to help, either._ That thought made him want to cry. He felt weird eating and sniffing back tears at the same time, but he was _still_ starving.

"He'll make it," Arthur said, but he didn't sound certain.

"If he doesn't—tomorrow the whole family will be here having a good time, because he died for it." Molly sounded bitter.

"It's part of what we're fighting for, love. But you're right, we owe him more than I can tell you. If he lives…if he lives, we'll have to do something nice for him."

Harry had a horrible thought. He remembered what Voldemort said. Whatever Snape did to stop the spell, it had hurt. _You should not have let any degree of misery from one apprentice taint your own mind._ He knew he wasn't any of those apprentices…but what if his scar had made him one? Did Snape touching it in his dream mean anything? Snape had saved him before, but had never been hurt like this. Well, as far as he knew.

No, wait, he had. The Potions Master had come out to the Shrieking Shack to make sure all of them were all right, and had his head knocked in for his trouble. Harry winced as he remembered his godfather's carelessness. It had been funny, then. But now Snape could die, really die, saving him once again. Dumbledore had said that when his father had died, Snape had transferred the Wizarding Debt he owed James Potter to him. Harry was terrified thinking about that. He owed the greasy git so much now. What was _he_ going to do if he couldn't pay it back? The Potions Master didn't have any children or other relatives that anyone knew about.

He made a face. Was he going to have to start watching over _Draco?_ The thought almost put him off his feed, but not quite.

Arthur and Molly murmured together in voices too low to overhear. Then Molly spoke up. "Whoever's in the kitchen had better clean things up and go back up to bed. If you're still there in five minutes, it'll go hard with you tomorrow."

Harry hastily started putting things away, careful to make some noise so Mrs. Weasley could hear progress was being made, then quickly went up the back stairs to bed. The food had heartened him, though his mind was still in a turmoil over the news. He really hoped it wasn't Snape the older couple talked about.

He slept like a rock, but Ron was still snoring when he woke up. When he passed the girls' room, he heard giggles and low-voiced comments. He was glad that Ginny could make Hermione laugh. She was always so serious. Ron had admitted he did half his stupid stunts to make her smile, though his friend had threatened to set the twins on Harry if he told anybody.

It was late morning, but nobody seemed to be up except for Mrs. Weasley, who was humming in the kitchen as she bustled about. Harry thought that Mr. Weasley would probably stand on his head and wiggle his ears if he thought that would make his wife happy. The sound of her made Harry feel safe as nothing as done for a long, long time. He sat just outside the door, not wanting to interrupt that peaceful noise. Hearing the rattle of the dishes being done by someone else was also a nice sound. He peeked in as everything fell silent. The sun shone down on Molly Weasley like a halo, and she just stood there, both arms up to the elbow in hot water.

Harry knew what that felt like. Sometimes he'd be in the middle of the pots and pans that wouldn't go in the dishwasher, and just stand there, enjoying the comfort of the hot water on his hands and arms. He wouldn't have interrupted Mrs. Weasley for the world. She worked so hard, both here and at 12 Grimmauld Place, to keep people fed and happy. He'd thought less of Snape for never taking a bite from her. It was just mean of him to refuse her hospitality, like a slap in the face. The Potions Master was always so nasty about it, too.

He almost swallowed his tongue as the sunbeam falling on Ron's mum suddenly got brighter, so bright he almost couldn't see her. She became transfigured inside that sunlight, as if she'd become a plump, red-haired angel of mercy. _Why, she's beautiful!_ Harry thought. _She's even better looking than the way I saw her in the memory of Mum and Dad's wedding! Ginny—is Ginny going to look like that someday?_ He wished he liked Ron's sister better. Everyone seemed to expect them to hit it off. But he didn't love her that way. Not yet. He wondered sometimes if he would ever love anyone the way Mr. and Mrs. Weasley did each other, or even the way he'd felt about Cho Chang last year. Even if he did, would Ginny wait that long? She was going to be one of the most popular girls at school ever in a year or so.

The light dimmed, eventually. Molly sighed, wiped her eyes with a dishcloth, and began on the stack in the sink again. Harry stepped in and began drying by hand. "Thank you, love," she said. "Magic works just as well, but the bowls never feel cared for with it, though I know that sounds silly."

"No, it doesn't," Harry said. Even with the dishwasher rack pulled out at home, some of the glasses never dried right without wiping, or so Aunt Petunia said. He took care with the crockery as if it were his aunt's best china.

After that was done, she made him a quick breakfast just for him. For some reason, it hit him hard and he almost wanted to cry. At Hogwarts they ate in regiments, and that was pretty much the case here, too, while at the Dursleys' he was usually the one cooking. He tried to explain it, but it all got jumbled up, and it was a good thing Mrs. Weasley had an extra dishcloth that hadn't been used yet.

Molly looked at him and shook her head. "It's such a little thing," she said. "With my mob, it's easy for one or two to get lost, so I've always tried to spend some time with each one by themselves during the week. I don't know if I'll manage it today with everyone here, but I do try. I wish I hadn't forgotten to do it for you, dear."

"But you don't," Harry said. "There's always some chore that you do with just me whenever I visit. Last year it was winding yarn, or something, I forget. It just hit me funny this morning."

"Did you sleep all right?"

"Well, except when I woke up starving," Harry admitted.

"Ah, so you were my mouse in the kitchen this time," Molly said. "If you heard anything, don't go spreading it about. We don't know for sure yet anyway."

"I hope it isn't…isn't Professor Snape," he said, remembering to be respectful for once. "Hermione's terrified she's going to have to make the Wolfsbane Potion for Remus since he's coming back."

"Well, now, that's a change," Mrs. Weasley said. "Here I thought the lot of you would sing and dance to see him go."

Harry made a face. "I still think he didn't stop Sirius from leaving 12 Grimmauld Place on purpose," he said. "But if my vision was right, he got in trouble for saving someone. I'm afraid it was because he saved me from that spell on Sunday."

The witch sighed. "We'll know more later today. I haven't seen any more owls, and they say no news is good news. Let's get these things put away." She showed him where everything went, including a couple of fancy cups that went up on a shelf.

Harry noticed a silver badger with _Molly Prewett_ on it. "Mrs. Weasley, were you a Hufflepuff? I always thought you were a Gryffindor, especially when you said the Fat Lady bawled you out for showing up late at the dormitory."

"Well, what I didn't say back then was that she was upset because I was three or four sheets to the wind, at the wrong door, and at about verse 14 of "The Hedgehog Song"."

"How did you end up there?"

"Mainly because I was wearing Arthur's shirt, and he had a _Return-me_ spell on it in case he couldn't remember the way to go." She smiled as she lifted a tray into a cupboard. "To be honest, all of you were so proud of being Gryffindor I didn't want to see your looks when you found out I was just a Hufflepuff. Of course, that didn't help Arthur much that night, since Old Mr. Ogg was one of my uncles from Lancre and he was the one who found us out on the Quidditch Pitch back by the scoring shed…"

Harry stifled mirth. It was weird to think of Ron's parents as just another couple of kids caught over there. He remembered what happened when Seamus and Lavender had done the same thing. Though Hagrid hadn't been that angry, or so he'd heard, Seamus had claimed he'd been scarred for life by the half-giant laughing his head off at the pair. Then he thought about what the witch had said. "We wouldn't have thought any less of you, Mrs. Weasley. Cho thought Cedric Diggory was the best kid in the school. She spent half of last year crying over him. He and I helped each other during the Tri-Wizard Tournament." He was glad he'd taken Cedric's body back, no matter the risk. It had been the right thing to do.

"Well, no wonder you and her never got on, if that was why she went with you," Molly said. "She should have waited to get over her grief before going out with anyone. It wasn't fair to you to have to carry that burden."

Harry had never thought of it that way. He'd wanted to be with Cho so much he hadn't cared, and still remembered the soft touch of her lips on his. But what Mrs. Weasley said made sense. He looked up at the silver badger. "What did you get the badger for? You must have done something really neat."

"Oh, it wasn't that much," she said, though her cheeks went pink. "I helped out Madam Pomfrey a bit one night when the Badgers and the Snakes ended up in a huge collision at a Quidditch game. I did some sorting out of the bodies so she could see the badly hurt ones first. She talked to Professor Sprout about it, and at the end of year Leaving Feast I was awarded it."

"Hey, at least you're not a Slytherin," Harry joked.

Molly looked unhappy then. "There's a lot I could say about that, dear, but I won't. I happen to disagree with the Headmaster on a few things in regards to that house, but you shouldn't have to be in the middle. They're children, too, especially the younger ones, and that's all I'm going to say on _that_ subject."

"But the Headmaster said it was our choices…"

"Enough."

Harry shut up. He'd heard that tone of voice before, although not usually from Molly Weasley.

"Oh, dear," she said. "I didn't mean to get angry with you. You can't help thinking what you've been taught." She stretched, and yawned. "Well, if you're going to keep hanging about you can lay the table before the rest of the mob gets here."

Harry knew when to do what he was told. Soon everyone else wandered in, including a tousled-haired Mr. Weasley still in white and blue striped pajamas. Harry helped Mrs. Weasley get food to the table as quickly as possible. He may as well use his Dursley training to good effect.

Right after everyone was finished, and Ron and Ginny set to clearing the table, a white owl speckled with brown came flying in. Molly and the bird disappeared to the parlor, and Harry made himself scarce.

Then he heard her shouting up the stairs. "It's going to be all right, Arthur!"

Harry sat down. Whatever he thought might be wrong, wasn't any more. Ron came out of the kitchen and said, "What's up, mate? Looks like you just had another birthday, or something."

"Nah," he said. "It's just when your Mum's glad, everyone is too."

"Yeah, you're right about that," his friend said, fidgeting. "Look, promise not to tell? I think maybe Percy's coming back for a visit. It's supposed to be a surprise. I haven't even told Hermione yet."

Harry grinned. That would explain a lot. Now he could stop thinking about Snape altogether. "You still miss him, don't you?" He could guess why Ron had been angry before.

Ron looked down at the floor. "Yeah. I remember year before last, when I came out of the lake he was the first one there making sure I was all right. Why did it change, Harry?"

"I don't know. Maybe working with that awful Umbridge is what did it," he said.

"I guess," Ron said. "I forget how many times he rescued me from the twins when I was little," he added wistfully. "He had to watch us a lot when Mum was busy with other stuff. He was probably sick of it and glad to go to Hogwarts."

Harry found himself sympathizing with Percy then. He'd had to grow up fast, too. "I hope you're right and he comes today," he said.

Then they were both called in and given work to do setting up the picnic. At last it was all done and the twins showed up, then Bill, then Charlie. Ron didn't say anything, but his eyes were still hopeful even after they all ate outside.

During the afternoon, the three of them were out under the tree again. Ron asked about Muggle boxing. "Did you really win a trophy?" his friend asked.

"Yes, but I was really lucky, and paid attention to what I was doing." Which was more than he could say about things he did at Hogwarts some of the time. He stood and took a normal beginning stance. "Before you go in the ring you have to wear a helmet, gloves and a mouthpiece. Some of the boys wear um, protectors, though I didn't." He wasn't about to go into detail with Hermione around. "No blows below the belt, like that stops everyone, but I didn't have that problem with any of my opponents."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry was glad she was showing that much spirit. He kept on, though, telling Ron everything he knew about the sport. Both of them stood now so Harry could demonstrate some of the tactics, though he pulled his blows considerably. "I wish I had a second pair of gloves," he said. "Mr. Banks said back in the old days, they fought bare-knuckled, but a couple of us tried it out of his sight and gloves are better."

"What are you boys up to now?" Molly Weasley asked as she walked by.

"It's called boxing!" Ron said. "Do you think Dad would like to watch?"

"Probably, but he's talking with Percy, who just came through the Floo. The two of you can show him later. When did you learn this, Harry?"

"This summer. Dudley and I went to the gym almost every evening once we were signed up. During the week, anyway."

"Oh, I bet your aunt and uncle were glad to see the back of you two on a nice summer evening!" Mrs. Weasley laughed.

Now that brought a mental picture that just _hurt_, and from the look on Ron's face, he wasn't alone. "Did you have to say that?" he asked.

She just laughed and went over to Bill and Charlie, who were drinking ale at the picnic table and slapping cards down.

Hermione was obviously holding back giggles. "That might explain why things were better at your house this year," she said, then had to blow her nose.

"I'll need therapy to get over that one," Harry said as he sat down.

Ron made a face as if he'd bitten into the wrong Every-Flavor Bean. "Try being in the house when Mum and Dad forget a Silencio spell."

At that Hermione gave up trying to control herself and howled into her handkerchief.

"You've got parents too, you know," Ron said.

"Yes, but their bedroom is on a different floor, and Muggle soundproofing works all the time, not just when someone remembers it." She retreated back to the handkerchief.

Harry rolled his eyes this time. Technically, he knew that Dudley hadn't come from under a cabbage leaf, but the thought of his aunt and uncle in bed together was just _wrong._ With Ron's parents and their constant shows of affection, it made more sense. He'd still rather not think about it. At least he didn't know Hermione's parents well enough to picture _them_.

They sat quietly for a few minutes. Harry glanced towards the table again. Bill had gone back into the house, and Percy came out, looking out of place in his office clothes. Charlie stopped smiling. Ron started to stand up, but Harry pulled him back. He didn't think either older boy would appreciate an interruption.

Charlie stopped smiling and said a few things in a voice too low to overhear. Harry wished he had some Extendible Ears, or could remember a quick spell to listen in. Percy replied quietly as well. His friendly, hopeful look was replaced by a defensive one.

Ron was staring, while Hermione suddenly found her handkerchief much more interesting.

Then Charlie laid his hand on Percy's left arm. Percy shook it off and looked angry.

"How dare you treat Mum and Dad the way you have!" Charlie said as he stood.

"Stop bossing me around! I'm a grownup now!"

"Oh, just turned twenty and you're a big man!"

"I'm not the only one who's had words with Dad. I remember some of your fights," Percy said, shaking.

"But I never told the whole family to go jump! Or turned into a Ministry lickspittle, either!" Charlie rolled up his sleeves.

"I'm trying to help, dammit! You don't know what it's like there. Lots of them want to get rid of Dad."

"And so you toady to the toad, is that it? Not to mention spying on us when you can bother to let us know when you alive!" Charlie made a fist. "You're not so old I can't remind you what loyalty to this family really means."

"I was trying to keep Ron out of trouble! Can't you understand what's going on? Oh, I forget. You're in Romania, and Bill's everywhere, but both of you know more about the war here than anyone who sticks around. And I'm sick of your little reminders. I never liked them to begin with." Percy was almost as red in the face as his older brother.

Ron was trembling. Harry put his arm around his friend's shoulder, hard. "Stay out of it," he said in a whisper.

His friend nodded. Hermione was deathly pale. _Maybe she's never seen a family fight like this before,_ Harry thought.

Charlie threw the first punch, though Percy easily ducked it, and returned with a wild blow that hit his brother's shoulder. They swung at each other in earnest then, moving away from the table and into the gnome-yard. Harry saw that Charlie landed a lot more hits than Percy did, but that the younger brother was better at getting an elbow or knee in once they fell on the ground and started wrestling.

Molly Weasley came out of the back door and screamed at them. "Stop! Stop! You've got to stop fighting like this!" She burst into tears, which Harry didn't expect at all.

Arthur and Bill burst out of the house. Arthur drew his wand and put both fighters in a body bind. "You heard your mother," he said in a hard voice. Then he waved his wand again. "Get up and shake hands."

Both young men obeyed instantly. Percy's shirt was hopeless. Both sleeves were ripped and torn nearly to the elbow, while the rest was dusty and half the buttons gone. He was also sporting a shiner. Charlie wasn't much better off with a nasty graze on his jaw, and moved as if it hurt to breathe.

They shook hands, though both had murder in their eyes. Charlie took Percy's left arm again and looked at it. Harry was close enough to see it didn't have any marks on it, except for a bad scrape. "Oh, damn," he said. "I'm sorry, Perce. I've been an idiot."

"What did you think you were going to see there?"

"You know."

"So I can't disagree with anybody here without them thinking I've gone to the bad, is it?" Percy didn't sound as refined as he usually did.

"Boys," Arthur Weasley said quietly.

Both Percy and Charlie turned to face their father. "Don't fight like this," Molly said. She came forward and hugged them both. "Don't you see, it doesn't _matter!_ You're still my sons. Charlie, even if you had found something, Percy would still be your brother."

The young man bowed his head. "Yes, Mum."

Percy's face was as white as Hermione's. "Mum," he said softly as he accepted her embrace, then gently eased himself out of it. "Oh, Mum."

Molly looked shocked, and let her arms hang at her side. "Percy," she said fiercely, "this will always be your home. No matter what."

Arthur placed his hand on Percy's left shoulder. "That goes double for me, lad."

Ron was crying now. Hermione had given him her handkerchief. Harry felt like crying, too. The Weasley family had been the one thing he could depend on, and now it looked like it was falling apart, too.

"I'd better go," Percy said. "Sorry, Mum. Sorry, Dad."

Arthur held his wife and said, "The door's always open, here or at work."

"I know." Percy swallowed, then started walking away.

"You'd best go back inside, Charlie," Mr. Weasley said sternly to his other son. "Have another beer with Bill, or something."

Just then Fred and George tumbled out of the house, all excited about something. Their father just looked at them and they fell quiet. Percy dusted himself off a little, fixed his glasses, and then kept going with his head held high. Harry would bet every Galleon he had that Ron's older brother was trying his best not to cry. Percy was limping a little, too.

Charlie slunk off, probably hoping to be ignored for a bit. Fred and George stood around, obviously wondering what had happened. Mrs. Weasley was sobbing quietly into her apron as Arthur comforted her.

Ron's face was red. "How dare he make Mum cry?" he hissed. "The next time I see Percy, I'll give him as good as Charlie gave, maybe even better."

"Percy was fine till Charlie started on him," Hermione said wearily. "Though why I bother saying anything, I don't know."

Harry knew Hermione was right. He had a flashback to the Black house, when Snape was just talking to him and Sirius Black came out and instantly drew a wand. _I blamed Snape for it, too, just the way that Ron is blaming Percy._ "She's right," Harry said.

Ginny came out of the house, looked around, walked over to the tree and asked, "What happened?"

"Charlie and Percy got into a fight, and Percy left," Harry said. "Charlie was really interested in what Percy's left arm looked like."

Fred and George came over, too. "Was…was there anything?" one of the twins asked.

All of them watched Mr. and Mrs. Weasley as the couple went back into the house. "No," Ron said. "That's one thing we don't have to worry about. Yet." They all moved over to the table and sat down there.

"Oh, good," said the other twin. Harry still couldn't tell them apart. "It's _our_ job to make his life a living hell, not Moldy Oldie's."

Harry blinked at hearing the nickname. Ron spluttered. "Think you own him, do you?"

"Of course we do," said George. Maybe George, anyway. "Can't have _him_ moving in on our exclusive franchise, after all."

Ginny threw up her hands. "Can't you two take anything seriously?"

"Of course not," said maybe-Fred. "Otherwise we'd have to take it all seriously, and then we'd really have to worry, wouldn't we?"

"Well, true," Ron's younger sister said. "Even with having to do Mum's work, it's been fun watching Ron do Potions all summer."

"Very funny," his friend said. "Wait till you take the OWLS yourself next spring. We'll see who's laughing then."

"At least I do my own homework instead of copying off someone else's all the time," Ginny retorted.

"It's not all the time," Hermione said weakly.

"No, it wasn't," Ron said. "And I've been punished all summer for what I did copy. Besides, the greasy git was on to me. He gave me a ton of detentions where he had me redo it, _and_ hummed "Weasley is our King" in the bargain before the song became good luck. Too bad Harry's vision was probably a fake."

"What vision?" George asked.

"Nothing special," Harry said. "Just seeing Snape get put on the ground by Lestrange and Pettigrew."

"Hope's he all right," the other twin said. "We wouldn't be in business without what we learned from him. If we make it big, he could come work for us!"

Even Harry had to laugh at that. It was funny, thinking the twins _liked_ Snape.

Molly called them in for supper. Even though the evening was warm, nobody felt festive enough to eat outside again.

Dinner was quiet. Even Fred and George behaved themselves, more or less. The chairs were moved around so there didn't seem to be an empty place, but everyone knew there was one.

Afterwards, Mrs. Weasley had Harry, Ron and Hermione stay behind to help clear, while the twins and Ginny went upstairs. Bill and Charlie went off with Mr. Weasley. Charlie looked sullen and hangdog, as if he knew himself in the wrong and didn't want to admit it.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Molly said to the three of them. "Ronald, I'm glad you stayed out of it. You are not to go after Percy the next time you see him, you hear me?"

Ron ducked his head. "Yes, Mum," he said quietly, though Harry could tell that he didn't like it.

"Did your older brother come out of the house spoiling for a fight? Answer me truthfully, Ronald," she continued.

"No, Mum," the youngest Weasley boy said, though reluctantly.

"That's what I thought. We're all family no matter what happens. You two as well," Molly added, looking at Harry and Hermione. "We can have disagreements without ruining that. I was against Bill going off to Gringotts as a curse-breaker, at first, and see how that's worked out. Charlie and Arthur used to fight terribly and it worried me sick. Charlie's done some growing up, though not as much as he should have. Both of us let the twins know what we thought about the way they left school. It's Percy's turn now to find his own way. If we don't make him feel like an outcast, he'll find his own way right back to us. I certainly know how _not_ to manage it!"

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Last year at Grimmauld Place Black treated Snape like dirt and most of us followed his lead. He's still on our side, the Headmaster says, but I don't know why. When was the last time anyone thanked him? Last time I looked you all owe him your lives."

"If he treated _us_ decent…" Ron mumbled. "He sucks up to those snakes and tramples all over us."

"Yes, he's a hard man. But he's only returning how he was treated by those before him.. As for school, you always have classes with the Slytherins, don't you?"

"Yes, so far," Hermione said. Then her eyes went wide as her incredible brain made some connection long before anyone else.

Molly nodded. "And how many of them write home to their parents? And who might those parents be?"

"Oh," said Harry. He'd never thought of that. "But he treats me like that even when nobody else is around!" Except once at the Black house. Snape had just been talking to him, then, when Sirius had nearly attacked the Potions Master.

"I heard there were some special lessons you were supposed to have," Ron's mother said.

"He threw me out!" Harry knew he'd brought that on himself, though.

"Were you really paying attention to what he was saying? Tell me the truth, now!"

Mrs. Weasley's gimlet gaze was scarier than Veritaserum. "No," Harry said glumly. He'd really wanted to find out what was at the end of that dark hallway and behind the door. Being Nagini had been really scary, but hadn't that helped Arthur Weasley get to hospital on time? Yet last Sunday the link had nearly killed him, and would have without Dudley's intervention. Still, the vision he'd had yesterday afternoon might have saved Snape's life—if it had been real, of course. He couldn't think what to make of his scar feeling so warm last night, or the dazzling light by the sink this morning. But he remembered what he'd done last spring. "Remus said I ought to apologize. But Sirius and the Headmaster seemed to think it really wasn't my fault." For different reasons, but he was glad those two backed him up.

"Maybe not. You're the only here who knows what really happened. I'm glad I don't teach there, though. It'd be hard knowing that someone could tell me what to do with a student even if I thought it was wrong."

Harry hadn't looked at it that way. Dumbledore had intervened an awful lot when it came to him and his friends, especially with Snape. "Why doesn't he just quit, then, if teaching us is so horrible?"

"Maybe he has to be at Hogwarts because of the Order," Hermione said.

Molly looked pleased.

Ron interrupted, "But he was rude to you all the time when we were at Grimmauld Place, Mum! You'd fix him a big plate and he'd just stalk off or just look at it and not take a bite! You ought to be mad at him too."

"I didn't want to mention this part, dear," she said, and sighed. "Harry, your godfather was the owner of that house. He had control over how much hospitality to show to every guest. All of us were given full rights, except for Professor Snape. He was given door-right only."

Ron looked appalled. Harry, and given her blank look, Hermione, had no idea what that meant.

"Ronald, why don't you tell them, dear?"

Harry's friend swallowed. "It means he couldn't eat there. He couldn't even have a cup of tea there, or a glass of water unless Sirius Black passed it to him. He can't warm himself in front of the hearth without permission or use the Floo. He can't sleep there. All he can do is to come in the door, and sit on a chair. Why didn't Harry's godfather tell you, Mum? That was rude to you to make you fix all that food that Snape couldn't eat."

"Believe me, Sirius heard from me what I thought of it when I finally found out," Molly said softly, and left it at that. Hermione had a closed face, but Harry could guess what she thought about it.

"No wonder he always left around mealtimes after a while," Ron said, not looking at Harry. "Having to look at all that food and never being able to touch it."

Harry didn't want to say anything. Mrs. Weasley couldn't be making this up, but Snape had to have brought it on himself. "He taunted Black about hiding out," he said. "That's what the Headmaster said himself."

"And your godfather kept doing the same to Snape about being Malfoy's lapdog," Molly said in a tired voice. "I won't repeat the rumors, but they were nasty ones. I finally had to put a stop to in while I was around. If Snape had to do the can-can to find out what he needed to know to save our lives he should have been petted and praised, and not harassed to death about it.

"Harry, dear, you really should have done your bit about those lessons. I'm sure the Headmaster has given you the impression that it was the professor's fault and not yours about what happened at the Ministry. He loves you dearly, and hates to see you hurt. I don't know all the details, since Remus only told me so much. But if you're offered those lessons again, it might be our lives if you fail them this time." She sighed. "I hope you don't have to take them from Professor Snape. Word is he's been terribly sick this summer, and was worn out before that. He really was risking his life last year, on top of teaching and keeping that snakepit of his in order. Remember, he was put on probation last year along with everyone else, so he can't be all bad."

Harry felt ashamed, although he could have done without the image of Snape doing the can-can. He wanted to defend Sirius, and say that his godfather had the right to do what he wanted in his own house, but he didn't think that argument would go far with Molly Weasley. "I wish I knew," he muttered, though he was actually glad he hadn't.

"You see what can happen to turn a man hard and bitter," Ron's mum said, looking sad. "Don't do the same thing to Percy. Especially you, Ronald. He's still worried about you, even with Madam Umbridge gone. You're his brother and you should act like it."

"What about Charlie?" his friend replied.

"Arthur is talking to him and Bill now. I'll talk to him myself later."

Harry was glad he wouldn't be there. He could take Molly Weasley yelling at him, any of them could. But to have her be _sad_ at him would break his heart. "There has been something helping me," he said timidly, hoping his interruption wouldn't be seen as one. He told her about the pensieve, and some of the memories in it. He didn't mention the way that Lucius Malfoy had looked at Snape, not after remembering some of his godfather's jokes. It wasn't funny any more.

"Well," Molly said, looking pleased. "I'm glad Dumbledore found something to help you. That was a royal gift. Maybe you ought to find out when his birthday is."

"Of course," Harry said, though he wondered how.

"Perhaps Professor McGonagall will know," Hermione said.

Harry nodded. He couldn't think of anything the Headmaster needed, well, except a clean office, but maybe one of the really big assortments from Honeydukes would go over well. Wait, he knew what to do! He should go to a Muggle sweet shop and buy a couple of boxes of kinds the Wizarding World didn't have.

"Well, it's getting late. Ronald, I want you to look at your Potions book tonight for a half hour before bed. Maybe the three of you can go over your notes, or something. Providing you can read them, of course." Molly smiled and stood up.

So did everyone else. Ron blushed a bit. His handwriting was notoriously bad, and there were times he really couldn't read what he wrote afterwards.

Hermione began going up the stairs. "You have a good lie-in tomorrow," Mrs. Weasley said to her. "Don't let my son rope you into doing too much. I know the kind of schedule you keep once you're back in school, and I'd hate to see you sick again."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," she said.

"That's Molly to you, and you know it, young lady."

Ron and Harry went upstairs. Once inside the bedroom, Ron shook his head. "I didn't want to say anything around the others, Harry, but what Sirius Black did was pretty awful."

"The Dursleys did to me all the time before this summer, and I got used to it," Harry said.

"Did they make you sit at the table with nothing, and make you watch the rest of them eat?" Ron started pawing through books and papers.

"I guess not. They always gave me _something_ if I was at the table, and not locked in the cupboard." Harry flushed red. He'd promised himself never to mention that.

"Oh." Ron bent his head down and kept looking for his notes. "I hope Mum is right about Percy," he said after a moment of silence. "I…I miss him. Now I'm mad at Charlie, too. I love both of them, Harry. What am I going to do?"

"I don't know." He sat down and helped look through the mess. He didn't _want_ to be mad at Sirius, especially over Snape. "Do what your mum says, I suppose. Percy would look ugly if he sneered all the time the way the greasy git does."

"But if anybody treated me that way, I'd get mad all the time too!" Ron had a look of bewilderment on his face. "I wish I hadn't said it was good thing for Snape to be gone the way I did a couple of days ago. Hermione's still scared, even though she doesn't say so. And the twins actually _like_ him! Oh, where are those damn notes?"

"We can take it easy for the night and find them tomorrow," Harry said.

"Easy for you to say, but I don't have a Headmaster to get me into classes without studying." Ron glanced away.

Harry swallowed. "If I'm in it, I'll still have to do the work, no matter who's teaching it. Hermione isn't the only one who's scared." He wanted to tell Ron the Prophecy, but was afraid his friend would think he was making it up to be more important. "Look, can I study with you while I'm here? I don't want to be the new Neville next year."

Ron calmed down and smiled. "People wanting to study with me instead of the other way around! It's the end of the world!"

"Nah, just an article for the Quibbler. Wait, here they are…"

They were still friends. That was the most important thing.


	28. Chapter 28: Clinical Detachment

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Still not HBP compliant. With any luck, never will be. Yes, this is a shorter chapter, but you got it sooner, too!

Chapter 28: Clinical Detachment

Draco Malfoy

Draco Malfoy sat at the table as his mother's escort for the night. The place of honor was empty, despite the presence of several Ministry officials, including Madam Umbridge. No doubt the toad thought it was held open for Cornelius Fudge, who had declined his invitation at the last minute. _Umbridge should have paid attention,_ he thought. _Fudge can spot a loser faster than most._ Perhaps she believed that her superior had wavered too soon, and would end up being replaced.

Most of his friends were upstairs, or had left this morning. He looked down the table. Down close to the end, a shadowed spot marked where the most special guests of all sat. Draco ate and socialized as he had been trained. Not much else would happen till Umbridge and her flunkies left, or so he hoped.

_His godfather was alive!_ He could tolerate hours of this nonsense knowing that the professor was going to make it after all. He and his friends had all felt happier this morning, not knowing why, then his mother had announced at lunch that she had received word that Severus Snape was going to live, though he was still weak. Draco had hoped for a little bit that the older wizard would be able to make it to the party, but Mother had told him that his Head of House needed recovery time, and not to expect him. He'd felt the echo of the Dark Lord's summons, as had the other apprentices still at the Manor. He was glad, in a way, that someone at Hogwarts had interrupted the call.

"Where is Professor Snape?" Dolores Umbridge asked, anxiety in those fishy eyes.

"I contacted Hogwarts not long ago," his mother said. "He is quite ill and unable to attend. He's been on a regimen this summer because of the new potions safety rules, and it's been quite hard on him."

"Oh, dear," said the Minister. "I had no idea. I intended those rules to help people in his position. Such work can't be safe. Whenever I was in those dungeons of his last year, I nearly choked on the fumes. Surely it's just as well that he's getting treatment, though. I heard the results on his blood test were unusually bad. Actually, I'm surprised he's still at Hogwarts. I thought he had to be at the clinic for this."

"They devised an outpatient course for him," Narcissa replied. "I'm not certain that was the best alternative or whose idea that was."

Draco nearly gagged as he realized Umbridge clearly had feelings for the Potions Master. No wonder the professor had asked to be warned whenever she was anywhere in the lower levels. _I'd run and hide too!_

"I do wish young Mr. Weasley could have attended tonight," Umbridge said.

"I believe he is trying to reconcile with his family," Narcissa said blandly. "The dear boy apparently feels that he and his father at least need to work together in harmony. He has been encouraged by this by those in authority over him."

"But _I'm_ the one—oh, yes," Umbridge said. "I see." She paid attention to her soup.

Later, the conversation entered more interesting paths. His mother asked, with a slight yawn to show how bored she was with the whole topic, how her claims were going.

Umbridge tittered. "Oh, those silly goblins! I swear it will take them years to go through Sirius Black's estate! He left entailed property to someone outside the family tapestry, and you know that just isn't done."

"Of course, if my suit for guardianship over the Potter boy is approved, then he could be considered a Black that way, and thus could inherit the house and other real estate without violating tradition," Narcissa said.

"I hadn't thought it that way," Umbridge said. "However, a lot of the money and movable property was left to that _disgusting_ werewolf! Dark Creatures _shouldn't_ have the same rights as real people, and I don't care who hears me say it."

Draco idly wondered what Umbridge thought of the dark creature who shared the table with her tonight, and what rights _he_ ought to have.

"That isn't as important as the house and land," his mother said. "Naturally I wouldn't expect you to know that, though."

The Minister nodded, obviously with no idea how she'd been insulted. Then Draco noticed a glint in the woman's eyes. Perhaps she did know, and kept it for later. _Didn't think a Hufflepuff believed in that,_ he thought. He'd have to remember this. She sucked up to anyone she believed was stronger, and punished anyone weaker. He'd better warn Mother. "Madam Umbridge," he said politely, "have you heard anything about the progress of Father's appeal? We miss him so much." He knew she loved being fawned on.

"I'm sorry. There are times when even I must plead ignorance." Her eyes flashed.

His mother's lips tightened. She hadn't missed the riposte either. "I must apologize," Narcissa said softly. "I appreciate any efforts you can make, Minister, you must know that. Draco, please let Kreacher know it's time for the dessert course." She looked brightly up at Umbridge. "I hope you enjoy raspberry trifle. I made it myself. Without magic."

Draco hoped the woman realized what a favor that was from someone in his mother's place in Wizarding society. He remembered watching and 'helping' her in the kitchen when he was much younger. Some days he wished he could do it still.

Umbridge thawed. "I'm sure it will be delightful."

It was. Draco had two helpings, and he wasn't the only one. Several slices disappeared into the shadows at the end of the table, while the Minister visibly mellowed under the influence of the dessert.

At last she and the other minor officials left. Kreacher began clearing, while Marta brought glasses and bottles. Draco asked for juice and received his mother's glance of approval. He had too many things to hide now. No wonder the Professor never drank except one sip at a time, and that only when he was forced to.

The shadows lifted. His aunt, Pettigrew, and the Dark Lord sat over their own glasses. Draco noticed that his Master's glass also held only juice. _I wonder if there's any special reason he avoids alcohol the way my godfather does._ He decided to save that question for Professor Snape, when he was more recovered.

He was the only apprentice at dinner tonight. _I should report as much of this as I can to the others once dinner is over. Even Vince might come up with a good idea, but only if he knows what's going on._

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, are you proud of what you and your apprentices did last night?" inquired the Dark Lord in his high, thin voice.

Draco bit his lip. "Yes, my lord," he said. He was a fool to think he could hide anything like this. "We are Professor Snape's apprentices, and he our master. Since your last command about him was that he not be killed, it seemed appropriate to keep him from dying." Then he waited for the words that would condemn him.

"Good." Voldemort's red eyes glinted. "If you are so loyal to him, that argues well for your loyalty to me."

"Thank you, my lord." Draco bowed his head. He tried not to hear Flitwick's voice lecturing in his head about faulty premises and undistributed middles from a class in the logic of Charms construction.

"Perhaps you would like to explain how you managed the spell? This could have implications for other Death Eaters," the Dark Lord continued.

"Well, all of us who are apprenticed to the professor participated." That was true. If nobody knew that Snape had two extra, he wasn't about to mention it. "As far as I can tell, being an apprentice creates a link through the Dark Mark. This way, any spell put through it can't be stopped by wards, either the ones here at Malfoy Manor or at Hogwarts. I don't know about Azkaban, my lord."

"It did not stop the loyalty spell, Mr. Malfoy," Voldemort said.

"Thank you, sir. That's good to know, since it's clear that Father wasn't affected." Draco thought hard. "I looked through one of Mother's books, and found a section on Earth Charms that appeared helpful, since my godfather was physically ill. I found one to increase the life force of the subject, and we used it. We all ate and performed it in the lower levels, so we would be strong in that area ourselves. I still have a copy of the ritual, my lord, if you'd like to see it."

"Did you perform a similar ritual this morning?"

"No, my lord, we all slept late." He bowed his head. "Perhaps we should have repeated it just to make sure, but we failed to do so." Draco's heart beat faster. Mother's message had said that Snape was better, though still weak. Had someone lied, or had the professor become worse? He wished he could check through his Mark, but he'd have to leave the table first.

"In the Wizarding World, we place strong emphasis on individual strength and action," Voldemort said, as if he were lecturing at Hogwarts. "This is unlike Muggles, who band together in groups because of their weakness. This kind of magical cooperation is rare. However, your spell worked, and made it possible for his healing this morning. I sent a brief summons to Professor Snape earlier this evening. Someone put him into an enchanted sleep shortly afterwards, obviously to keep him from reporting to me, but I learned the state of his health.

"I am quite happy to report that our beloved Severus is not dying, but recovering. He is tired, as is to be expected, but should heal properly if given time. I intend he should have it. No doubt he will be sent to the clinic in Switzerland again. I will not allow any interference with this process." He deliberately looked at both Pettigrew and Madam Lestrange, who bowed their heads, though Wormtail looked relieved.

Draco felt something sharp inside his mind that cut away through the few mental defenses that Father had taught him. _I'm so glad my godfather's going to be all right,_ he thought. _I didn't think we were that good, but I'd do it ten times over if the professor needed it._ Snape had always been a bastion of strength. Seeing him brought so low had frightened him, had frightened all of them. _He's going to live!_

He knew how lucky he was. The Dark Lord might have wanted the Head of Slytherin to die but without having to say so. _Maybe I should have asked for permission first. But what if he had told me to let my godfather die? Oh, I'm so glad everything's going to be all right!_

Funny. That odd presence inside his mind was gone. That was probably a good thing. If anyone but Mother or the professor knew how he really felt, he'd end up writhing on the floor in agony like that Muggle they'd practiced on.

If so, he'd had to show as much courage as Snape had.

Severus Snape

He was proud that he'd been able to walk through the Floo to Magister Lowenstein's office instead of being carried on a stretcher, though it had been an effort. Snape now sat on a couch wishing he could give up his pride for a moment and just lie down. Despite his wish to stay at Hogwarts and sleep in his own bed, he knew the proper tests needed to be made regarding the poison still in his blood.

Lowenstein finally finished his wand-waving and nodded. "Well," he said. "From what I saw you had a very unpleasant time at your first threshold. Often this potions overload creates a temporary derangement of its own, and is increased when the treatment begins to liberate the toxins from your body tissues. This increases the amount in circulation, and causes much illness before the expulsion phase is reached. This is why we strongly suggested the mood enhancers as well as the other potions for the side effects. You are not the first to react this badly to the process. Perhaps you will listen to us now."

"I take it I must start the process all over again?" Snape closed his eyes. He would never recover in time for school to start at this rate.

"Not quite. The detoxicants have done some of the work. I understand from your headmaster that you were so ill they feared to strain you past endurance by having you take the harshest part of the regimen this last week. You should spend enough time here so we can find the proper routine, one you can manage for the few months. Unfortunately, because of the rest break you have taken, you will reach the threshold stage again."

Severus allowed his head to drop. How was he going to get through this?

"I know the prospect is not welcome," the Magister continued. "If you are here when it happens we can provide more help. I cannot believe you were still brewing up till just over a week ago! We shall place you on an intensive regime with potions and charms for the side effects for the next few days. Then we shall place you under a magical sleep when you reach threshold again. However, we must ask you to eat and drink as much as possible before that point. You are much too thin and oh, what is the English phrase? You are too worn down. I understand that you have unusual duties, and I can tell from my diagnostics that you have been injured. You have healed well, but your body is understandably exhausted from the ordeal.

"The next two days you are to rest and eat well. You will have all the potions at their proper dosages for your body weight. You must tell us when you feel overwhelmed again. The magical sleep should take a day, perhaps two at the most, but that will draw on your body's strength as well. Once that is over, you should begin to expel the poisons that have built up in you for so long. You have read the procedure, I hope."

"Madam Pomfrey made sure of it," Snape said dully. "I am…Magister, may I lie down?"

"Of course. I can talk to you just as easily that way." A pillow and a light blanket quickly appeared. "And if you fall asleep, then no matter. You need that as well."

The Potions Master felt cosseted and discovered that he rather liked it just now.

The Magister continued. "As I was saying, we already have procedures for the expulsion phase for those in residence. This is why we often keep wizards and witches here for months, especially those with your level of potions overload. It will last even longer if you must continue to brew and teach. I wish you did not have to! You will cycle between threshold and expulsion for a while yet. Each threshold should grow less as time goes on, so you should not be in the same danger you were this summer. By spring you should be much healthier in mind and body than you have been in years. You are not the first to have…an accident at his first threshold. The potions we have for the side effects should help with the next one."

Snape finally understood that Lowenstein suspected a suicide attempt in the recent past. He supposed he ought to feel insulted. Once he thought about it, though, he _had_ acted oddly both before and after that dreadful Sunday. He hadn't argued with the Dark Lord at all, or tried to shift Voldemort's interpretation of events. He hadn't pleaded illness from the detoxicant, but had tamely submitted to punishment without even trying to bargain. At the time he'd thought it necessary to protect his apprentices, but had that really been true? He could have directed attention away from the children and still minimized his injuries if he had been thinking properly. He supposed he still resented Dumbledore's meddling. That hadn't helped. Yet the memory work he had done really was dangerous, and Flitwick had told him as much.

"It still sounds horrible," he said.

"Well, it is," said the other wizard. "Now I shall have you levitated to your room. I am certain enough that you are strong enough to walk, but there is no need."

"I have already spent nearly two weeks lying about," Snape said peevishly, and began to sit up, only to discover that his muscles were like water.

"You will receive a regimen for exercise in a month or so, but not now," Lowenstein said. "Your excellent mediwitch warned me that you were such a patient. You are sodden with the poisons, and forcing yourself along will only make things worse."

Severus lay back and allowed himself to be carried along in a conjured stretcher. He was still vaguely worried about what would happen if he were to be summoned while he was here. No doubt the paper about him would acquire a footnote or two about the Dark Mark! That reminded him. As he and Lowenstein headed down the hallway towards his room, he said, "I found out something about that sedative. It reduced how much pain I felt under a light Cruciatus, I judged it about a three, but the curse itself ended up having more effect than usual. Last week I was off the detoxicant when it was placed on me again, but I really don't remember if the other potions had any effect. I wasn't there to notice, so to speak, till last Sunday. You'll have to ask Poppy if she noticed any changes…" He must be out of it to speak so freely, but Lowenstein ought to know. Indeed, the other wizard looked horrified. "I'm probably saying far too much…"

"No, no," the Magister said. "It is information we need. I am surprised you are alive, then. You should elect the procedure in residence."

"I wish I could," Snape said faintly. Soon they were in his room and he was quickly stuffed into a flimsy patient gown and tucked into bed.

He slept for a few hours, then was awakened for dinner. Fortunately he was allowed to eat before ingesting more horrible potions. Part of him still worried about the Dark Lord. He thought he would have felt it if any of his apprentices were being harmed, or if Voldemort were angry with him for his inability to attend the dinner, but he still wasn't _sure._ His wand was under his pillow. He pulled it out and touched it to his Mark, but trying to use his magic to contact the students brought dark spots to his vision, even though sleep and food should have restored some of his strength.

Snape lay back and rubbed his forehead, hoping the small headache would not become a big one. One of the orderlies came in and said, "Please do not try any more spells, Herr Professor. Put the wand away and go to sleep for the night."

He obeyed, too tired to argue. The glop he'd drunk tonight had more sedative than he was used to in it anyway. No doubt the staff here wanted their patients quiet. Given they specialized in potions masters with bad tempers, he couldn't say he blamed them much. He closed his eyes and let it go.

His dreams were disturbing. He couldn't remember them when he woke up in the morning, but knew they hadn't been good ones. Severus felt dull and hollow, the way he had in Azkaban after too much Veritaserum. He noticed owls flying along the hallways delivering messages and newspapers to various patients. The Malfoy eagle-owl came into his room bearing a note and that morning's copy of the Prophet. He read the note first.

"Dear Professor", it began in Narcissa's handwriting.

"The dinner party was quite a success, though you were sorely missed. In fact, a few of my guests stayed longer than I expected, or I would have let you know before now how well the evening went. _All_ of them offered their best wishes for your recovery. My dear son (and his friends as well) was commended for loyalty to you, while a mutual acquaintance said how upset he would be if anyone disturbed your rest while you were at the clinic. Please do not be anxious about affairs while you are away. Are you quite certain you cannot take the complete course of treatment there?

"I know the new term starts quite soon. If you require any assistance you can't receive at Hogwarts, I have several house elves who are quite idle at the moment (no, I won't send Kreacher!). Some of them have been with me for a long time and know how I feel about gossip.

"I look forward to speaking with you about the claims you have laid for me in chancery, but not until you are feeling better. The goblins are welcome to take all the time they wish to consider the matters as far as I'm concerned.

"Lucius is also concerned about your health and wishes you well. His own condition is as good as can be expected given his current legal status. So far his appeals have been denied or delayed. A certain Minister who once showed him great favor is constrained by the current political climate, but promises to do all that is possible as soon as things are quieter.

"We have neglected your welfare over the years, and sadly, you are the one paying for it. Be assured that we are looking out for you now, and that we shan't repeat past errors. The mutual acquaintance I spoke of earlier now believes he was hasty in his judgment and regrets his own mistakes as well. I believe he is planning to make up for it in the near future.

"Yours, Narcissa Malfoy".

Severus destroyed the letter and breathed a sigh of relief. Of course the Dark Lord could be lying, but even with that as a possibility, it appeared he would be allowed to heal. This time, anyway. He leafed through the newspaper and found little of interest. The rag rarely reported on what was truly important, though he glanced at Skeeter's column over breakfast and tea. Once he'd gagged all three down, he managed the latest potion mix as well. This time he didn't mind feeling sleepy. He set the flask down before it slipped from his fingers. He didn't think Narcissa would write such a reassuring letter if anything were truly wrong. She was quite able to pass on warnings under the cover of her seemingly inane chatter.

For the rest of that day and the next he rested, ate, and visited the lavatory, though he felt increasingly nauseated despite what he was given for it. The staff assisted him—well, hovered over him would be closer to the truth—but were helpful when he ran out of things to read. The clinic had its own research library, though not much of it was in English. He suspected he'd soon exhaust their resources if he were in residence for more than a week.

The third morning he awoke and felt the gray chill inside that had affected him before. It wasn't quite as bad, since he wasn't forcing himself to brew and, as far as he could tell, wasn't being attacked with a suicide spell by the Dark Lord. He had appreciated Flitwick's explanation that it had been a variation of the Fide Mort.

However, his current state was unpleasant enough. He found it difficult to speak, and wished he could have Winky here. The house elf was beginning to anticipate his wishes and had tried to watch out for him on that dreadful morning.

Yet part of him, deep inside, wasn't affected. He didn't feel the hollow emptiness he had before. Did part of the Baldur spell have a permanent effect? If so, he was more grateful than ever for what everyone at Hogwarts had done for him. This despair was more of an outside coating than something that pierced all the way through. He almost snorted with cynical laughter. He _had_ been around Trelawney too long if he could wax that metaphysical.

Snape rang for the orderly. "The Magister wanted to know when I felt…unwell," he said. "There's something called threshold where he has to change the procedure." He lay back in the bed and closed his eyes. Oh, how he wanted to stay here for the complete course of treatment! His apprentices needed his protection, though. All of Slytherin did. Soon he'd have another lot of wretched little firsties on his hand, and only Pomfrey cared as much as he did for the dunderheads. Dumbledore meant well, but as soon as school started he'd go back to his usual habits. Severus hoped he could overcome some of his own.

One of those was Potter. He would like to avoid seeing the brat again, but had to face the boy and find out if he could manage his temper without cutting away his memories. As much as he'd hated being threatened with Azkaban and attacked with that nightmare curse, it had been the right thing to deal with those Muggles. Petunia Dursley's letter could have been written by a dozen pureblood witches in the same situation. A good thing the Dursleys were Muggles, and susceptible to something as easy as the Harmonia Potion. The fact that his realization of how he looked to Harry Potter had been forced on him didn't matter. He had terrified the boy, who had good reason to be frightened of any adult.

No one deserved to live in a cupboard, not even the son of James Potter.

Narcissa's claim to the boy could have interesting ramifications. She might win it. Could she protect Potter from Lucius or the Dark Lord? Snape doubted it. He must find a way to lose ungraciously and to a candidate strong enough to ensure the boy's safety.

"Not feeling well?" Lowenstein's voice interrupted his speculations.

"No," Snape said, opening his eyes. Without the distraction of his thoughts, the grayness settled on him again. "It's not as bad as before, but almost…almost like a Dementor in the room."

The Swiss wizard pulled out his wand and hummed to himself as he waved it over Severus. "Oh, yes, you are quite ready for the next phase. I do not like to think how it was the first time if this is not as bad as before. A pity you became injured and the potions were not continued then. But this first expulsion is also hard to endure. A good thing you are here for it. I shall have Johann come in and help you sleep, and we can begin a more intensive treatment."

It was on the tip of Snape's tongue to refuse the favor. He wasn't nearly as ill as he had been before. After a moment's consideration, he agreed anyway. It wasn't as if he were doing anything productive in this bed.

A younger wizard, with bright hair like Gilderoy Lockhart, though clearly more competent if he were working here, walked in the room. He introduced himself and explained the spell. "Being asleep this way is helpful to both you and us," he said. "We can use the detoxicant at full strength without you being so distressed, and do a much more complete examination than is possible with you conscious."

"Did Madam Pomfrey warn you about my reaction to the first dose?" Snape didn't like the idea of being helpless under those circumstances.

"Yes. However, the additional potions you have been taking are helping with that," Johann said. "You will feel wrung out when you awake, and then start to expel the poisons. You will be conscious for that part. We shall have a bath ready, as your skin will be involved."

Snape remembered what he'd read, and wasn't looking forward to it. However, getting rid of the toxins in his liver and whatnot was the whole point of what he'd endured thus far. No doubt he'd better move on with it.

Johann performed the sleep spell. Severus didn't fight slipping into unconsciousness the way he normally did. Since he knew he was unlikely to be summoned, and suddenly being stricken by the notion that even this far away that Hogwarts was still holding him up, he finally felt safe enough to relax and allow the enchantment to work.

For a moment it seemed as if he hovered over the two wizards and his own thin body. He _had_ been rather hard on it; he looked closer to Lowenstein's age than his own. It didn't matter. He was going to have to live all he could to make up for the short time ahead of him. A pity he was going to waste so much of it being ill from this regime. However, it would be easier to blame any other problems next year on it. Perhaps the potions for the side effects might actually work if he took them for more than two days at a time.

Then he let himself fall into darkness as if it were a feather mattress.

Malachite

The old woman walked into the room, her back only slightly bent by time. Her white hair was swept into a chignon in back and pinned with a jeweled butterfly. "So this is our new Manticore," she said to her nephew in a low voice. "He is much taller than our last one." She still remembered the peppery, irrepressible little man. _Gerard. I failed you the same way Albus is failing this one. I must speak with Alabastor again, to remind him what can happen._

"According to our scans, he should be taller yet," he said. "He has hunger marks on his bones, like some of your younger friends who starved as children during the Grindelwald war, or some of those I see in the free clinic. He seems so long because he is underweight yet. But you need not speak so quietly. Johann's sleep spells are most effective. Plus, I do not think he understands spoken German that well."

"I would not make assumptions," Malachite said. "Oh, dear, he cannot be the age that Alabastor said he was. He looks nearly twice that."

"I fear the records are accurate," Lowenstein replied. "I did not believe he was so young either just from his blood tests. I am surprised he is alive. He has so much experience with the Cruciatus he uses a number to rate it.

"But there has been a great healing since the first time he was here. The first time I examined him it seemed his foundations were hollow, and near to breaking. Now they are strong, and at his core there is a light I had not seen before. It will take time for him to recover his strength. A shadow on him is dissipating, but slowly. This is not the first time I have seen this darkness on someone with a bad experience at threshold, though. I have not been told precisely how he gained such terrible injuries, but I suspect he put himself into a bad situation and did not care if he came out of it. I am not happy he must manage as an outpatient. He should be here with his dosages being properly adjusted. He certainly should not be brewing and I fear the worst if he must continue teaching. Add these secrets between you and Alabastor, and I wonder if all our work will be in vain."

The older woman nodded. Her nephew always hated losing patients for any reason. When one had been killed by a Muggle bus, Allard had mourned the fellow as if for one of his own children. "I have done research on this man as well. The Snapes are always strong, especially the men, yet they die young and often by violence. But the men of his mother's line are strong, too. His great-grandfather on that side was the Sorcerer of Russia, though none of that man's children were ever official, of course."

"He died young and by violence as well, if I recall," her nephew said. "But that would explain the power of this man's eyes and voice when he cares to exercise it. Gerta thinks so, at least. I am surprised that he is not married or involved. The Sorcerer was notorious for the number of his conquests."

"You read the extra section to the file as I have," she said flatly. "You said yourself that it turned your stomach. It certainly didunpleasant thingsto mine. Perhaps this healing has helped him there as well. He is in grave peril."

"The Headmaster has said as much. I fear this one faces the darkness far more bravely than I ever could. It irritates me that we may heal him of this poison only to lose him to the torment he has already suffered. It is not every day I am told how my potions interact with forbidden curses."

Malachite reached up and patted her nephew's cheek. "It is information you must have. Our bubble of peace is but that. If this new Manticore and Alabastor fail, we may learn for ourselves about too many things. It is true our neutrality was respected by Grindelwald and his Muggle puppet, but do you really believe he would have continued in that had he won? We have let Britain bear the burden against this Voldemort, but if we do not help, we shall have him on our on doorstep sooner than we like. For now we are a sanctuary for those hurt in this war. How long will that last if we do not give what help we can?"

She looked down at the sleeping patient. "I hope Alabastor has finally learned his lesson. He focused on another so much he forgot what others were giving. This Professor Snape nearly slipped from his fingers, I think. My friend is now frightened enough to take better care. A pity it took such extremity to wake him. But the heart with go where it goes. I only hope this poor fellow finds the kind of love I had with Georg before it is too late."

"I have done research into his background as well, Aunt," Allard said. "He is always overlooked while others are rewarded. Surely he seeks respect more than anything else."

"Of course he does. But that is dry bread without butter if his heart must go hungry. One can live on it, of course, and many have. Yet life is so much sweeter when the soul has love to sing with. How many times have I heard you say how you could not bear to go home if Milla was not there to greet you, and how you wish your brother had someone like that, too. Would all your honors content you in an empty house?"

Lowenstein bowed his head. "Klaus is used to it by now, I fear."

"Perhaps your patient is as well. Yet I shall worry about them both, and wish them happiness still." She blew a kiss towards the sleeping man.

Severus Snape

One nice thing about being a very light drinker was that one rarely awoke throwing up. Snape had never cared much for the experience and didn't now, as a husky orderly held him over a basin and horrible black goo came rocketing out of his guts.

Fortunately for everyone, he didn't panic and stayed where he was till his body finally decided it was done for the moment. A lingering sense of nausea warned him that he'd better enjoy the current peace and quiet while he could.

The aide wiped his mouth and had him rinse it out with some foul-tasting solution. "You are not supposed to be awake yet," the young man said.

"I hardly think I could sleep through _that_," Severus said.

"You would be surprised, then. Since you are up, however, it will be easier to get you to the baths when the sweating starts."

Snape felt a rumbling in his belly. "I'd better find a toilet first." The orderly assisted him with a levitation spell. Severus managed to position himself on the seat just as his bowels let loose. Once he was done, his assistant looked apologetic and said he had to note the color on his chart. Snape stood, though he needed hang onto the rail on the wall to keep steady. He felt chilled and humiliated in the thin patient gown and demanded a robe.

"The bath will be better," the orderly said, and quickly drew him one. Severus hated anyone seeing all his scars, but knew better than to complain. The warm water soothed the chills away. Then he felt altogether too hot. He was appalled when black drops appeared on his skin. No wonder the aide hadn't wanted to bother with more clothing. He was going to have to warn the house elves who did his laundry about it, as if they didn't have to run his separately already.

He was glad to be in the water, as the poisonous sweat itched and burned. Severus eagerly took the large, wet washcloth to attend to his face and neck. Exhausted by that small effort, he leaned back on the headrest built into the tub.

Then his scalp crawled as the pores there also became filled with the noxious exudations. The assistant gently washed the hair with one of the standard shampoos, with a spell to keep the soapy, toxic water from running into his eyes.

Severus was wrung out once it was all over. The aide had had to change the water three times. Then he thought about other body fluids. "Will my tears be acid as well?" he asked.

"Oh, quite likely. Plain eye-drops will work for that. I'll have a bottle brought to you. That reminds me. When you have rested and eaten, I am to give you a half hour or perhaps more to rest with your door locked and warded. The Magister said you were supposed to be reminded of all of your regimen, and said you would know what he meant."

Snape was appalled. He hadn't felt any stirrings since beginning the potions, unless one counted that bizarre dream where he'd been at the banquet and had longed to bury his face in Molly Weasley's plump bosom. It wasn't as if he were going to have a chance to continue his family line. At least privacy was being offered, but he doubted very much that he'd even want to perform, let alone be able to.

He merely nodded and allowed the orderly to help him back into bed with a fresh gown. At least he'd have some peace and quiet—it would be the first time since he'd stepped into this wretched place. He may as well enjoy it.

Severus ate and drank, though his muscles trembled, then downed the inevitable potion. It tasted stranger than usual, but everything else was off as well, no doubt because of the unpleasant residue from being sick and the rinse for it. The orderly left with the empty tray.

He lay back in the bed feeling fresh and clean. Snape tested the wards with his own wand, and found them reasonably competent. He reinforced them with a few of his own favorites. If he fell asleep, he didn't want to be disturbed to drink a sleeping draught, which had already happened a few times.

At least the blankets were warm and comfortable, even in the skimpy gown. Soon he became aware that part of him was more heated than the rest, and realized why his latest potion had tasted more odd than usual. No doubt Lowenstein thought to load his dice.

At first he wanted to resist the minor lust potion out of dislike of being forced to do anything of that nature. Then he remembered Sybil's prophecy. Why not indulge in pleasure for once after enduring so much pain? And he was alone, which made it safe. Even with women he'd hired to please him, he felt required to perform properly. After all, they would more than likely show up on the next Ministry report and would be asked what they thought of him. No doubt the delightful masseuse who had been so kind to him had also given some kind of evaluation. He was happy about the locked and warded door now. Being alone made it safe to him to enjoy this. Not even Albus Dumbledore could manage to hear his thoughts this far away.

One touch brought him to hardness. Given that he was in the hands of the Swiss, so to speak, he allowed himself to imagine Gerta's warm fingers around him. Then he let the vision of her hair turn redder, and her breasts fuller. Who could it harm to think of Molly Weasley touching him, holding him, even more closely than she had in his dream at Hogwarts on the morning he was recalled to life? He breathed more rapidly and closed his eyes as he gave himself up to the scenario. Oh, what would it be like to lie with someone who was a friend, someone he could trust? He even uttered a small moan as he spent himself, something he almost never did.

The residue stung a bit. Perhaps Lowenstein was correct, and _all_ the poison had to come out. Severus quickly cleaned himself with some paper tissues from a box thoughtfully left on his tray. He dropped the mess into the little bag taped on the side of his bed-rail. He barely remembered to bring down the wards, though it was a temptation to leave them up to allow himself time to enjoy the afterglow. _Lowenstein will no doubt analyze the sample_, he thought. _Given some things I've used for potions ingredients, I don't have much right to object!_ He faded into natural sleep shortly afterwards, and felt more rested when he awoke. Unfortunately, it was just in time for a new set of potions, and another long trip to the lavatory to purge and sweat. After that he was glad to take the sedative in the evening in hopes of spending a peaceful night.

He was discharged two days later. Snape felt weak, but nowhere near as ill. It would take a few weeks of his new regimen to bring back another expulsion phase, though the number of cycles required for complete healing would increase if he continued to brew and teach. He was tempted to speak to the Headmaster over the Floo and request to take the entire treatment in residence, but knew he couldn't leave his apprentices to fend for themselves. They'd risked their lives to save his. Draco's extremely carefully-written note which he'd received just before leaving for the clinic had made it clear that even those not properly his had joined the ritual. He'd been relieved that Voldemort hadn't been upset about it, at least not around Narcissa.

It was only a week before the start of school. He had to go to Diagon Alley and order the rest of his supplies, which needed to be fresher than those requested at the end of the school term in June. But he would spend at least a day sleeping in his own bed before attempting that.

Severus was strong enough to use the standard Apparation transfer point that took him to the gates of the school, with two weeks' worth of potions and another stack of instructions. As soon as he stepped onto the grounds of the school he felt even better. Snape made sure no one watched, then allowed a few acid tears to emerge. He couldn't help being overwhelmed by the sheer presence of the place. _It's like I'm still being held in a giant embrace,_ he thought. Of course he wasn't truly safe, because he could be summoned at any time, but he was _home_ here now as he had never been before.

As he had never been any place in his life.


	29. Chapter 29: Coming Home

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

I would just like to continue to thank Snape's Nightie for her constant Britpicking, encouragement, and silly comments. I also strongly recommend her story "The Choices We Make", which is getting pretty interesting about this point.

Chapter 29: Coming Home

Severus Snape

Severus walked slowly towards the castle, enjoying the late summer sun and warm wind. He had to stop to rest a few times before he reached the entrance, but it didn't matter. He was in no rush to take up his duties.

Poppy intercepted him once he was inside and dragged him off to the infirmary. She went over the instructions with him in great detail, and somehow managed not to blush over the ones regarding his personal life. "Severus, pay attention to all of this, even if you think it's silly. You deserve to have all of you get well, and not just the parts you think could be useful to the Order. Too bad a certain someone is in prison. You might poison him that way."

He nearly choked with laughter and surprise. Snape remembered a Muggle cartoon that showed a man holding his hand to his throat while looking down at a scantily dressed woman, with the caption, "You finally got me, Lucretia!" He hated to ruin the mediwitch's joke by pointing out that it probably wouldn't work that way with Lucius. "I wish I could," he commented, and left it at that.

"Other than that, you seem much better," she said. "You should still spend time outside each day and have a lie-down in the afternoons, even after you think you have your strength back. Rest when you're tired, too. You are improving, but you have no reserves, and I doubt you will for a while. Winky has been assigned to the Potions Department permanently, so she'll be available to help you all the time. I'm glad the dungeons are set to vent each day on their own. I noticed someone fixed that while you were gone, and I hope you keep that up."

"I will," he said. Snape hesitantly took her hand. "I…I want to thank you for everything this summer. I know it will be a lot of work to examine all the students when they arrive, but I think it's necessary, and not just for my Slytherins."

"You're right. I just wish you hadn't had to suffer so much to bring it about. To be honest, I'm looking for an assistant myself. I wish Mrs. Weasley weren't so busy with Order Headquarters, never mind her own place. I fear this next year is going to be a demanding one for her as well as for me. If you know someone who's looking for this kind of job and can be trusted, let me know."

Severus had a brief, terrifying vision of Nymphadora Tonks trying to help in the middle of a crisis in the infirmary and indulged in a momentary shudder of horror. It was just as well Molly Weasley couldn't be here instead. He would have difficulty hiding his feelings towards her, and she deserved better than that. "I'll keep an eye out," he said. "Some of the students show talent in that direction. I'll send one or two to you for detention and you can let me know which ones are the most helpful." Longbottom came quickly to mind. He was remarkably bad at making potions, but was good with plants and that wretched toad of his. Since he was stuck with the walking disaster for yet another year, he might as well make what use he could of the boy.

"That would help. I'll ask at St. Mungo's if they have anyone looking for work."

"I would be careful unless you know them personally," he said, thinking how fast his blood test results had fallen into the hands of the Dark Lord.

The mediwitch sighed. "It's terrible when you can't even trust St. Mungo's."

"The Malfoys and other purebloods have contributed a great deal of money to it over the years, and probably have a say in hiring and firing. I suspect the rot goes deeper than anyone thinks. I believe Mrs. Weasley was wise to supervise her husband's care last year."

Pomfrey nodded sadly. "The clinic is far safer for you, too."

"I know. I'm just glad that Professor McGonagall didn't run into any problems when she was there last year."

"I do have limits as a healer, Severus," Poppy said. "I'll have to take a refresher course just to keep up with this place."

"I shall try to remain undamaged for the rest of the year. That should help," Snape said. "I…I still want to thank you for everything you've done." He glanced around. "Where did you put the table?" Trelawney had let him look at her memory of the ritual, as well. That had been a great comfort.

"Down in your quarters. Winky has been doing quite a bit down there. Please don't get upset with her. It was letting her fuss with your rooms or drive the other elves quite mad with her concerns. Even Dobby stays out of her way now."

Lucius's old elf was used to taking care of him, though last year he hadn't had time. "I'll have a word with both of them," he said. "When school starts, I'll send you the students I think most likely to be helpful. I have to warn you, Miss Granger will ask a thousand questions and get into your library when you're not looking."

"Then I'll answer all the ones I know and give her a stack of books for the rest," the mediwitch replied with a smile. "I'm glad to see you looking so much better. But please don't overdo just because you can. I suspect the Headmaster would like a talk with you soon, so you'd best be on your way."

"Tired of my company already?" he quipped, and was happy to see Poppy knew he was joking. Sometimes others had trouble telling. Sometimes he did, too.

"Well, it is nice to see you when you're not horribly injured or desperately ill. Your conversational skills suffer then, and your manners are even worse."

He smiled wryly. Joking or not, she was quite right about that. "I'll just have to stay out of trouble."

"I wouldn't mind that either. I would like you to consider going back to the clinic whenever you have an expulsion phase. However, if you stay at Hogwarts for them, you'll have to come up here so I can collect samples of the goo and send them to the Swiss. You shouldn't have to worry about that part yourself."

Snape grimaced. "I'll have to warn the laundry elves about what happens to my clothing. They're used to my robes being vile, but this is worse. That sweat is corrosive."

Pomfrey nodded. "Just think what it's doing to your insides, and be glad to be rid of it. As for diet, I've talked to the kitchen and made some changes. You'll have several small meals a day without the potions, as well as the food you must take whenever you down one of the flasks. And you will have all the potions you're supposed to have. I'll try to make sure you get the detoxicant doses away from the Great Hall. You have enough to do with watching the students and trying to eat without what that stuff does to your stomach. The appetite and mood enhancers will come early in the day, and you'll have the sedative at night. Watch for any unusual reactions to anything in your classroom, even if it's been harmless to you before."

The older witch shuffled some papers. "Actually, Lowenstein is utterly fascinated by you. He hopes to gain a great deal of interesting data by watching over your case, especially how you react to some of the more common potions accidents."

"I can imagine the paper," Snape said.

"I would be surprised if you didn't end up as one of the co-authors. If you could keep a daybook all of us would find that helpful. It doesn't have to be much. Just jot down how you feel each day, especially after taking one of the potions. Everyone there seems quite concerned about you, and not just as a subject. Your experiences will be valuable data, especially if something goes wrong and they need to adjust your dosages."

"I'll try," Severus said with a martyred sigh. He objected to this new invasion of his privacy, but understood the necessity. Other witches and witches would undergo treatment for the same thing in future. Some of them might be teaching, too.

"In fact, I've been sent a standard planner for you, though I shouldn't think you need to write that much in it. Just mark the times when you take your doses, and note when you have problems." She looked in a drawer and handed him a daybook.

He riffled through it. It was set for a school year. Fortunately all the jolly little mottoes to motivate the user were all in French, so he could safely ignore them. But it was still magic, to bend Time itself to his will. Personally, his experience was that Time bent him to someone else's will, but it was a lovely illusion anyway.

Severus smiled and thanked Poppy again. He owed her so much. Surely a modest down payment on the debt began with him at least trying to fill out the silly book. He didn't know how long his resolve would last, but he ought to make an effort.

He left the infirmary and went to the Headmaster's office. Severus knew the old man probably wanted to discuss the papers left on the table. He still had to make a decision about them, and really didn't know what to do. After a slow stroll, and a brief climb up the stairs past the gargoyle, he was quickly invited to sit.

"Lemon drop?" Albus asked, just after ordering tea for both of them from a house elf.

"Yes, please." Snape enjoyed the look of shock on the Headmaster's face. "These potions leave an aftertaste, and I discovered to my dismay that something sweet is the only thing that helps." He was careful to pick the same bowl that Dumbledore used, though. McGonagall had hinted that were two different ones, and one kind of lemon drop explained why so many people talked freely to the older wizard. Making candy with just a hint of Veritaserum would not be difficult for a friend of Nicholas Flamel. Since he did much the same thing with the firsties and their hot chocolate, he shouldn't protest. He wasn't worried, though, since he intended to speak his mind anyway.

The lemon drop helped to counteract the nasty taste he really did have from that morning's potion, and wasn't as cloying as usual. Soon the tea arrived and he enjoyed it more than he might have otherwise.

"You're looking much better," the Headmaster said, looking hesitant.

"Toss a quart or better of poison out of your system the way I did, and you would too," Severus said. "I wish I had more time before school started."

"You may have all the time you wish, dear boy. When you were…were so ill, I promised to give you alternatives. Even at this late date, I could find someone else to teach Potions for the year and allow you to go back to Switzerland." Albus looked down at a piece of paper. "I did not mean to pry, Severus, but Winky found this in your room while she was cleaning. I find your evaluations of your fellow Potions Masters succinct and accurate. After so long without scandal, I hesitate to introduce a teacher already reeking of it. We already have one instructor who puts the children to sleep on a regular basis without hiring more of them. The editor of Potions Monthly, however, said she'd be available if the money were right. She'd have to pay a penalty for jumping her contract with the magazine, but could manage this next year. She would like to see your syllabus, of course, but is already strongly impressed by the reputations of the students who have gone on to work in Potions from here."

"Is that in the budget? My supplies and equipment already take up a large portion of it." Snape was taken aback. He hadn't thought the clinic a real possibility. "I don't want the other classes starved because of this."

"It could be, Severus," Albus said. "You are not to worry about that part. This way you could go back and take the full course. In fact, you'd probably be done in less than a year because you would not be exposed to a great deal that you would be here. My sources tell me that other parties would not object, either. Lowenstein swore he'd have a bed for you."

Snape was severely tempted. Even with the rest and airing-out periods in the schedule devised by the Ministry, he would be stretched to his limits taking all these potions. Somehow he knew that the Headmaster was sincere about this offer, and not just pretending to propose an alternative while carefully goading him into doing what needed to be done anyway. He would have to take most of his personal library with him, of course, and probably be the recipient of a Stunning Spell when he tried to interfere with Lowenstein's lab too often. For a moment he felt half a ton lighter as he imagined going back and not having to deal with yet another school year for the first time in fifteen years.

Then he regretfully shook his head. "Too many of the students depend on me," he said. "And Lupin…Lupin shouldn't teach here without the Wolfsbane Potion."

"Then you can have a sabbatical-in-place, so to speak, and not have to teach while still remaining here. You would brew only what was needed, and still get the rest you need."

He was really tempted now. Even that would reduce the amount of time required for the poisons to leave his body. He'd still be available to watch over his apprentices, counsel the rest of the Slytherins, and teach Granger and Malfoy how to brew the Wolfsbane, without the endless grind of teaching and grading.

He wouldn't have to face Potter, unless new Occlumency lessons began. Even that would be easier than seeing the boy on a daily basis. Snape bowed and let his shoulders slump. It wouldn't be fair to his students, especially those taking their OWLS or NEWTS this year. His little dunderheads always placed higher in Potions than in any other school. A new teacher was unlikely to reach his level of competence. He knew he _was_ going to be replaced, because of Sybil's prophecy, but not so soon.

Severus looked down at the floor. "I will teach," he said dully, "but I don't know how. If I keep to the schedule prescribed by the Ministry, I won't have time. Are those silly regulations in effect for this year?"

"I'm afraid so," Albus said. "To be honest, I think you need more rest than you'll give yourself otherwise, and I didn't fight them very hard. Your illness this summer gave Madam Umbridge the leverage she required. However, you will have all the help you need. The editor of I spoke of may be willing to substitute on call if you are ill for more than a couple of days. Winky is assigned to the Potions Department permanently now. She will be able to help with ingredient preparation with the training you've given her. You often have students do cleaning and such for their detentions. I suggest you make use of them for other duties, as well."

Snape slumped in his chair. "I'm running out of things I can nail Miss Granger for. She's getting more careful about helping Mr. Longbottom. Besides, Minerva will turn me into a fireplace poker if I give that girl too much work before she's fully recovered." He thought of something. "If I may give points for assistance, I'll have a flock of Ravenclaws pleading with me to grade first-year essays, as well as a few Hufflepuffs. I'll put a sign-up sheet in the Slytherin Common Room as well. Have the prefect badges gone out yet?"

"Yes. We finally decided young Mr. Malfoy deserved a second chance. I hinted gently that he knew about the Quill, and shouldn't be penalized simply because he did as the previous administration wished. Mr. Zabini and Mr. Nott have also received badges. In fact, Minerva objected to the fact that no Slytherin girls were chosen, and Miss Rosier was added to the list. I hope that doesn't cause any trouble."

The Potions Master thought rapidly. "No, actually, that should help. I have a reasonably good idea how the boys organize themselves, but on the girls' side, their structure is generally too fluid to be codified. I wish Miss Bulstrode had been recognized, but she is likely to become busier with Quidditch this year than before. She'll have enough on her hands if she becomes the first girl Beater. Miss Rosier will probably move up to Chaser from the Reserve if that happens, but she is usually well organized. Draco's going to be pressed. I've sent him papers on the Wolfsbane Potion already and want to tutor him as well as Miss Granger in it. But he'll be Seeker again this year, and running patrols as prefect is likely to keep him quite busy. I have no way of estimating what other factors will be involved. I'll have to have more conferences with those idiots who joined the Dark Lord as well."

"I must say that I am pleased beyond words to find they were so loyal to you."

"I just hope they haven't suffered for it," Severus said. "Narcissa assured me that Draco was praised for it, but I still worry."

"I might not have told you how she contacted us that horrible day and let us know about her change in loyalties. She has definitely chosen Draco over her husband, and I suspect you may speak freely to her. That will, of course, be a judgment you'll need to make yourself."

"I didn't know that," Snape said softly. "We have a powerful ally now if she has truly changed her position. She is far more capable than most believe. Thus she can act in plain sight and nobody will believe she is doing anything serious."

"Will she continue to pursue her suits over the Black will and Harry's guardianship?"

"Yes. But she indicated in a letter to me that she expected delays. We may see little on that front unless she's pressured to do more. If she wins the suit regarding Mr. Potter, she'll likely drop the one for the will, but of course that would be a disaster. It may be best to hint that she'll have a much better chance to break Black's will if she drops the guardianship suit. Bella's greed could become a factor. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord is likely to see which one is more important long before that. We must come up with a very strong candidate for Potter's Wizarding guardian, preferably one that's on the tapestry. I wish Miss Tonks were older, and married to a pureblood of good family. And no, I am not volunteering," he added dryly. "Mr. Shacklebolt would certainly raise objections. Unfortunately, his line contains several Muggle-born, or he and the girl could speed things up a bit. I need to go to Grimmauld Place and look at the tapestry again."

"It shouldn't be as bad for you there this year," Dumbledore said, looking sober.

"I hope not. I saw the key. Of course, Moody will still be there, but I thought of how to manage him." Severus had been delighted by the idea when it had come to him, as many such things did to others, in the bath.

"I know that gleam in your eye. Discovered a way of putting Darkening Drops in his magical eye?"

"Better. Whenever he asks me a question, I will simply answer it truthfully and in full detail, though I may request privacy for some subjects. I will even use a civil tone. It will drive him mad, especially when he can't find any lies in it. He'll _know_ I'm just setting him up for some really huge deception and will sit up nights waiting for it."

The old wizard spluttered into his napkin. "That is one of the most vicious things I've ever heard. May I watch? Of course, after long enough everyone will look at him as if he's the one out of his mind."

"That's the whole idea," Snape said with a smile. "He won't believe half of anything I say no matter how truthful I am, either."

Albus beamed at him. Then his cheerfulness faded. "He'll ask all sorts of personal things before he finally gives up, you know."

"He knows most of that already," Severus added softly. "From before." He quickly set his teacup down and rested his hands in his lap. He should be over what Moody had done by now. "Actually, it'll be a nice change to throw the information his way without all the…the preliminaries. It'll be interesting to see what he does with it."

"This could be dangerous for you," Dumbledore said.

"Not as much as the situation is now. We both know what he wants with me. He might be satisfied enough by what I tell him to pay attention to his real work for a change once he realizes I am telling the truth. It's not good for the Order to force you to back up everything I say before anyone believes it. You have enough to do already."

The Headmaster looked stunned. "I had wondered how to resolve the situation at Order Headquarters. Lupin told me how bad it was, but I didn't want to listen till I finally saw things from your point of view."

"I wouldn't be able to manage this change with Black there," Snape admitted. "He never let me get the last word. I tried to not let him get under my skin, but my temper always betrayed me around him."

"Dealing with Malfoy didn't help."

"No." He closed his eyes in pain. "I hope Lucius stays in prison. I don't know what I'm going to do if he gets out." Severus took a deep breath and opened them again. _I wish I'd taken Dumbledore's offer to go to the clinic now._

Albus gazed out the window. "I am so terribly sorry for what I've done to you. I made things much worse by the way I reacted to your sacrifice. I know there's a part of you that will never trust me again because of that, and because of everything else I did to you this summer."

"It doesn't matter." He forced himself to keep his hand steady and take another sip of tea.

The Headmaster looked him full in the face. "Yes, it does. It matters very much how you feel about things. I know that under normal circumstances you would have stormed out of this office by now and hidden in the dungeons for two days."

Albus was right. "It doesn't work," Snape said. "It never did. But part of it is the potions I'm taking. Things don't, don't hurt as much as they used to, even without being able to hide some of the past away. My House of Memory is the same as it was in spring. I think…I think the spell everyone did for me helps, too. I don't fall down as far without something catching me. Even when I was close to threshold at the clinic everything was gray, but not as horrible as the first time." It felt quite strange to spoke of such things rather than ruthlessly pushing them away and getting on with what had to be done. He'd best not get used to this self-indulgence, but it was rather refreshing to be able to do it now.

"It was worth it," Dumbledore said. "You were dying. The Kettle of Ceridwen was our only hope. If the potions help, keep taking them. All of them."

"I just wish I weren't so weak. I should be able to control myself better." So many years wasted throwing tantrum after tantrum, and for what?

"You're not weak at all. You are incredibly strong to bear what you did last year, and the last few months in particular. But I—we all need that strength for the Order. Even if it makes the healing longer, use all the potions that the Swiss give you. Think of it as learning to swim. Some children need a Floating Spell when they first go into the water, or they'll drown straight off or become so frightened they'll never go back in again. If these potions make it easier for you to do what you need to do, then I beg you to take them."

"Stupid crutches," Severus muttered.

"You've been badly hurt, and we're still asking you to run. If you need crutches to keep on the course we've laid out for you, then use them. You have done so much with so little support. How much more could you accomplish if you had the help you needed?"

Put that way, of course, it made sense.

The Headmaster continued. "Part of your problem came from keeping up your shields for too long without respite. I know you need them, but you need to be able to lower them as well. I want you to have at least an hour each week when you can relax your guard. I'd like you to come up here each Sunday evening after dinner for a bit. You may raise whatever wards you like till you finally feel safe. There are guards on this room that no one can break through."

"Will you be here?" Snape wished he hadn't let that slip out.

"I don't have to be. If I am, I'll drop all my shields too. If you can't feel safe in this office, I'll find another room. Some people in the Grindelwald war had your kind of burden, Severus. I want you to be human when this one is finally over."

"Has Madam Trelawney spoken with you yet?" Snape said.

"No. Should she have?" Albus looked worried.

Well. It wasn't going to get any better by not talking about it. Severus told the Headmaster what the witch had said in the heat of an August afternoon. "So…there won't be any after the war for me, unless it ends soon."

This time Dumbledore closed his eyes. Without opening them, he spoke again. "It's still worth it to allow you to be human. I have done all I can to give Harry what little joy he is likely to see, unless we are very lucky. I can do as much for you." He wiped his face with a handkerchief, then looked at him with blue eyes with no twinkle in them. "I know you're going to think I'm a silly old man, but I want you to do two different things. The first one is to make a list of everything you could possibly want to have or do. No less than fifty items, and that includes the ones you think are impossible, or just stupid.

"The second should be a little easier. When I…I was searching through your memories and trying to make sure you didn't get lost, I saw you still had a room where you kept happy ones. For the next week, sit down in the evening and pick out one experience you had that day you wouldn't mind reliving, and place it in there. Even if it's nothing more than a well-brewed cup of tea, it'll be worth keeping. You gave so much to Harry, Severus. He's written me…_thanked_ me…and it's done so much for him in such a short time." Albus swallowed hard. "But I want him to find out for himself you the one who gave it to him. He won't believe anything I say about you. He won't believe much of anything I say about anybody, I suspect. Perhaps he's right to trust only what he discovers for himself. We've all kept so much hidden from him for his own protection…"

Snape knew what that felt like, though he suspected the Headmaster had not been concerned only with the boy. He still didn't understand the Dursleys. Other means of defense could have been found without subjecting Potter to an abusive family. It didn't make sense for any member of the prized Gryffindor Trio to be treated that way. He kept silent. Harry Potter was finally waking up if he were seeing the hidden chains that held him, too.

"Well," Albus said. "You deserve to have something for yourself, however short or long your life may be."

"I'll try." Then Severus laughed at the irony of it all. "I swear, I'm not used to being treated like a prizefighter being prepped for the big match. I think you'd put me on a diet of beefsteak, raw eggs and beer if you could."

"Only if I thought you'd keep it down," Dumbledore said, appearing more cheerful. "Lowenstein says the ale he serves at the clinic would be good for you here, too. I mean it about the list and those memories, though. I have found out more about myself when I write things down. For once we're going to help instead of hinder, or pile more burdens on."

Snape would believe that when he actually saw it, but had to give the Headmaster credit for good intentions. "What about Potter?" He dreaded working with the boy again after what the Gryffindor had seen in the pensieve.

"I was pleased beyond words when I found out how you managed the Dursleys. Harry has had the best summer of his life. Maybe it would have been better for him if he'd been sorted into Slytherin after all. The Hat wanted to put him there. I believe your godson and the youngest Weasley boy had already begun insulting each other, and Harry chose Gryffindor instead. I suspect you would have found out about the boy's home situation much sooner and done something about it long before now."

_You could have done something yourself, or informed me a long time ago, as well. You made no move towards resolving it till a Dementor tried to attack Potter's cousin, and did nothing of any worth till Moody started asking questions, thanks to my little hints._ Then again, perhaps the Occlumency lessons were a way for _him_ to find out for himself what the truth was about the Dursleys. Snape realized that he, too, received the Headmaster's lectures badly at times. He decided to answer the spoken comment rather than ask further questions to which he would get no or evasive answers. "I daresay I would have investigated once Potter was in my house," Severus said. "No doubt I would have wanted to present evidence of a privileged background to you on a silver platter. I have been surprised like that before, though." Of course he couldn't abandon Potter even if he wished. He still remembered promising Lily's ghost to care for the brat on that terrible beachhead of death.

That reminded him. "Who's been grading Weasley's and Lovegood's summer lessons while I've been ill?"

"I have. I'm happy to say both are progressing nicely. The Quibbler was late last week, supposedly due to a minor industrial accident, but that was the time she was to brew the Antinomian Potion. As for Harry, I will have Occlumency lessons with him for at least a month until I'm certain he will face you with the proper attitude. I was disappointed he showed you so little respect. I'm afraid he believes he will face little punishment at Hogwarts for it, and that's my fault. You're quite right in that I have indulged him a great deal when he's here. The other teachers also indicated he was ah, different last year, but I ignored them as well. Both you and he must feel that I abandoned you.

"I won't put you through that ordeal again. I was terrified when I saw Tom looking out of Harry's eyes, and I know now how difficult that was for you."

Snape let his hair fall in front of his eyes trying to shield his reaction, though it never did any good with the Headmaster.

The old wizard sighed. "Even now you're still afraid of me. How can I blame you? Oh, Severus, I have hurt you so badly. But I've tried to make up for. Were you able to look at the papers I left on that table before you left for the clinic?"

The Potions Master lifted his head. They had included a written, signed pledge never to send him to Azkaban. "Yes. You might have to send me to the prison anyway for other reasons. There aren't any Dementors there now. I'm, I'm still afraid of ending up in the Special Section, though. I hope you don't have to."

"You'd be in Moody's hands then. That could be terribly dangerous."

"We both know it still might be necessary."

This time Dumbledore let his face sink into his beard. "I hope to spare you that. If it happens, it would only to make sure the other side still trusts you, or to gather information we can get in no other way. It will never be because I want to hold a whip over your head. Right now I cannot imagine the circumstances that would make me do send you there."

"I can." Snape struggled with his usual feelings of suspicion and anger. Did the facts support those feelings, though? He ought to be happy that the older wizard planned to tutor Potter for at least the first month. "But the adoption papers…I don't understand them, Headmaster. Why?" Did they reflect Dumbledore's true feelings, or just an attempt to soften him up? He was already bound to the old wizard.

"Because in this terrible world I must protect you from our supposed allies. Since I am responsible for your parole, the Ministry has to notify me before arresting you and taking you away. I know how that grates on you, after all you've done to protect them. It came to my mind that if I adopted you, I would have more leverage to have your release order made permanent. As your closest living relative, they would still have to let me know if they changed their minds. This way you could have full access to the funds you've earned over the years from your potions, and not have to endure even a nominal supervision.

"I am mortal, Severus. Much of what is in my family must remain with Aberforth and his children. I want my personal fortune to go to you. It eats at me that you work so hard, and yet you have to scrimp because you chose our side. I know you've become used to it. You've become used to a lot of things other men find intolerable.

"I know you believe that I'm going to outlive you. A lot can happen in two years, Severus. With enough money, you could survive even the Ministry after my own death. I am working now on designating McGonagall my successor in your parole, but I haven't heard back from the officials in charge yet."

Snape sat upright. He had tried to forget that Dumbledore's death automatically triggered his return to the Ministry's hands. Apparently he had succeeded, because the reminder paralyzed him with terror. He would be forced to flee to the Dark Lord, since only the old wizard's leadership had kept the Order from turning on him. He remembered now how Black had openly speculated how soon a certain treacherous Slytherin would show his true colors. He wished the Headmaster had thought of this contingency before now. If Albus had died last year, he'd be in a Ministry cell or Azkaban now.

The older wizard grimaced, as if hearing his thoughts. "I was so concerned with scoring points on Madam Umbridge last year I nearly lost both you and Harry," he said.

_I'm used to it,_ Snape thought. _But the boy isn't. No wonder he threw a fit that nearly wrecked this office last spring. _There was no point dwelling on what could not be helped, though. He switched to another problem. "I'm surprised the Ministry has allowed me to be Narcissa's representative in her chancery and financial actions then." His feelings were in turmoil. He wanted to believe Dumbledore really cared for him, but it was hard after this long to accept these changes at face value.

"The goblins don't care about what they consider pretty human squabbles. I'm afraid you being male carries more weight with them. A pity Mrs. Malfoy doesn't disabuse them of their belief in female weakness."

Snape nodded. "I've thought that myself. However, the Ministry does have one advantage by letting me assist her. They can disqualify both her petition to break Sirius Black's will and to sue for Potter's guardianship because of my legal status. I tried to tell her she needed to choose someone else, but she said if the courts threw her actions out she'd appeal my conviction and really stir things up. Given that similar appeals have won on rare occasions, I decided to go along. I'm certain she knows she won't be allowed to win the boy's custody."

"You're avoiding the subject," Albus said gently.

He was. "It's just…I just don't understand it," Severus said, knowing they had gone back to speaking of the adoption papers.

"I wouldn't ask you to change your name. You should have pride in being a Snape. I wouldn't want to take that away. There are plenty of Dumbledores. But I have no children of my own, Severus, though I've married several times. It would please me to know someone will perform the rites for me that only a son could when I die."

"But why me? Why not Potter? You ought to be the one countering Narcissa's suit."

"I have failed at his care as badly as I did yours. You managed the Dursleys in one summer after I neglected that home for years. And I am offering this to you, not him."

Snape finally realized the Headmaster was serious. "You…you really want to," he said in soft astonishment, and blinked back tears.

"Yes. It won't mean any increase in my power over you. I already have too much. But it would increase my obligations to you. It wouldn't make things equal by any means, but it would help resolve some of the imbalance. You're over twenty-one anyway."

"Ah. That does make a difference." Snape remember how his father had sometimes exerted his power. "But, Albus, I'm not going to live long enough to perform those rites, unless we lose you much too soon. Then the Ministry will have me, or I'll be on the run. It doesn't change anything."

"No. You're right. It doesn't." Dumbledore's face was bleak. "I want to offer you the world, and it keeps turning to flobberworms whenever I try. I just want you to know I mean it when I say I love you. Words aren't enough, because I've said a great deal, only to have it mean nothing when you needed my help. I wanted you to have something you could hold in your hand, something you could believe in."

Snape couldn't stop tears from running down his face then, and took out a handkerchief to mop things up. "I thought I was better," he said.

"Better isn't the same as well," Albus said gently. "I'm not trying to force anything on you, Severus. But if you could bear to have a real relationship with this silly old man, I would be extremely happy."

He stared down at the floor. "I'll have to think about it," he said in a low voice. "I'm not…not used to people wanting me." _Except for one thing, and I still don't understand why._

The Headmaster winced as if he heard the thought as well as the words. His face smoothed out. "This adoption would be for me, too. My own time is growing short, and I've made a list of what I want, too. One of the biggest things on that list is to see you happy. Because I wanted to see Harry happy as well, I forgot about that for a long time. I blamed you for all the anger in your heart, no matter what I did to deserve it.

"Think it over, Severus. You have enough time to consider what to do. I hope you can forgive me for everything I've done to hurt you."

Normally, Snape would now be thinking that Albus was playing the 'lonely old man' card. This time he thought the old wizard might be telling the truth for once. "I'll think it over," he said. "I'm happy you made the offer. But _others_ might react badly."

"Dear Merlin, even after everything you've been through this summer, I didn't think of that." Dumbledore turned pale under the beard. "But you have to, or die."

"Nothing like a little motivation," Snape said. "Such things are always public record, as well as leaving a magical signature on me. The Dark Lord would almost certainly detect it even if it stayed hidden from the Ministry. I could present it asa long-term plan, and how pleased I am that it finally worked," Snape said, though he could see the Headmaster's vision disappearing like mists under the harsh light of reality. "But adoption brings magical penalties for betrayal. He might think to offer it to me himself should the idea enter his mind." For a brief moment he thought the old wizard had known all the flaws already, and was just playing with him, but Dumbledore's disappointment was all too real.

"I'll think of something else, Severus," Albus said. "For now, I fear I must ask you to work on your Occlumency again. I don't want to do this to you, but I'll have to test those shields quite soon. You could be summoned."

Snape agreed. He could deal with brisk reality much better than soppy sentimentality. He wasn't used to being fussed over. Being left alone was generally the best he could look forward to. He stood, feeling stronger than he had when he'd entered the office. "I should go down to the dungeons. I was told Winky has been taking advantage of her new status in the Potions department by improving my quarters. I need to see what she's done."

Dumbledore rose as well. "I haven't seen any fumes or clouds of smoke rising from the halls, though she has been busy in the attic rooms looking for things. I promise _I_ haven't redecorated, in case you're worried about that."

Snape let the corners of his mouth turn up. "That does relieve my mind. When is the next staff meeting?"

"In two days, in the Great Hall. I know it's a change, but Firenze won't fit in here, and Hagrid never has very well. In case I've forgotten to say it, welcome back."

Severus swallowed his treacherous emotions and nodded his thanks. He still couldn't decide what the advantage was for the Headmaster with the offer of adoption.

Albus Dumbledore

The Headmaster sighed once the Potions Master had left. Severus still looked quite ill. That would prove handy at the staff meeting when extra duties were going to be handed out like lemon drops. The younger wizard simply could not manage the load he had last year.

Once Snape was better, he could begin dueling with Lupin and Shacklebolt. The werewolf needed to be brought up to speed. Managing the Dark Arts class and tutoring whatever version of Harry's club arose would help, but actual combat would likely be needed to snap Lupin out of his apathy. Snape needed a way to express the violence in him. Even with the potions his underlying nature could not, and should not be denied the way it had been for so long. Flitwick had told him how blasting things eased the Potions Master's emotional conflicts, and he'd seen that for himself while dealing with Snape's store of bad memories.

No wonder the younger wizard was so harsh with the students. _I ought to be happy he's controlled himself as well as he has, especially around Harry._ The boy had been the target of Umbridge's malice last year as well as Snape's, but had continued to provoke the Potions Master despite his knowledge of the likely circumstances. Albus had believed making Harry his personal pet had been received well by the rest of the staff, but now he suspected that many of them were simply resigned to a repeat of the years when the Marauders had run wild. Minerva had not been especially pleased, but was fond of Harry herself, though her even-handed discipline this time had helped to keep the Trio from targeting the helpless. He'd remonstrated with her on occasion when he thought she'd been a trifle hard on the children, only to be told quite sharply that she would not care to have another Sirius Black in her house.

Both of them had shaken their heads over the antics of the twins. Albus had to admit he had never expected anyone to suffer permanent harm from any child of Molly Weasley. His interview with Montague's parents had not been pleasant. He had been glad that the boys had been of age, as it would not be fair for Arthur and Molly Weasley to suffer the financial consequences if Montague did not recover. However, he had been glad to point out to the young man's parents that most Wizarding courts would rule the whole affair a prank gone wrong, note that the twins had scant financial resources to attach, and that the boys _had_ been expelled, even if their spectacular departure had made them heroes to most of the school. He'd shown them Umbridge's order for discipline, and that had mollified them a bit.

They still had not been happy when they left. Dumbledore feared if he visited the boy, it would be considered an admission of liability on the part of Hogwarts itself. Minerva had not been pleased by that decision, and had gone to see young Mr. Montague herself, when Snape had been too ill from the initiation of so many new Death Eaters. "I'm beginning to think that Severus is right, and you don't really consider Slytherins part of this school," she'd said.

He'd retorted that it was obvious some of them didn't think they were either. And of course Snape had been far too ill for him to go to young Goyle's funeral.

Albus knew both excuses had been feeble ones, and that Minerva and Severus were right about how he thought of Slytherin. _That will have to change. For all the houses._ He'd concentrated his attentions on Gryffindor alone for too long. Marietta Edgecombe was the first new Death Eater from Ravenclaw in a long time, but was a symptom of things going wrong in other houses beside Slytherin. Fortunately Percy Weasley wasn't one in his heart, or he would be really worried.

He caught that thought. Gryffindor had its traitors, too. Peter Pettigrew had not been the only one from his favorite house to wear the Mark, though the only survivor. _You hope,_ an inner voice told him. _If one of the Marauders could get past you, what makes you think someone else couldn't hide in plain sight? If Severus can hide his mind from Tom, why can't someone hide his mind from you?_

Nobody ever suspected Hufflepuff. Members of that house were dedicated, if not always the most competent. Few thought anything deeper lay behind those hard-working, complacent faces, one reason he hadn't worried about Madam Umbridge's interference. That mistake could have been fatal to the Order's hopes without Miss Granger's guile or Snape's dedication to saving even those who despised him. Perhaps he should not ignore that house, either.

Dumbledore sighed. He would have to start with Slytherin and its contentious Head of House. If he showed that he could see good in the Snakes, then perhaps the other houses would not lose hope. No doubt he would face rebellion in his own ranks as the Gryffindors resented loss of privilege, much as the Slytherins resented his sudden change when Harry Potter had arrived at the school. So be it.

For now, he needed to make sure Severus could survive the coming year. The younger wizard was still chary of gifts. Given the strings attached to anything offered to Snape from either side, that was only reasonable. Albus wrote a note and sent it off to the Owlery. If the editor of Potions Monthly accepted an offer to teach whenever Snape was ill for more than a couple of days, that would give him a look at her technique, give her a chance to take a look at what she would have to cope with, and let Severus feel he could take the time to heal when he was hurt or ill. If Snape let down his barriers each Sunday night, Dumbledore would know how the Potions Master was really doing, and adjust the next week's duties accordingly.

Then he broke down and wept, though Fawkes trilled at him with his wonderful phoenix song. The Bride had been right about Severus. Now her predictions were confirmed by Sybil. No matter how he tried, he was going to lose the grim young man. He'd buried so many he'd loved over a century and a half. Deep in his heart he knew he was going to bury more.

Severus Snape

He approached the dungeons with trepidation. He'd been gone just under a week. Surely Winky couldn't have done _too_ much damage!

The public areas looked the same. However, his rooms were subtly different. First, they were cleaner than he remembered them being for years. Oh, the house elves always did some work each week, but it had definitely been a while since they'd reached the dust up close to the ceilings. The furniture also showed changes. It was the same kind he'd picked out when he'd first begun teaching here, chosen for comfort rather than looks, but everything appeared much newer. The couch was a bit longer than it had been before. Now he could lie down on it all the way without bending his knees or crooking his neck. One of the armless stuffed chairs was now a rocker, and had a handle that pulled out a bottom ledge on which he could rest his feet. Next to it was an oddly curved table that was just the right height to hold papers. It even had a carved-in basin to hold an inkwell. A new lamp was placed so the light would fall on the table without his hand shadowing anything on the surface. He could grade essays here for hours without his back hurting.

He turned abruptly, blaming the moisture in his eyes on a speck or two of unsettled dust. His bedroom also seemed much the same, though on further inspection the bed-curtains had been thoroughly cleaned or replaced. The sheets and blankets looked new, though the same color they had been before. Severus lay down on top of the duvet, and sank into the feather mattress without encountering a single lump.

"Is Master pleased?" said a tiny voice.

"Yes. I am very happy." He wondered how long it had been since he'd last said that. "Winky, you have done extremely well. You didn't change how things looked, but you made them better."

"Does Master Potions Master want something to eat?"

He'd rather fall asleep just as he was, but knew he should change and get under the blankets first. No doubt he should eat, as well. He dragged himself over to a chair and had Winky fetch him a small tray from the kitchen. After he forced each bite down, he decided to let his stomach enjoy the food before inflicting any potions on it.

Once the elf removed the tray, he decided to get ready for bed, though it was only late afternoon. He looked over his nightwear. He'd driven a decent bargain on the gray nightshirts by purchasing them in quantity years ago. By now the ones that weren't too worn were scratchy, but he'd had learned to ignore the minor discomfort. One needed wool against the chill of the dungeons, and he liked being able to come out of bed quickly and still be decently covered. Severus thought the silk pajamas Lucius had given him to be quite impractical when one could be called at any time and still present an imposing figure. He'd never worn the set he'd been given, and _that_ wasn't about to change!

He supposed he could wear something smooth under the nightshirt that wouldn't irritate his scars. For a moment anger surged inside. He could have made that minor adjustment years ago. Why had he been such a fool? Snape took a deep breath to calm himself. No Time-Turner could fix the past to that extent. He had too little time to waste any in regret.

In fact, he thought of a few other minor changes he could make that he could put on the list the Headmaster wanted him to write. They'd be easy to manage, and it would look as if he were trying. And why not make his life easier if he could? Enough of it was going to be hard.

He noticed where Poppy had placed the table that had originally been up by his bed in the infirmary, and sat down just to look at it again. It was still hard to believe that so many had left symbols showing how much they cared for him. Severus had never imagined that he was more than just useful here, and was still stunned to find out it was otherwise. Even Moody's bit of gorse from Azkaban meant something. The place was hell, and it didn't matter which side of the bars one stood.

Severus scanned the multitude of tokens. He'd already looked at the papers the Headmaster had left. Unfortunately, adoptions magically appeared in the Registry the moment the papers were signed by both parties. For a moment his feelings overwhelmed him. He didn't fear the possible increase in Dumbledore's power. What more could the old man do to him? Besides, he was pledged to the Order in his soul, while his life would be offered to it in a couple of years. Albus' money? That was meaningless. If Lucius could not bribe him, then no one could.

He had learned so well not to want things, especially on Diagon Alley. Wants and needs could be, and had been used to control him before. Perhaps, though—perhaps it was time he walked past those storefronts and allowed himself to be tempted. No one could offer him the years he was going to be denied, and that was the only lever that could move him now.

Snape knew he owed so much to everyone who had left a token on the table, and had little time to pay those debts. The truth would do for Moody. Knowing it would drive the old Auror barking mad to hear it so easily was just a bonus. Albus—Albus would have his life. That didn't seem enough, though. _I'll endure those wretched Sunday sessions the best I can, then. If he thinks part of the payment means doing what I can for Potter, then I'll manage that as well. Since I already promised Lily's ghost, there's no sin in curing two hangovers with the same flask of potion._ Severus smiled a little as he sat by the table and remembered his vision of the woman. It was undoubtedly a hallucination brought on by impending death, but it didn't matter.

If the brat returned civility with his usual ill will, eventually even the Headmaster would see it. _Of course, I never snarled at anyone who tried to help me!_ He was glad he had apologized, however badly, to Lily after calling her a Mudblood. Now he knew more about the Dursley household, Potter's conduct made a great deal more sense. He understood the pattern all too well. _I wish Albus had told me the truth when I complained about the boy's privileged home. Oh, I would have gloated for at least half an hour, but something could have been done. At least I would have known better than to rant as long as I did. I wouldn't have believed Dumbledore at first, but I would have been annoyed enough to check for myself. It wasn't till the Occlumency lessons that I had any idea the boy had any problems with the Mugglesat all._

Snape didn't understand why Albus had kept telling him to ease up on the Gryffindor without saying what was wrong with the Dursleys. He shook his head, and let it go for now.

The other symbols on the table nearly overwhelmed him in their number. He understood the paper with the crossword puzzle. He supposed he and Minerva had been friends for so long debts washed back and forth like water in the lake. It might be wise to begin another batch of the potion in case the pain and weakness from so many Stunners at her age returned.

He almost laughed at the handful of straw. That had come from the Quidditch coach's favorite Firebolt, or he had no skill in observation whatsoever. Madam Hooch might find herself with a new student despite his aversion towards brooms. She had been right, too. Several times last summer being able to fly would have helped.

Now, what could he get for Hagrid and his half-brother? He owed both them for their care of him this summer. Last year, when the groundskeeper had been gone, he'd had a few bad times returning from meetings. Knowing Hagrid or Grawp were out in the Forest reassured him when he was summoned.

The half-giant did seem to like it when he came out to the hut and stayed a little after seeing to the animals. Severus usually enjoyed that more than he was usually willing to admit. If there was one place in the world that felt safe to him, it was Hagrid's hut. As for Grawp, perhaps assisting the giant in a real hunt might be something the huge fellow might like.

Snape gazed down into the cup of dried tea leaves. Trelawney had let him see her memory of the ritual before he'd left for the clinic. Allowing her to natter on and actually wading through some of her books would have to be payment enough. She was sensible enough not to want potions to enhance her Sight. Maybe he'd even let her play with her silly cards for him in a couple of weeks.

He had no idea what to do for Firenze. The centaur had given up his tribe by choosing Hogwarts and the safety of the people therein. Nothing short of turning Bane into a sprig of holly would help _that_ situation. Severus smiled for just a moment contemplating the sight. Perhaps he should speak with Flitwick and Hagrid and find out what they knew of herd politics.

Oh, yes, Flitwick. He'd have to do something special for the tiny Charms teacher, who had organized the spell to begin with. Watching over Edgecombe didn't count, as he was pledged to do that already. Most of the Ravenclaws weren't that much trouble, though he hoped Miss Chang was less volatile this year.

Surely there was something Vectpr might want. The same went for Professor Sprout. No doubt he ought to start being civil to them at staff meetings. Snape glanced around the table some more. His few outings with Sinistra had convinced both of them that they would not make a good couple, but had parted more or less as friends.

He didn't really know so many of his colleagues, even after all this time. Perhaps he just needed to listen while they talked. He'd know better what he could do for them that way.

Severus picked up the key to 12 Grimmauld Place and held it so tightly it almost cut his hand. Just thinking about the werewolf made him shake with fear. The next full moon began in only a couple of days, and he hadn't been able to brew the Wolfsbane. He breathed deeply until he was able to calm down again. At least with Black gone he didn't need to worry about his own safety or that of the students. Albus surely would have arranged for an alternative for this coming week, and after that Lupin would have the potion. If he taught the sixth-year students how to make the Wolfsbane, then wolves everywhere would be much better off.

_I'll try to be reasonably decent this coming year,_ he resolved. _And the Black house can't help but be a better place without Sirius in it. I'll find out as soon as I start attending meetings again._ He felt a bit better knowing how much fun he was going to have with Moody.

Snape looked at the proposed schedule for examining the students when they came back to school in Poppy's hand. What could he do for her? She'd spent so much time and trouble on him over the years, only to have him snarl at her and refuse her kindness? He wasn't supposed to work on the usual lot of healing potions this year, but that didn't mean his students couldn't. Why, Winky could learn a few of the simpler ones as well.

Tears blurred his eyes for a moment as he thought of the long years she'd spent healing him. _I have to stop lashing out at her,_ he thought. _And I ought to follow this wretched regimen without so many complaints. She only wants to see me well. I'll have to try to be what they call a 'good patient'. No doubt I'll forget the next time Hagrid pulls me in from the Forest, but I will do what I can till then._

Perhaps he ought to start keeping a list. He was going to have a hard time keeping track! He gently lifted the phoenix feather from the table and locked it away. Since it had been freely given, it was worth its weight in gold and much rarer. No doubt humoring Dumbledore would please that silly bird.

Severus picked up the brown envelope with anticipation. He and Filch talked often, usually about students who would best serve the Wizarding World as potions ingredients. He realized what he could do for the harried caretaker. _I'll take more detentions than usual, and put the little dunderheads on potions that Poppy can use, or at least have them prepare the ingredients for those who can brew without melting a cauldron._ When his Slytherins ended up on the List, he'd organize a 'volunteer' party or two for the hallways. He was also well aware how pranking added to Filch's work. Cutting down on that had to help.

He opened the envelope. Oh, Argus had found the right one, and in prime condition, too! The magazine had all its pages intact, including one in the back which held an ad featuring a scantily-dressed woman who looked just like a younger Molly Weasley. Filch had another copy, but its pages were so worn the pictures barely moved any more. They'd argued off and on for years if the woman really could be her, but had eventually agreed she was just someone with an extraordinary likeness. The date of publication had been May 1979, but the photo could easily have been taken long before.

Snape gently closed the pages and put the magazine in his bedside drawer. He wouldn't need any of Lowenstein's potions with this for inspiration!

At last he picked up the ham sandwich, with one long red hair still tangled in the folds of the wax paper. Poppy had told him how Winky used the Floo on her own to ask Mrs. Weasley for it. He already knew what he would offer in return for this gift, and all the other kindness he'd received from the woman over the past few years. Molly's heart belonged to her husband and children. Keeping them alive was the gift she would best love. "Molly," he whispered to himself as he held the sandwich. He would _not_ make a fool of himself or of her, but he could love her anyway. Despite the food he'd already eaten, he unwrapped the sandwich and ate it. He could hear her voice in his memory lecturing someone at 12 Grimmauld Place not to let food go to waste by letting it sit too long.

The juicy ham and sharp mustard went down more easily than he expected. The preservation spell worked into the paper had kept it fresh, as if Molly had made it only minutes before instead of nearly a couple of weeks.

He neatly folded the paper, still redolent of its former contents, and salvaged the hair. He should burn it, really, for her own safety, but put it into the smallest pocket of his cloak instead.

Winky appeared with a flask. "Sorry, Master, time to drink this now," she said. "Master should be in bed."

He thanked the little elf and drank the potion. He winced at its foul taste, waited to see how badly it would react to his dinner, and was pleasantly surprised to discover his bowels remained at peace.

His small assistant left with a smile on her face once he was inbed and tucked in. He felt foolish letting her do it, till he remembered that she, too, along with Dobby and the other house elves, had also been part of the spell to bring him back to life. _I hope destroying Voldemort is enough payment,_ Severus thought. _If the Hindus are right, I'll spend the next several lives erasing my debt otherwise!_

As a beginning, he placed a symbol of a happy memory created just today in the restored part of his Memory Palace. A miniature Winky went on his desk inside the 'office' where his few happy remembrances that remained after his gift to Potter were stored. Then he mentally added a replica of the table that held the tokens given to him by all of Hogwarts.

After all, the Headmaster hadn't said he was _limited_ to one memory a day.


	30. Chapter 30: Reaching Out

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 30: Reaching Out

Severus Snape

He slept the whole night through, with only a couple of half-remembered interruptions for potions. After a light breakfast in his room, he walked outside a bit. If he were going to follow the Ministry regulations this year, he should get some practice in.

The weather was slightly blustery. How was he to get outdoors air once the weather turned cold? He didn't want to exchange potions overload for lung fever. Snape headed towards one of the greenhouses. Professor Sprout ought to be in one of them making preparations. He should be doing so as well. He'd skive off today, make a trip to Diagon Alley tomorrow, and then buckle down to work. It was just as well he'd agreed to teach this year. If he was anywhere close to Hogwarts and someone else's teaching didn't come up to his standard, he would drive everyone mad interfering. _I just hope I don't lose too much tim to this wretched regime,_ he thought. _Perhaps Albus ought to try out that woman at Potions Monthly whenever I'm down for more than a couple of days._ For all his complaints about the grind of classes and grading, he still felt resentment knowing he'd be replaced permanently in a couple of years

He strolled slowly over the grass. There was no reason to strain himself today. If he continued to sleep as well as he had last night, he ought to regain his strength more quickly than expected. Severus smiled to himself, thinking of the sprig of lavender on the table. His dreams had been more pleasant than usual, and he'd rather like that to continue.

Snape found Sprout in the third-year greenhouse. He watched her work with her fingers in the soil and obviously enjoying every moment of it. She looked up, but didn't seem startled. "Severus!" she said happily. "I'm glad you're better. Do you need any help getting ready for the school year?"

"I don't know yet," he said. "I should go through my supplies and lesson plans sometime today and see what I need to do. I did most of my ordering right after the end of school last spring. I'm fairly sure most of it is already here. But I've made some changes in my plans for the sixth year class, and I'll need more fresh aconite."

"Oh, yes, for Lupin." Sprout briskly nodded as she repotted a staring buttercup.

"And I wanted to thank you…to thank you for everything."

"I have more than enough lavender to spare this year," she said. "I'd hate to see it go to waste. The first batch should be dry by now, and it's in the fifth-year greenhouse. Winky will be more than glad to fetch whatever you need and fill your pillow with it. Filch will miss his favorite hunting partner this next year, but I've always wondered if you ever slept enough." She rubbed her eyes, though she cleaned her hand first. "We'd…we'd miss you, you know if you left us. I'm just glad the spell worked."

"So am I." He paused for a moment. He didn't want to push, but he had to find out something. "Unfortunately, I must ask another favor. The Ministry schedule prescribes outside air for one hour a day. I don't think who thought this up realized what sort of weather we have in winter. Astronomy has been cancelled for up to a month some years. The dungeons end up being the warmest part of Hogwarts then, or at least the easiest to heat, but they'll be vented daily. I'm not sure that will satisfy the requirements. After all these years, I still don't know every place around here, though don't tell the students that! Is there a spot where I may breathe outdoor air without freezing to death in the process?"

"Oh, dear! I never thought of that." Sprout frowned. "The greenhouses are usually warm enough, but I've had to cancel classes because the children can't make their way to them. I remember, ten years ago we had tunnels through the snow because it was so deep.

"Wait! That reminds me. The seventh year greenhouse has an underground tunnel to it from the Room of Requirement. The doorway is on the left side of the fireplace, and you have to pat the lion's nose to open it. They have an afternoon class this year. If you went out there in the mornings nobody would be there, except perhaps Mr. Longbottom. I'm thinking of taking him as an apprentice once he's finished here." She pursed her lips. "Perhaps it'd be best if you rested there during one of his morning classes."

"That's probably a good idea," Snape said, leaning against a tall empty pot. "I'll take a look at his schedule. I will say he doesn't skive off the way so many do. Maybe he really is a Gryffindor after all. I wish Miss Granger didn't feel so responsible for him. She needs to be able to concentrate on her own work."

"Perhaps someone ought to let her friends know they need to help out and not leave it all to her."

"Both of _them_ will probably be there this year. Perhaps I ought to drop a hint to Minerva, since they obviously won't listen to me."

"You have no one to blame but yourself for that, Severus."

He bristled at that, then bit back an acerbic comment. It was only the truth. Snape remembered well enough how he'd looked to a frightened Harry Potter. _I'm glad Albus never sent me Longbottom's nightmares instead._ "Perhaps that can change this year," he said stiffly. He hoped someone would show him how.

Pomona smiled broadly then. "I hope so. It's been hard for you, hasn't it? Yet I've never seen anyone care for students the way you do your Slytherins. If you can manage that lot, the Trio should be easy enough."

She could be right. He had never put his mind to them the way he had for his Snakes. "I have to make up a system and stay with it for mine. I don't have your natural touch. The members of your house seem happier anyway."

"Maybe if I had your system I wouldn't miss what's happened to some of them," she said, now viciously pruning a thorny bush.

"I lose some of mine as well, Pomona," he said.

"I know. Poor Goyle. Not a thought in his head that young Malfoy didn't put there, but he had a nice touch with vines. You wouldn't think those huge hands would be so careful, but there you are. Have you seen his ghost yet?"

"No," he said. Sybil had watched Goyle's ghost come in at the end. _If only I hadn't been so stupid that Sunday morning!_ "I haven't seen him yet. Where does he usually go?" Ghosts almost always had favorite spots.

"Probably by the Quidditch field, given he was carrying his Beater club with him at the time. That's probably why you've missed him, though I would have thought he'd come looking for you."

Severus bit his lip.

"You didn't fail him, or he wouldn't have been in trouble in the first place. You're not to blame for his horrible mother." The Head of Hufflepuff frowned at a wayward bush, which strenuously resisted the shears.

"I should have spoken to her," he said. "I could have told her that I was supposed to discipline the boy myself. She might have believed that."

"You were in no shape to speak to anyone at the time. I have never heard Flitwick use such language about the Headmaster before. When I found out what spell Dumbledore inflicted on you, I repeated the words, well, except for the bits in French. During the little chat the three of us had not long after, Minerva had her say in Scots. It did not sound complimentary. Madam Pomfrey didn't say anything, but I wish she could look at He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that way. I'm certain it wouldn't do him any good. I know you're in a position where you cannot protest or leave, but I wanted you to know that the rest of us are on to our beloved Headmaster. We must stick together."

Snape didn't know what to say. He suddenly found a bit of knotgrass quite interesting.

"I know you believe that you're quite alone," she continued. "But you're not. I'm glad you're finally asking a few favors of us. You've brewed potions for us for years, and it's bothered me I've done so little in return."

He looked up. "I appreciate the help when one of my students needs more comfort than I can give. I'm not—I'm not a cuddly person."

"And when I have a boy who needs a bit of taking down, I am quite happy you aren't," she replied crisply. "So ask away. Don't worry about anything silly like Wizarding Debts. The lavender took over half my garden this year. Maybe it knew you'd need it. However, I certainly won't turn down a bottle or two of that liqueur you make every Christmas."

Severus laughed. "Of course. I'll have to make sure I'm allowed to brew it, but if I hint to Lowenstein he might receive a bottle as well I suspect there won't be a problem."

She snorted. "What a cynical view of mankind!"

"Care to make a small wager?"

"No. Besides, Christmas brewing can only be good for you, the way making those Harmonia potions you were working on all last summer. I hope you drank every drop."

"I probably should have, but they were for those wretched Muggles taking care of the Potter boy. I hope they helped."

Sprout's face softened. "I hope so, too. Part of McGonagall's rant had Potter's name and "Dursley" intermixed, so she's probably found out what the household is really like. I don't understand why Albus keeps sending the boy back there if Moody is right about the place."

"I don't, either." At least Potter had had one decent summer there. He sighed, remembering the times he'd had to send students back into unpleasant homes himself. _I don't know what the Headmaster's tried to do with the Dursleys, though given how easily I managed things, it couldn't have been much. Everyone knows how much he loves the boy. It doesn't make _sense! His head ached from trying to puzzle it out.

The greenhouse fell silent as Pomona continued working with the plants. After a while, the peace of the place soaked into him. He could think of much worse places to spend an hour each day once the weather became too nasty to stay outside.

He nodded his farewell once he felt able to move on, and was careful to close the door behind him.

Snape wandered out towards Hagrid's hut, only to see that the door was open and the place empty. The groundskeeper and his brother were probably out in the Forest. He sat on the stoop and rested for a few moments. There were cracks in the steps again. Once he was ready to leave, he muttered a quick mending charm and was on his way. He remembered a simple potion that would repair the stone for a longer time, and decided to add it to the first year curriculum. Someone was bound to get it right!

Severus slowly strolled out towards the Quidditch pitch, in case Goyle's ghost was ready to talk to him. Despite the wind, it was a beautiful day. Change was in the air, though, and autumn was coming. He was glad he'd pried himself out of the dungeons. This smelled far fresher than in his quarters, even with being vented every day.

He stood by the main field for a few minutes, relieved that no shade attempted to speak to him. Hooch's loud voice startled him. "Here to take me up on the promise of a Cleansweep? Or just looking for that new ghost of ours?"

"A bit of both," he said, turning round. "Mind if we sit down?" He hated admitting weakness, but he realized he had walked a little longer than he probably should have.

"I'm ready for a cup of tea myself," said the coach. She led the way to her office, and motioned to a chair. Snape gratefully settled down in it, and was glad of the comfort of the hot tea even on a warm day.

"You still look put through the wringer, but better," she said. "I think you know where the second private practice area is. The Baron's keeping Peeves out of there, so you don't need to dodge falling branches quite so much. I have an advanced class in the mornings that will be on the field itself. Everyone will be much too busy with drill to worry about anything going on over there, trust me! The first year and the remedial classes will be in the afternoons. Just thought you'd like to know."

"I'm still not looking forward to it."

Hooch shrugged. "Then go slow. I intend to start the remedials dragging their feet on the ground. Go ahead and ride the broom going around the school before the children get here. It'll be easier for you than walking till you get your strength back. In fact, I'll go get it right now." She rose from her seat behind the desk and over to a cabinet before Snape could object. The coach opened it and pulled out an elderly-looking broom, though clearly a well-cherished one. "It has enough anti-hex charms on it to repel a dragon, and a very smooth ride. Really, I can't imagine what Trimmer was thinking to let his class get so out of hand the way it was your first year."

Severus repressed a sour smile. Most of his classes had been like that, since so many had been shared with the Marauders. Of course, in one way the hexes he'd endured while on a broom had eventually saved Harry Potter's life. He'd memorized the counter-curses and had had to use them so many times, the right one had come easily to mind when Potter's broom had begun bucking in an all-too-familiar way.

She gave him the broom. It didn't feel hostile to him the way most normally did. He thanked her, and wondered when he was going to find enough courage to actually use it. They chatted about Quidditch prospects for next year. "I hope I don't end up as a referee this year," he said. "The last time was bad enough."

Hooch merely gestured to the broom on his lap and then pointed out towards the practice field. "Yes, yes, actually getting on one again would probably help," he added testily. "With any luck I won't need to, though. I'd rather not do so when my team is playing. I heard enough accusations of favoritism since I actually dared to call fouls when those idiot twins pulled something. I really hoped Quirrell would try something that time, but of course he didn't."

"He was fairly bright till he made that trip to Albania," the coach said wistfully.

"A lot of people are till they have anything to do with _him_," Snape said. "But we already know that." He wasn't certain how much Rolanda knew, but it was probably more than he liked. "I have hopes for my Snakes this year, though. Miss Bulstrode will make a good Beater. She was reserve last year mainly because Crabbe and Goyle worked so well together." He had to stop for a moment.

"It's rough losing anybody," Hooch said. "Pomona and I cried together over Diggory. I don't blame you for missing that great lout. Those two were almost as good a team as the twins. I had a few people in the pros ask me about them already. I was asked about the Weasleys, too, of course, but everyone's heard about the way they like to make mischief. The lads I talked to last summer wished the Weasley boys well in their future business concerns, if you get my drift."

"I was surprised that Miss Bell isn't coming back this year," Snape said. Even he took a few peeks at the sports section of the Prophet from time to time.

"Her parents are worried, and you can't blame them," Hooch said. "When the Steamers offered her that apprenticeship contract, they actually expected to wait another year for her to report to camp, but they're not complaining. Because she hasn't taken her NEWTS or formally withdrawn from Hogwarts yet, she still counts as an amateur and not against their roster. Don't worry, she'll get plenty of tutoring and may come back this spring to test with her class. I already had _that_ conversation with Minerva." She pretended to shudder. "Dumbledore is back as Headmaster, but what Umbridge pulled scared Miss Bell's parents. Because she grounded Mr. Potter, they were worried that their darling might be next. They knew that Albus was back, but with the Ministry the way it is, who knows for how long? You can't blame them for wanting their daughter to take this opportunity."

"True. Of course, her absence isn't going to help Gryffindor. Potter will probably be Seeker again, but with the twins gone that won't be as much help as it could be. Miss Weasley will probably be Chaser and Reserve Seeker, and she's quite fast."

"Malfoy's getting tall for a Seeker."

"I know. But Potter might have grown over the summer as well." If those Muggles had fed him properly from the beginning, he might have been as tall as his father by now. "A lot is going to depend on what Ravenclaw is up to. Miss Chang may be too distracted by the NEWTS and her personal life to be an involved as in years past."

"I know about the bet on her, too," Hooch said soberly. "Flitwick though I ought to know."

"Well, it won't be my team that's involved," Snape said angrily, thinking about Montague. He must make time soon to visit the boy and speak with his parents.

"Monty would have been gone this year anyway," the coach said gently. "The Wasps were going to offer him a contract, too, but they had to withdraw it, of course. The manager and his board sent a card, though. I know that's not much help. They're still willing to have him come to tryouts if, I mean, when he recovers. I've been by a couple of times and it looks to me that it might take a while, but he'll get it back."

Severus nodded. "I should have been there several times already."

"Nobody's been telling tales out of school, Snape, but you have more than enough on your plate even without Albus being cute. Montague was a good sort, nothing like that bastard Flint. I saw how hard you jerked the bit on _that_ one to keep him in line. Pity it wasn't him ended up in that toilet."

"He never would have let the twins sneak up on him like that in the first place," Snape said. "Montague thought because he was a prefect that he had a right to take points for roaming the halls, even from Gryffindors." He was about to say more unpleasant things about that house, but then he remembered that McGonagall had visited Montague, too. "This year I'll have the prefects of my house do their patrols in pairs."

"I think that's a good idea," Hooch said. "And then, there's the Hufflepuff team."

Both of them observed a respectful silence, waiting to see who would laugh first. Rolanda snorted first, then said, "They've surprised everyone before, even last year. I remember the game between Hufflepuff and Slytherin just five years ago. If it hadn't been for Flint's goal through the Quaffle right at the last minute, your team would have lost. Though it's been some time since they won the championship, you can't really count them out."

"True. I'll remember that when I talk to the team. MacMillan's a pompous ass, but he moves a lot faster on a broom than people think. I wonder if I can sidetrack him with the glories of Potions?"

"Probably not. He wants to be Fudge when he grows up. He already knows from watching Bagman that people remember Quidditch more than academics. Too bad Percy Weasley never figured that one out, though it hasn't slowed him down much. Pity he's become such a suckup. He had real potential as a Keeper, though I think his younger brother is going to be even better once his chess brain gets up to speed."

Snape kept quiet. Percy Weasley had other things to worry about. He set his cup down. "I suppose I had better get used to this silly broom." It was stupid how such an innocuous object could still bother him.

"The more you practice, the easier it gets," Rolanda said. "Let your feet drag on the ground at first if you like, just to get the feel of riding again. The extra practice run is screened by trees and bushes. You'll have plenty of time before they become too thin to hide you."

"Thank you, I think," Snape said as he stood. There could be advantages here. Nobody on either side expected to see him on a broom. He might enjoy those surprised looks if he could just zip away.

He left the coach's office and slowly walked over to the practice track, still keeping a lookout for Goyle's ghost. He may as well start the process now.

Severus began a slow circuit of the small pitch once behind the trees. His feet weren't quite on the ground, though there was less than an inch between his toes and the grass.

After a few times around, he thought he'd been brave enough and stopped. It hadn't been nearly as bad as he thought it was going to be, but it still wasn't fun. Snape was disgusted with himself at having to start as such a baby level. No doubt it was better than not starting at all.

He went to one of the gardens nearby and rested on a bench. Dobby popped out of nowhere with a small tray with food and one of his potions. "Master Severus is looking better. Dobby is sorry to bring this."

"I'm sorry to have to drink it, so it's a good match." Snape actually felt hungry enough from his walk to enjoy the food, and wished he could keep that feeling longer as he drank his noon potion. As usual, this one soured his stomach, but not enough to lose anything. Once sure of that, he slowly walked back towards the dungeons. He idly thought about riding the broom, but wasn't sure his balance was up to it. Maybe he would get to his inventory today after all, once he rested a bit. He could visit Diagon Alley tomorrow and complete his supplies, at least for the first term.

He noticed that Dobby was keeping up with him. Snape believed the older elf didn't mind another one taking over things, but thought he'd better make sure of it. "I hope it doesn't bother you to see Winky assigned to the Potions Department," he said. "I appreciate everything you've done for me this summer. If I continue to be ill, I will still need help in the bathroom. I know she would obey, but it just wouldn't seem right to me."

Dobby smiled. "Winky is good to help with Potions, and with Potions Master. Dobby always helps when called. But students coming back." The elf frowned.

"Yes, having her there will give you more time with Harry Potter," Snape said, sensing the former Malfoy elf was actually relieved.

"Dobby will always watch Master Severus," the elf said as he hung his head. "Dobby didn't do a good job last year."

"Dobby made up for it this summer," Snape said gently. "You did well."

The house elf preened as if given an Order of Merlin. "But Dobby glad Winky helps so much. Dobby is a free elf now, and can move around, but she is good for you. You are good for her. She is a family elf, and she loved her bad Barty. Now she has you."

Severus nodded. He'd heard of such strong attachments. Dobby had been given to Lucius, but that wasn't the same as when an elf chose someone on their own. "And you can help Harry Potter," he said. "He didn't have any house elves where he grew up. Neither did Miss Granger. They don't understand, really. One hopes the know-it-all will stop knitting, of course."

Dobby brightened. "More time to be with the wonderful Harry Potter!"

Severus felt less resentful than he thought he would. It was helpful knowing that Winky had chosen him to be her human, he supposed.

"Winky is good for you, wait and see," Dobby said, then disappeared.

Once Snape was in the dungeons, he noticed the little elf humming as she cleaned the doors of the supply cabinet. At least she hadn't been brave enough to open it. However, that was only a matter of time. Some potions ingredients could be dangerous even to a house elf, so he would have to make sure of her safety now.

She looked up, squealed, and ran to him. "Oh, Master Potions Master! Winky was worried about you! Are you all right?"

"Just out for a walk. I'll be practicing with this whenever the weather is fine. Please put this away on the rack near the office." She scurried away with the broom. Snape then took out a spare top coat and a pair of gloves. He planned to wear his own set while taking inventory. He may as well get Winky used to the idea of taking precautions at all. He shrunk the set he had much smaller.

She stared at them when she returned from her task. A tear began to form in one large eye. "Master Potions Master is not giving Winky _clothes_?"

"Of course not. You are much too good a house elf. Much too good, in fact, to let you get hurt. There are potions supplies that will be harmful to your skin. These items are not clothes at all, properly speaking. They are _equipment_, like a club is for a Beater."

She still puckered up, obviously wondering if she should pout or not, though she gingerly touched the small coat and gloves. "Are you sure, Master Potions Master?"

"Quite. They still belong to the department, of course. I am only lending them to you so you won't get hurt. However, just to make sure no one else borrows them in error—" He took his wand and spoke a swift charm to put green and silver embroidery around the cuffs of the gloves and on the sleeves of the coat. He also put "Winky" in green and silver across the back of the shrunken jacket. "You will wear this equipment only when you are working with potions supplies, or assisting in class. This way you will give me consequence among the other teachers and the students. Since you're assigned to Potions, how you look reflects on me."

Her eyes became quite large, and she smiled. "Of course, Master Potions Master."

"When we are in private, you are to address me merely as "Master"," Snape said. "I still want you to use the full title when in the presence of others, of course." The Crouch family, for all its airs about being on the side of the Light, had still been purebloods. No doubt all their house elves were used to a certain attitude in their masters. The Malfoy elves were just the same. Dobby was different, but even he could be manipulated by an appeal to pride.

The elf gingerly tried on the small garments, as if afraid somebody might catch her and thinking she was trying to free herself. But she kept trying to look over her shoulder to sneak glances at "Winky" at the back of her coat in wonder, no doubt trying to imagine how she deserved such magnificence.

Perhaps the little Gryffindor know-it-all had the right end of the stick when it came to house elves. Everyone at Hogwarts depended on them, while Malfoy Manor would collapse into rubble without the small army that kept it going, yet Snape hated the way they cringed even when he spoke them fair. Longbottom cringed, too, and though he was usually the reason why that bothered him as well.

Winky put on the gloves, then tried to fasten the many buttons on the lab coat. She realized her mistake, then she blinked in amazement when the coat buttoned itself after touching the top button with one gloved finger. She glanced around.

Severus hid a smile. "I want you to go find a mirror and make sure your equipment fits properly," he said. That would allow her to preen without worrying about what humans thought.

She dashed off, as excited by her lab coat and gloves as Narcissa Malfoy would be by a thousand-Galleon gown. Severus sat down to rest before starting the inventory. A pity it had to be done by hand, but magic used to catalog had an effect on the more sensitive items.

Then he realized he was sitting on something. He discovered it was the little logbook he'd promised to keep updated that he thought he'd left in his robe pocket. Now he could use spells on this. He wrote down fifteen common words that could be used to describe his condition at any given moment, and enchanted the book so it would automatically update at regular intervals. He also charmed it to beep pathetically whenever it couldn't decide which word to use. After a few weeks it would be trained to list nearly any way he could feel, and still be alive. If not, perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea for the book to let someone know.

In fact, once he'd made sure the book was accurate, he'd simply leave it with Madam Pomfrey. It'd save a lot of time if she could monitor his physical condition this way when he might not be able to write. In some ways, this could be like the Weasley's clock, only not as obtrusive or as difficult to make.

Winky flounced back into the room, clearly delighted with her equipment. The eager elf gladly brought down jars and returned them to their position on the shelves as Snape checked them off against his standard catalog. He made notes as to adjustments in quantity as he glanced at his tentative roster and lesson plan. He'd need far more aconite than he currently had, though he'd ordered quite a bit once he'd learned that Lupin was going to teach. If he were going to work with the sixth-years on the Wolfsbane Potion, they'd undoubtedly run through quite a bit.

By the time they were done, he knew he had enough for the autumn term with everything but aconite. It couldn't hurt to place his orders for the rest of the year now, though. He'd talk with Professor Sprout about what he needed freshly grown, and arrange detentions to gather some ingredients from the Forbidden Forest as time permitted. He'd had to harvest some of the plants himself, but that could be combined with dueling practice. Sashara mushrooms grew only in proximity to Acromantula nests.

He was more than happy to lie down late that afternoon. Apparently he was relaxed enough by his feeling of accomplishment to actually fall asleep. Dobby woke him for the evening meal. Snape was a little surprised to see Winky had hung up her miniature lab coat, along with her tiny gloves, on the hook and shelf he'd given her. He had thought she would wear them all day and sleep in them as well. He quickly engraved her name in that place with his wand.

Severus decided to eat up in the Great Hall, as he felt moderately refreshed by the unexpected nap. Everyone seemed to be pleased to see him, though he didn't feel like talking much. He gave Poppy the book that he'd charmed after checking it to discover that it worked.

"Don't think you can get out of your weekly examinations and blood tests that way," she said as she leafed through the pages and the word list.

"I had to try," he said, picking at his food. Nothing tasted right this evening, but he managed to eat some of it.

"How are you feeling, Severus?" Dumbledore asked.

"Tired, but the inventory is done. I need to pick up a few things in Diagon Alley tomorrow." He ought to have a few weeks till the next threshold, so he shouldn't have trouble with that. The full moon was approaching quickly. He had contacts in the potion world most people didn't. Even at this late date he might find someone with a batch of the Wolfsbane.

His face must have shown something of his concern when Lupin walked by and greeted him, though Snape returned it civilly.

"You are not to worry," Albus said softly.

Severus nodded, but knew he had best do so anyway. The wolf tried to be his usual annoying, cheerful self, but was failing tonight. It couldn't hurt to ask around tomorrow. "I can't help it," he said softly. Old fears momentarily overwhelmed him. He was proud of how he sat at the table as if nothing were wrong, instead of fleeing back to his dungeons. "I have to place a few more orders for school supplies. I could send them by owl, but it's not the same. Besides, Fortescue's doesn't have a takeaway."

"I hope you make an early night of it, then," the old wizard said.

How strange. Snape could sense real concern in the Headmaster's voice, and not just his usual interference. In fact, everyone at the table seemed friendlier and less distant than he normally perceived them. "I probably will," he said. All that walking had probably been too much, but today he'd needed to be outside.

Once he'd eaten all he was able to, he excused himself and went to his rooms. He was looking forward to this treat. Severus sat down on the couch in front of his fireplace and let it flare up. He threw a bit of Floo powder and said, "Malfoy Manor."

For once, Narcissa answered it herself. "Oh, Severus! I'm glad you're back from the clinic. We have been so very worried about you."

"I still tire easily, but I am better," he said. "I hope you and yours are well."

"Draco's getting twitchy over leaving for school," she said. "He's been on his broom five hours a day, and when he's not there, he's poring over a book and some papers you sent him. I believe he's heard about your bet with Magister Lowenstein, and is determined to help you win."

"I'm glad," he said. His godson had so much potential if only he would_use_ it.

"Lucius sends his best. He was dreadfully upset over what happened to you, as we all were. I have a terrible time speaking with my sister these days."

"I understand," he ventured delicately, "that some unexpected choices have been made."

"If you mean I'd rather die than see Draco sacrificed to that monster, you're quite right. Lucius has sometimes wondered about your dedication. Mine was never that strong to begin with, and it is quite gone now. Needless to say, I won't discuss either your feelings or mine with my husband. I am only happy that you chose my son's life. I am glad you did not lose yours."

He inclined his head, amazed at such frankness. "I hesitate to ask such a large favor, but you could be helpful to those who care as little for your husband's associates as you do."

"I have already told the Headmaster he may ask anything he wishes," Narcissa said, her eyes glowing. "I hear a great deal in my circle. Bella doesn't know what I truly think, and I hope she never will. She is talkative at times.

"Severus, you may ask for _anything_. You nearly died saving my son. All the Manor and I have is yours." She bowed her head. Tendrils of pale hair fell from her perfect coiffure.

Narcissa Malfoy was beautiful, yet Snape had never wanted her the way he had other women. The sight of her did stir him; was there such thing as aesthetic desire? Yet if he refused her outright, she might retract her help to the Order from pique. "Narcissa," he said gently. "This wretched detoxification regime does not encourage dalliance of any kind. In fact, my marching orders state I must keep away from others entirely till the poison leaves my veins. Forgive me for being so blunt, but I didn't want you to think that I don't care for you." He did like her immensely. She had always been kind to him despite what she must feel about his relationship with her husband, and had never interfered with his being godfather to Draco. No doubt she would be immensely flattered if she did heat his blood that way. It was just as well given her husband's jealousy that she didn't.

She looked up and smiled at him. "I have to admit I've always wondered what kind of fire you hid behind that stern façade of yours. Yet we can deal as friends without that. In fact, I'd rather. But I thought—I still think—I owe you all I can offer."

"There's nothing wrong with friendship," he said quietly. "That is a great gift by itself, all things considered."

Narcissa's face turned sober. "I blamed you for a lot, didn't I?"

"I have contributed to your distress in the past, and for that I am sorry," Snape said. "There is nothing wrong in being friends. I am glad to be at your service." Pureblood etiquette allowed them to dance around the truth without having to say anything that might wound this fragile relationship. _We are both survivors of Lucius Malfoy,_ he thought mordantly.

She nodded. "That being said, my various suits are proceeding through the courts with all due speed. If I hear anything by Christmas, I shall be surprised."

"I will attend to them," he said.

"I wish you would wait till you recover your health more fully," she said. "It must distress you to have the werewolf there again. I do hope you did not have to brew anything for the fellow lately."

"I couldn't," he said. Severus fought back the wave of fear that erupted again. _I ought to be used to this!_ "I have been told not to worry. He—Lupin managed with the Shrieking Shack before. It ought to be all right."

"That was before he was full-grown, though," Narcissa said, saying out loud what Snape had already thought.

"I cannot brew the potion at this late date. It would take too long." Severus grasped one arm of the couch quite firmly.

"Allow me to ask around," she said. "Some of the more notable families have some interesting secrets. I cannot imagine what the Headmaster was thinking of to allow that man back to teach again."

"Unfortunately, he really is competent," he said, taking a deep breath. "This has not been the case with many other teachers of that subject. To look at him, you wouldn't know about his problem. The transformations are dreadful for him. No doubt the Headmaster is right and I am upset over nothing." He was embarrassed to show so much of his fear. Besides, Black was gone. Lupin hadn't caused any trouble during Draco's third year till Sirius had shown up.

"He sounds like a very interesting person," she said. "Would you like me to call my son down? Or would you prefer to rest? You still look quite tired."

"I'd rather speak with Draco. I won't keep him long. Thank you."

Her head left the flames. Severus shook his head. She was amazing. She had every right to hate him. For years he was certain she did. Apparently she had learned more about Lucius over time. A lesser woman would have taken the usual revenge. Sometimes he wondered if her overtures to him had that for their motivation.

Everyone in her circle understood why she spent so much time in spas and other resorts. Anyone who faced so much blatant unfaithfulness had to doubt her attractiveness, no matter how often Lucius openly reassured her that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. When it happened, her mouth would smile, but her eyes always asked, _Then why do you leave me for another's bed so often?_

"Professor!"

Snape focused his attention on the hearth with that greeting. "Draco," he said. It wasn't reasonable to love anyone who looked so much like Lucius, but he did anyway.

"How are you?" the boy asked anxiously.

"Better. I have last minute preparations for school to see to. I'll be in Diagon Alley tomorrow to place some orders."

"We picked up the rest of the books and a new cauldron three days ago," Draco said. "If there's anything you need, we can go again. You still don't look well, sir."

"Don't worry. When school starts, I'll still terrorize the first years, and everyone else for that matter. The Ministry has thoughtfully arranged a rest schedule for potions makers and teachers. No doubt breathing untainted air once or twice a day will be good for me."

"If you need any help, just ask."

"I will. I'm going to ask something harder as well. It…it can't be the way it was last year, Draco. You and your friends will have to leave off the pranks, even against Gryffindor. We will have to stay in the shadow this year, and perhaps the next."

"As long as Potter is there."

"Yes. However, if Slytherin is exemplary for the next two years, it will become obvious even to Hagrid which house is really the one making trouble. Also, as important as House standings are at Hogwarts, they mean little outside of it. Learning proper discipline will pay off for much longer than you think."

"Father told me much the same thing the last time I saw him," Draco said. "He said I'll probably have to crawl to make up for the fun I had as one of Umbridge's enforcers. He said you were right to try to keep me out of it."

"It's not like Lucius to admit he was wrong," Snape said.

"Well, he did then," the boy said.

"I wish you had listened to me." _Both last year and this summer, when I nearly begged you not to take the Mark._ "I'm glad you're looking at the book and papers I sent you, though."

"I heard about the bet you made with Magister Lowenstein. If anyone deserves that many Galleons, it's you. Father once said the Ministry made you live on your salary and wouldn't let you have any of what you've earned from the potions you invented."

"I still retain a fraction of those earnings. Not as much as I would like, of course, but I certainly manage well on what I have. Your parents constantly offer loans, but I haven't needed them." _And never will_. "But I must thank you and your friends for what you did when I was so ill," he said, changing the subject before his _godson_ offered him money. "I was told later I was near death that night, and would not have survived till morning without the rite you and the other apprentices performed."

Draco looked down. "We…we had to do something. It was all of us, even the ones I'm pretty sure didn't have any problems that, er, Sunday morning before."

"You still took a terrible risk. Your mother told me you were commended rather than condemned, but it could well have been the second. I cannot allow you or the others to put yourselves in such danger again over me."

"If you're hurt that badly, you won't have any say."

Snape grimaced. The boy had put the finger on the flaw in his argument right off. "If I am unable to function, you and the others will be the only source of information for the Headmaster. You should speak with him as soon as possible when you return to Hogwarts."

"But the way he treats you—"

"The way you _see_ he treats me." Severus decided to let that sink in a moment.

It took a little over a minute, but the _Lumos_ finally appeared behind Draco's eyes. "Of course. And it's been going on so long everyone knows you're out of favor and anything Potty does smells like roses. Let me guess, you don't really want DADA after all."

"I wouldn't have it, unless the only alternative were even worse than Lockhart or Umbridge. I don't mind a teacher who makes the students believe he wants to kill them. I personally think that just keeps them on their toes. But I cannot endure incompetence. However, the whole controversy makes for good public arguments." As long as his godson thought the by-play between the teachers was only a show he wouldn't look for the reality behind it. "There's a great deal I cannot tell you, both for your own safety and mine. You will notice in the coming year that I will be acting less hostile towards the Gryffindors, Mr. Potter in particular. There are good reasons for that, and the Dark Lord imagines he knows them. However, I will expect you to report my change in attitude to your aunt, since this was discussed out of your presence. Dear Bella may have forgotten I already have approval, and go bounding to her master with the tidbit. I should like to see her face when she is reminded this is part of the plan."

"Would you like me to suck up to her the way I did Umbridge?" The young man's eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Madam Umbridge to you. Yes to your question. However, be careful. Your aunt is more intelligent and much more vicious than the minister. Bella will expect your submission simply because you are her nephew. _Don't_ get between her and your mother if they disagree. They are quite capable of managing their own feuds, and your mother is not as defenseless as she appears." He slumped back on the couch. There must have been some sedative mixed in with the last flask of potion he drank, or he was more tired than he thought.

"I'll ask the rest of my questions later, sir. I am keeping you up."

"The sun is barely down. However, I intend to stop at Fortescue's tomorrow after the rest of my errands. No doubt one of his confections will restore me."

Draco nodded, and broke the connection. Snape wearily rose from the cushions and started dressing for bed. Dobby popped out of nowhere and helped him change. Annoyingly enough, the process woke him up. After some argument with the devoted house elf, Severus sat down in the new rocker-chair and leaned back with his feet up. Winky had stocked the small cubby at the base of the table with blank foolscap, a stoppered bottle of ink, and a quill.

Perhaps making that silly list the Headmaster wanted would dull his mind long enough to go to sleep. He mentally titled it "Things to do in the next two years before I die", though he found that one excessively morbid. Perhaps "Delusions of Grandeur" would do instead. He didn't think he could come with _50_ things to want, but he may as well start.

Since he was supposed to put down anything, no matter how impossible or idiotic, he started with a big one.

_Cure lycanthropy._ No one would ever have to be afraid of a werewolf again.

_Teach the Wolfsbane Potion to the sixth year class._ That one had a chance of coming true. A thousand Galleons would go far towards helping him fulfill other goals.

_Chocolate ice cream at Fortescue's with sprinkles._ At last, an easy one! He could manage that one tomorrow.

_Get Longbottom to stop melting cauldrons._ The only that would happen would be to move the boy along out of his class and into Sprout's greenhouses. How had Longbottom managed to not blow anything up on his OWLs?

_Defeat Voldemort._ Well, he'd have to ensure _this_ paper was burned. He scratched it out and substituted _defeat the enemy_ instead. That was nicely ambiguous. He allowed himself to visualize a Leaving Feast with the Dark Lord gone and Mr. Potter on his way out the door, and smiled. _He_ might 'enhance' the punch that night.

_Slytherin receives the House Cup again._ Given that the Trio were going to be here for the next two years, he wasn't likely to see it. But he could still dream.

He couldn't think of much else after those, and had no idea how he was to come up with so many more. He'd forgotten what it was like to want things, since he could never have them anyway. Severus began scribbling down anything that floated across his mind then, like better robes, not throwing up, not _wanting_ to throw up, not being afraid of flying, till his hand finally took off on its own and started writing so fast the letters were nearly illegible.

He might as well write it all. _A wife and family that love me_ ended the list as his eyes blurred. That was _really_ impossible. He remembered some of the his dreams about a small house, much like the one he'd lived in as a small child before things went bad. It had a garden, though a section of it was warded because that had potion ingredients, several trees, and green grass. It wasn't much to look at behind its fence; he'd had his fill of grandeur at Malfoy Manor. The walls were solid, though, and the door welcomed him in. Two small children chased each other in the yard behind the fence of light, brown wooden slats, while a woman's voice sang happily inside as she waited for him.

Severus looked down and saw that he had actually sketched the outside plan. For a moment he looked down at it, seeing it so clearly it had to exist somewhere. Then he ripped the paper into shreds and fed it to the coals of the fireplace as he stifled sobs of rage. He was angry with Albus, too, for taunting him with this silly exercise. What was the _point?_

Then he sat back down and sighed. No doubt the Headmaster would want to see his list. He'd better have something to show the old man. Snape recopied a few of the goals onto a second piece of paper. Some of them _were_ possible, and he should concentrate on those.

No green grass of his owning, till it lay over him.

Albus Dumbledore

The Headmaster bowed his head and choked back tears as the duplicate parchment on his desk shredded itself and burst into flame. _Oh, Severus! So short a time, so much to do, and so little of it for you._ He shook his head as more mundane goals copied themselves on the spare piece beneath. _I shouldn't spy like this. I should give you some privacy. Every time I snoop I only remind you of how much a prisoner you are._

He put all the pieces of duplicate foolscap into his own fire to avoid further temptation, then sat down again. _You may have given up, but I haven't. If there is anything you want I can help you find, I'll find a way._ Albus had to admit to himself that most of what Snape wished for would have to wait for another turn of the Great Wheel.

It wasn't right, that so many had so little while he himself had had so much. So many wasted lives, on either side—in this war, in the last one, and the one before that. _Are we all trapped in an endless cycle of war and recovery?_ So many had died while he prospered. There were days he thought himself a vampire, glutted on the life and riches denied to others. _I never should have left Harry with those Muggles,_ he thought. _Yet if he'd been raised in the Wizarding World, he _would _have become a copy of his father. He would have heard how wonderful he was from the moment he could understand speech. Even Molly Weasley would have spoiled him, though she would have tried to keep him from getting too full of himself. His enemies would have struck at him, though the subtler ones might have succeeded in corrupting him instead. Instead, I have created the weapon I wanted, but at the cost of the boy. Minerva tried to warn me, but I didn't listen. Yet she doesn't have the skills to deal with such families. Only Severus does._

_And after everything I've done to him, he still wants what any man might—a warm hearth, a wife to keep it that way, and children to sit by it._ It was amazing how much appetite for life Snape still had. No golden crown, no lust for power over others, only a real life where people appreciated and love him. Yet he was to be denied even that little.

Albus remembered what had been on the sadly reduced list that he'd tossed into the flames. He'd have another talk with the goblins at Gringotts about the Potion Master's finances. Once again he would point out the danger of keeping someone known to be a friend of Lucius Malfoy on such a tight financial leash. One goblin in particular seemed quite insistent on a more stringent policy. Snaptooth possibly held a grudge from his dealings with Snape, and was known to be the administrator of the Malfoy fortune, at least the part of it in Britain. The younger wizard's pride would keep him from accepting anything other than his salary if he were cut off from the rest, as he had been in years past. Technically the funds were still his, and had to be accounted for, but Albus had doubts about their actual existence any more. It would be all too easy to pilfer from the escrow account of a former Death Eater who lacked influence. It would also be to Lucius Malfoy's interest to have his former pawn dependent on him.

Snape could be tempted beyond his ability to resist. Anyone could, even those Dumbledore trusted as members of the Order. Then Malfoy, or some other Death Eater with an open purse, could appear with a solution.

The injustice alone must rankle. Severus had developed several potions that earned many times his teaching income and was not allowed to enjoy the fruits of his labors despite the risks he took to keep the Ministry in existence. Others much deeper in the Dark were allowed to flourish unmolested. No wonder his anger erupted so easily, with no need of any other spur.

_How useless it must seem to Severus to be in my will!_ Albus thought. _No doubt the Ministry would find a way to get their hands on that money as well. If I am unable to change the goblins' arrangements, then I must take other measures. Aberforth will get more than enough to maintain the family properties. I can do what I like with the rest. Perhaps Severus should receive some of his inheritance early enough to do him some good._

He drummed his fingers on the desk. An anonymous account accessed with a key alone might be best. Then he changed his mind. That could leave Snape open to charges of bribery if the Galleons couldn't be accounted for. There had to be a way to save the young man's pride and still allow him the use of money that was rightfully his. If only there was a way to keep those royalties from being 'managed' by the Ministry!

Then he smiled. A growing percentage of the sales from Snape's potions were from Europe or overseas. The Swiss were known for banking as well for their clinics. How close the Muggles came to the truth with their saying about 'the gnomes of Switzerland'.

_My dear Malachite,_ he thought. _I hope you still know some of the right people. _He bent towards the fire and tossed some Floo powder at it. _It's a bit late, but for Severus it is even later. I don't think she'll mind._


	31. Chapter 31: Diagon Alley

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Author's note: Back to school next chapter. Mostly Harry, I think. And hopefully not quite as long!

Chapter 31: Diagon Alley

Severus Snape

Snape awoke feeling better than the night before. He didn't recall being awakened for any doses, so perhaps they'd decided to leave him alone. Getting uninterrupted sleep was a relatively new sensation. He thought he rather liked it, despite the dry mouth from the sedative. He shook his head over how he'd felt last night while making that silly list. He was better off accepting he couldn't have some things, no matter what the Headmaster told him. No doubt he'd become overtired from all that walking. _I'll have to remember to rest as much as possible when I'm in Diagon Alley today._

It was a fine day, so he chose lighter robes than usual. He'd be trapped under the weight of his protective lab clothing soon enough. The staircase from the dungeons to the Great Hall was in a good mood and took him all the way up. He only had to take one or two steps to find himself on the ground floor of Hogwarts, and from there it was only a short distance to the staff table.

Severus was surprised he was actually in time for breakfast. He was childishly glad that Lupin wasn't there, though Trelawney was, along with McGonagall and the Headmaster. He nodded to them, then gazed down at his meal. Instead of bacon and eggs, or some kippers, he faced a small amount of plain porridge and some fresh fruit to mix with it, a small bowl of something that looked like half-liquid cream cheese, and some tea an unearthly green color instead of his preferred near-black. "What's this?" he asked.

Sybil spoke up. "Some Muggles think an extremely plain diet is easier on the stomach if one has been ill, or merely wish to refine their spirits to become better connected with the cosmos," she said earnestly.

_Some_ things hadn't changed. He wearily nodded, and decided he could put up with this for a few days, at least, or however long it took the Di—no, the Muggle Studies teacher to move on to a new enthusiasm. Besides, he was going to Diagon Alley today and having ice cream at Fortescue's. With sprinkles. "I am eating this under protest, Trelawney, and only because I see you're inflicting this muck on yourself as well." He noticed that his comment lacked its usual bite, and nearly sighed in dismay. He resolved to brew himself some _decent_ tea as soon as he'd gagged down as much of this as he could.

He was never going to admit that the green tea had a piquant flavor, or that the plain food, including the disgusting-looking yogurt sat better on his stomach than usual even after he'd taken his morning potion. Snape mentally concentrated on a takeaway in Knockturn Alley that served the greasiest fish and chips in creation, with vinegar so sharp it could eat through cauldrons. The stuff tasted marvelous when piping hot, and had to be eaten quickly, as the combination turned into dead flobberworms when cold. He'd have to make do with what he could find in Diagon instead, he supposed.

Once he'd rested long enough to make sure his breakfast was going to stay with him, Severus walked slowly to the edge of the wards and Apparated to London. The crowds were fairly small this early in the day, just the way he liked it, and he made his way to the apothecary's without feeling pressed in.

Old Pilkington clucked over him. "I thought you looked bad enough the last time you were here, but I feel like brewing up a tonic for you myself today." He levitated a chair out from behind the counter. "Have a seat. It's bad advertising to have someone keel over that close to the window."

Snape was surprised, but didn't mind sitting down. "I'm actually much better," he said.

"Merlin! I've heard of a few people who were in the hands of the Swiss on that potions overload regime, but I've never seen them."

"They wanted me to take the treatment in residence, but it wouldn't do. They'd have to put wards around their labs to keep me from reorganizing their cauldrons and taking points from sloppy workers. I'd end up in a full body bind or running their brewing section, and neither one sounded like much fun."

The apothecary laughed. "So they dose you twice as much as anybody else just to keep you out of their hair."

"It wouldn't surprise me," Snape said dryly. "I went through the first expulsion phase there, and I was glad to have their help. I'd rather see that horrible glop in a bucket than in my liver."

The old man grimaced. "You know, you aren't the only brewer who sickens from their work, though nobody I know has to put up with students trying to poison them the way you do. You should see some of the non-Guild brewers from Knockturn who come in here. A few of them make you look the picture of health, though that old bitch Nora seems to thrive on it."

"She would," Severus said. "I think she's Locusta in disguise." The legendary poisoner was said to have been murdered by a victim's relative, but there were always rumors that the old woman was the inventor of Polyjuice, and had rid herself of a host of pursuers by substituting someone else in her place. "But those others should get tested. It's only a matter of time till the Ministry starts cracking down on the unlicensed brewers as well as Guild members with their new regulations. Frankly, I think the therapy process needs improvement. The detoxicant has too many side effects, and requires other potions to make it workable. That extends the time required to longer than most brewers can afford to take off."

Pilkington winced, No doubt he wondered if he should get tested, too. Snape wondered how long the man had lived in proximity to a large number of potions ingredients of varying quality and lethality. "Maybe you ought to give me a sample of your blood," he said. "I'll find out how to administer the tests myself from Madam Pomfrey. She wasn't pleased that my results were released a bit more widely than she expected, and obtained the diagnostic profiles from a friend of hers at St. Mungo's."

"There might be an extra vial in your supplies, then. I haven't made up my mind."

"Better to find out now than end up like me," Snape added sourly. "I might write a note to the Guild newsletter about it once I'm through. I feel more like an experiment than anything else. You should see the paperwork I have to fill out. I suspect I will be mentioned prominently in the clinic's next dissertation."

"If not as one of the authors," Pilkington said with a laugh.

"That's a thought. Since I'm going to teach and brew during the treatment, if my therapy is successful more witches and wizards will probably give it a try if they know they won't lose half a year's income in the process." Severus closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. A good thing he was sitting down, if just talking was so much effort. "It's no picnic. Most brewers don't have students to deal with on top of their normal work. I'm sure their experiences won't be as bad as mine. Plus, with a little work I may be able to find a detoxicant that isn't as stressful. Even if a patient has to take a different one longer, he might find it more tolerable in the long run."

The older wizard nodded. "I wonder if someone could develop a preventive protocol? I'd be willing to contribute any ingredients for a study like that at half-price, if I'm mentioned in any paper you do."

Snape agreed. "It'd be good advertising for you. Anything that keeps the next witch or wizard from having to swallow the poison I'm stuck with would be worth it. In my copious spare time I might work something up." He pushed himself up from the chair and handed a long list to the apothecary. "Here's the order for winter and spring term."

The man's eyebrows went up. "That's a lot of aconite, even with the werewolf there."

"Yes, though I wasn't able to make a batch this time. I've been told not to worry, but I won't be sleeping well this next week, that's for sure."

"Wish I could help with that. The Headmaster's offered double price for some already made up, but nobody has any, not even in Knockturn. Trust me, I checked. Sorry about that. Going to make sure you have plenty this next year, I imagine."

"I have a bet with Magister Lowenstein. If I can teach any of the sixth-year students how to make Wolfsbane, there's a nice pile of Galleons on the line."

"Did you tell him about the little Mudblood?" Pilkington asked with a smile.

"Of course not," Snape said smugly. "I think he found out though, since he hasn't mentioned the wager since. He's probably hoping I've forgotten it." He smirked, having just thought of something. He could claim the know-it-all was necessary for him to win the bet. The money wasn't important; Lucius and a few other Death Eaters would gladly give him all the Galleons he wanted, with the strings revealed later. Many pureblood families still had a gambling streak, though, and took such matters quite seriously. He might manage to keep Draco out of some trouble the same way.

Snape stood, said farewell, and left the shop. He was surprised at being fussed over. He barely knew Pilkington save as a supplier, and being allowed to use his back door whenever he wanted to irritate the Aurors. Apparently he'd made more of an impression than he'd thought. He wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or cheered.

The visit to order his supplies was the main business. He could just go back to Hogwarts and rest. He wanted to linger in this den of commerce, though, and give the proprietors a chance to tempt him. He may as well spend some of his savings, since he didn't have to worry about old age or destitution any more.

Severus noticed that Madam Malkin's had a new annex that concentrated on men's wear. He counted up his brewing robes. He should be all right. Then again, how would they hold up to the concentrated acids in the black sweat that had come from his skin at the clinic? He should order some replacements in case some of the older robes finally disintegrated. After all, Longbottom was to be his again, and the combination of the boy's incompetence and the potions regime might yet prove fatal to his clothing, if not him. The house elves did wonders with spills, but there was only so much they could manage. Some of his older teaching robes were showing wear anyway.

He placed an order for five of them. Malkin's already had his measurements, and was assured of delivery in a month. Since the lab gear required special stain-repelling and toxin-absorbing spells, that sounded about right.

He lingered over the sleepwear. One problem with a night-shirt was that it tended to ruck up and leave his legs exposed no matter how it was cut. Snape was tempted by some sensible woolen pajamas lined with smoother cloth to avoid irritation. He hesitated to waste money on clothes that might become contaminated by his illness. As a compromise, he bought one pair and decided to consult with Dobby about how well the laundry elves could remove the stains of an expulsion phase without leaving residue. _I'm probably going to lose some of my shirts and trousers to the same process, never mind underwear,_ he thought with dismay. He ordered more of those as well.

He paid, or tried to anyway, only to discover that his account showed a positive balance even after his more extensive than usual order. He didn't throw a fit over it, but resolved to find out who was responsible. Severus eyed the fancier dress robes, but there was no point to buying any till he was certain they wouldn't become ruined.

Snape left and sat down to enjoy a glass of lemonade at an outdoor café. The day was hot, or he was, and either way the cool, sweet drink erased most of the aftertaste from his mid-morning potion. He watched the lane begin to fill up. Diagon Alley had been here for centuries side-by-side with Muggle London, and probably would be for centuries more. Out of habit, he watched the short, muscular wizard who went up to the stand and ordered an ice. There was something familiar about the man, but Snape couldn't think what.

The fellow walked up to him. "So there you are," he said.

Snape gravely inclined his head. "Macnair," he said quietly. The oddness of the voice argued for a well-done concealment spell, but he had a good ear.

"They said you'd been out of it," the wizard continued, eating his raspberry ice standing up. "Three quarters dead seems more like it."

"No, that was last week while the Swiss were poisoning me. I've progressed to half since." He took a sip of his lemonade.

The disguised huntsman grimaced. "_She_ is in trouble for exceeding orders. You might want to plan something for the next meeting. _He_ will probably let you do it. Knowing you, I bet you'd like to make it imaginative."

"Why, thank you. That's the best news I've heard for a while," he said with a smirk. He already knew what he was going to ask. "She won't like it a bit."

Macnair laughed. "You were always too soft with your students, but we all have to obey our Master. Even _she_ has to learn that. Besides, too much loyalty usually isn't the problem with us. I think _he_ wants to encourage it, given how few we are these days. He was really impressed by what your apprentices did. After all, _he_ might need us to do it for him some day." He shook his head. "Did you really stick a knife into the Mark?"

Fortunately the other wizard was speaking quietly, though not so much as to draw attention. Snape nodded. "Those wretched potions had me sick already. Since the loyalty spell was fueled by a Dementor and I felt what Goyle felt through the apprentice link—well, it wasn't pleasant. I thought it was a Ministry attack, or something that lunatic Moody dreamed up. I had to stop it." He wiped sweat off his forehead. "Now the old fool thinks I'm really loyal, like those two traitors in Azkaban who tried to hurt themselves. I still don't know why the Headmaster put me under Imperio, though. Perhaps he wanted our master to believe I was a traitor as well."

The other wizard nodded glumly. "I wouldn't be you for the world. It must drive you mad to be stuck there at school and let the Swiss make you sick with their muck. Damn! I almost forgot. You have a nice credit at Malkin's now, and an even bigger one at Flourish & Blott's, since we all know you're mad for books. You spent your own funds for the extra wands and you're to be recompensed. One of the goblins is a good friend, so nobody knows a thing. But the master would like to know about the pensieve. That was pretty expensive."

"The Potter brat," he said, making sure he sounded upset. "I was supposed to show the little bastard how to use one when Bumbledore wanted me to teach the boy Occlumency. He decided to go snooping instead. That gave me a good excuse to stop the lessons, so the old fool would have to teach the boy himself. So naturally the Headmaster tells me I must have patience with the sweet lad, and as punishment for throwing Potter out on his ear must bear the expense of a blank pensieve myself." He smirked. "If he ever learns how to use it properly, I can just see the boy's face when one of his dear friends decides to satisfy his own curiosity. Perhaps the famous Trio won't be such good friends once this year is over."

Macnair looked thoughtful. "I heard that you were supposed to ease up on the Boy-Who-Lived this next year."

"Yes, and I've heard it from both sides this time," Snape said, as sourly as he could manage. "Won't that be fun. But, you know, I am going to need that noisy Mudblood to win the bet I have with Lowenstein. Malfoy's good, but unfortunately, she is better."

"Could always keep her late for _special tutoring_," the other wizard said with a lascivious smile. "That is, if your apprentices aren't the sort that appeal to you."

"There are only two girls, and one of them is betrothed to my godson," Snape said, making sure to look regretful. "The other's a Rosier, and her father still blames me for his brother's betrayal to the Ministry. But if I start out showing favor to the know-it-all, and then ease up on her idiotic friends because of her ah, _diligence_ in assisting me, then I should think both parties interested in the matter ought to be satisfied. I mean, it's not like she's a Muggle."

"Nothing wrong with Muggles, either, as long as they keep their mouths shut," Macnair said. "Well, unless I'm using one that way, though I like the tight ones best. Don't put her to seed, though."

"Now, really, I _am_ a Potions Master!" Snape said. He didn't have to pretend to be offended. Macnair would never understand the line between teachers and students.

"Oh, and there's something else I'm supposed to pass on," the Death Eater said. "_He_ thinks you ought to dress more like a pureblood and less like a jumped-up gutter rat. That's why one of the credits went to Malkins."

"Not till this treatment is over," Snape said. "Some of the side effects are hard on clothes. I'll have to consult with the house elves before I dare acquire anything that could be ruined."

"I don't blame you. Someone has to hold a wand on me to get me to put on dress robes. I won't even speculate what Malfoy has to do with you."

"Same story, different wand."

Macnair choked with laughter for a moment. "And people say you have no sense of humor. Well, Snape, go spend some money. If anyone's earned it the hard way, you have." He went off down the street, still sniggering.

Severus finished the lemonade, though it couldn't erase the bad taste in his mouth from the conversation. He and Macnair had little in common, save mutual loyalty to the cause, but a few duels out of the sight of any authority had convinced the huntsman that Snape was not to be trifled with, no matter what relationship he had with Lucius Malfoy. Their mutual hatred for Sirius Black also drew them into an uneasy friendship as such things ran in the Circle.

Snape went to the bookstore anyway, unable to resist the temptation. He'd had the proprietor set aside several old books till he could pay for them. They had once belonged to his family's library till the death of his parents and the loss of everything but his clothes for back rent. Perhaps he could afford to redeem them now.

As he entered Flourish & Blotts, he knew it was probably a waste to do this knowing his line was to end with him. _I'm going to do it anyway, _he thought ruefully. He wondered what the know-it-all would do if these volumes were left to her and the Headmaster tried to keep them from her because of their Dark nature. _I believe there's a Muggle phrase regarding 'cold, dead fingers' that could apply here,_ he thought with a smirk as he waited by the counter to have the books brought to him. They should really go to Draco, but he was dreadfully tempted.

After using some of his account to release the books into his possession and arranging for their delivery to Hogwarts, Snape casually strode to the Adult Section. Nobody underage could see the door; to their eyes he would disappear through the wall. Fortunately the few students in the place were busy in the textbook section, or he would have waited till after start of term. The Weasley twins had tried to sneak in several years ago by closing their eyes and walking into walls, only to find themselves Apparated into the Infant Clothing section of Madam Malkin's without their robes, to the great amusement of most and the consternation of their mother.

Thinking of the twins reminded him of another errand he needed to make once he was through on Diagon Alley. He was distracted from the thought by the clerk, who looked old enough to have seen everything. He was also said to be unshockable, though Lucius Malfoy had certainly tried. Severus looked wistfully at the standard version of the Gentleman's Companion, and wondered if his finances would stretch. After all, as long as he was on the potions regime he wouldn't be able to visit the quiet club a few blocks down the street.

"Would the gentleman be interested in a custom edition?" the clerk asked.

Now he was really tempted. The pictures in that one gradually shifted over time to conform to the user's tastes, while even the stories would change, never becoming old, and would be recited in a voice that became more enticing as time went by.

Oh, Merlin, he was so lonely! Even false company was better than none. At the last moment, though, he changed his mind. "I want it to be real," he murmured, removing his hand from the cover of one of the currently blank books.

"Sorry, sir. True love must be found outside the covers." The older man looked sympathetic. "However, these amusing illustrated tales can help pass the time till that quest is completed."

It was hopeless. Why not enjoy a temporary solace? Severus shook his head and left the room anyway. He'd make do with what he had. He was used to that.

However, he still had a date with a bowl of chocolate ice cream. He might as well cross that item off his list, since his stomach felt a little better than normal. It could be from Trelawney's choice of breakfast. What a horrid thought!

Snape went into Fortescue's, currently free of grubby little students, and ordered. The assistant started to pile the dish high—did he seem that emaciated?—but Severus kept it at two scoops. And the sprinkles, of course. While he was growing up in Knockturn Alley, he barely knew this place existed. His kind were firmly escorted back if any of them dared enter, even if they had the money. While a student, he couldn't afford to waste the Sickles for one scoop in a bowl, let alone two, and never mind the sprinkles. When he'd been taken up by Malfoy, he'd been so conscious of being in debt he'd found comfort in the petty gesture of taking as little as possible from his new sponsor.

For many years he hadn't bothered with ice cream at all.

But today he sat down with two scoops, with sprinkles, in front of him. Every bite tasted sweet. A childish pleasure was a pleasure still.

Then he spotted the Trio being herded by Mrs. Weasley, with young Miss Weasley tagging along. He scowled. No doubt they would all come charging in and ruin his hard-won peace. Potter and the Weasley boy would glare at him, and Miss Granger look at him curiously, as if she wanted to borrow him from the library and cram for an exam. Then Mrs. Weasley would have to shout at everyone to restore order.

He sighed. Perhaps if he ignored them they would go away. Snape closed his eyes and concentrated fiercely on his ice cream.

"Professor?"

He opened them again. Molly Weasley stood in front of his table looking uncertain.

"I really am better, Mrs. Weasley. Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated," he said in a civil tone. "Partly thanks to you. Mostly, I suspect, given you were the one who suggested the ritual to Madam Pomfrey." He waved at the empty seat on the other side of the table, which she took.

"You've done a lot for us," she said. "You gave Ron an extra chance when you didn't have to. He really has worked hard this summer. I think just doing the potions over and over helped him a lot."

"Many learn through their fingertips," he said. "I knew he could do the work, if he just _did_ it instead of complaining and drawing Quidditch diagrams on his essays."

She laughed. "He's been studying, too. I've told him how you'll smirk and laugh if he doesn't pass, and then he's mad enough to keep on."

"If those dunderheads would just _try_, most of them can learn potions," he said. "The advanced classes really are more interesting. But then, you know that already. Madam Pomfrey said you qualified for the mediwitch program just before you married."

She nodded. "She hinted at wanting an assistant, but not with that house to mind for well, you know. I hope to see you there later this year, now that Lupin's finally done the right thing."

"Yes. I suspect the house itself will still hate me, though."

"It hates all of us," Molly said. "Even more now my cousin is dead. It wants an owner strong enough to keep it in order, and Lupin's not it. While the will is in probate, it won't get one. The portrait's been quiet all summer, though. If I didn't know better, I'd say the old woman was grieving."

"A pity the place wasn't left to you." Molly's father had kept company with Molly's mother in the odd little village of Lancre several years before marrying the unlamented Mrs. Black, and siring Sirius and Regulus. In fact, one had to wonder if those men were the bastards, rather than the woman standing before him now. Her line on the tapestry was a broken one, but by Wizarding world standards only. She had the courtesy title of cousin, but likely deserved more.

"I wouldn't have it," Molly said. "I would suffocate in so much darkness. My feet belong in the earth, not in gilded shoes. The place should go to Harry. He's strong enough to keep it…if, if—"

_If he lives._ They both knew that.

"So, here you are ruining your appetite for later," she added briskly.

"If I had one to ruin," he replied placidly. "It's quite good. Shall I order you some?"

She stood up, went to the counter, and ordered off the hot menu. Soon a thick, meaty sandwich garnished with assorted members of the vegetable kingdom appeared, wrapped for future consumption. "At least now you'll be able to eat and get some real rest the next time you come to a meeting," she said as she placed the sandwich down on the table. "It was cruel what you had to endure last year. I'll miss that…cousin of mine, if only a little, but never the way he treated you." She put her hand on top of his.

Severus was stunned by the wave of desire her touch set off in him. He'd felt strongly about her for a long time, but only realized how much a day or so ago when he'd unwrapped the other sandwich from his table. That warmth had been nothing like the powerful need now pounding through his body. Her eyes widened a bit, so he was probably showing more than he ought, though he was trying to keep his face quite blank.

She straightened up, nodded in farewell, and left the store. Snape still reeled with the impact of just one touch. _No one must ever know,_ he thought. _She has seven children and a husband she loves dearly. She deserves better than to be harassed by someone like me._ His hand shook when he picked up the spoon. _What a fool I am! As giddy as if I stood on top of the Astronomy Tower in a windstorm, and it doesn't bother me at all.._

_As long as nobody knows, does it matter?_ He closed his eyes and savored the taste of the ice cream. _Well, I wanted something real. It doesn't matter that it's hopeless. Anything like that will always be out of reach for me anyway._ _It can't hurt her to feel like this, can it? After all, I'm already pledged to help and protect those she loves. This—this will just remind me why._

The ice cream tasted sweeter than ever, and he enjoyed every bite.

Including the sprinkles.

Molly Weasley

She was glad the children were still chattering like magpies when she left the ice cream parlor. Her cheeks felt hot enough to light a fire. She rarely had that feeling for anyone but her husband. Fortunately Snape had looked as if he hadn't noticed and let them both pretend nothing had happened. He'd always been a proper gentleman, and not for the reason her cousin Sirius had made fun of. She'd met wizards that didn't care for women, but Snape was definitely not one of them, no matter what was said about him and Lucius Malfoy. For one thing, that little Delacour hussy had automatically fluttered her eyelashes at the professor before latching onto Bill, and those with veela blood _never_ made that mistake!

Neither did those who were part maenad, the way she was through Mum. Well, this storm would blow over just like all the others. Fortunately Arthur didn't mind taking some extra time to cool her blood, even when he was tired from work. He'd laugh and tease till she finally confessed who'd caught her eye _this_ time, congratulate the poor man, whoever he was, on his narrow escape since he'd always be left ignorant of the stir he'd caused. After a while she'd calm back down again. She thought back—why, it had been years, not since that poor Mr. Lockhart, that she'd flared up over someone not Arthur. The only real trouble that might occur, though it never had, would be if the man in question felt the same way. But Snape was clearly far too ill to be affected by her current fit of the megrims. Arthur sometimes teased her about colleagues overcome by temporary infatuations for her, but she'd never been able to respond back. Mostly she was just polite to them, except the time Corny had _really_ made a fool of himself at that Ministry Christmas party, but everyone had agreed to forget that one.

No, the only one for her was Arthur. Only he blazed for her at the same time she was set on fire by him. And that was the way it should be. He was the only one who soothed her longings and kept her from the Darkness that was part of a maenad heritage. Oh, every once in a while she'd wondered what things might be like if he could follow all the way to that part of her—but she was lucky, so lucky to have a man like him, she knew when she was well off.

Molly pasted a bright smile on her face and dragged the children from store to store to fetch their books and supplies, though for a bit she left the boys and her daughter at the Quidditch place and escorted little Hermione to Flourish & Blotts for some extras. The girl was as bad as Snape and Flitwick for books, though Minerva was quite a reader, too. Even Percy wasn't quite so fanatical about the things. Now, there was an idea. The girl could help catalog the library there at the Black house so Harry could have a fair accounting. Moody's leg wouldn't let him stand long and Snape's health mustn't be overstrained after this last summer. A pity Sirius hadn't bothered much with that room. Lupin had made a start, but he'd been quite busy, and lost a few days each month for his transformation. _Full moon a couple of nights from now,_ she thought. Well, it wasn't her problem any more. Besides, the werewolf had been good as gold about getting into the cage in that reeking basement the last few months, and at Hogwarts he'd have the potion anyway. _Except they won't have it this month,_ she thought anxiously. _Well, he stayed in the Shrieking Shack all the time he was a student. Poppy can take him one more time._

At last the girl was done, and Molly gathered up the rest of them. Ginny was as broom-mad as the boys. Better that than other kinds of play, with the young men sniffing round her! Her daughter was going to be a beauty, though she wasn't nearly as plump as she could be. Molly had given up trying to make the girl eat properly.

She treated all the children and herself to a takeaway dinner and hauled it back home with the rest of their purchases. Her feet were complaining by now, and everyone was glad to sit down at table in the Burrow to dig in.

The amount she'd spent didn't bother her as much as it used to, with fewer at school. The Weasley finances were in better shape than they had been, with only two to buy for, and Harry refusing to take a Knut that wasn't his. The twins had managed funding from some lunatic for their shop, and refused any help from the family so far. It was nice not having to scrape so much. In a few years, the last bit of the mortgage on the Burrow might be paid off.

Arthur came home not long after. She was barely able to let him eat before dragging him upstairs, ostensibly to see to a minor repair in the bedroom. One quick muffling spell later, and soon they were both much happier.

He did tease her once she'd told him the reason for her sudden ardor. "Ah, my dirty mare, you know by now I trust you," he said as he caressed her. "What fire you have under your beautiful skin! You've never embarrassed me, my darling Molly. You'll be feeding me oysters for a week or so, and I'll be glad to eat them. Now who's the lucky man this time?"

She swallowed and hid her face in his chest. "Snape."

He laughed. "Maybe it's true what they say about noses."

She poked him in the ribs, though she was careful not to hit the scar from Nagini.

"Let me see what I can find to poke back, now, and put it in a better place," he said. "See? Ready to go again already and at my age, and without an Ennervate! Not even Fudge could put me off my feed knowing what I have right here at home."

Loving Arthur was always laughter in delight. She was the luckiest woman in the world.

Severus Snape

He knew he'd forgotten something, and couldn't think of what it was. He was still on fire for the woman, but he couldn't do anything about it, at least not here. Snape paced down Diagon Alley and thought about Apparating back. Of course, by the time he'd walked back from the Forbidden Forest to his rooms at Hogwarts, his endurance would be gone and this current passion but a dream. _Oh, but what a lovely dream compared to the nightmares I usually have instead!_ Severus thought, and caught himself letting a small smile escape.

He saw the poster. _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes opening here this autumn on the 3rd floor! Hogwarts Students! Mention this poster for 10 off at our Hogsmeade store!_

A third floor shop argued fro lower rent, while the owners knew quite well how many students stopped on this street to pick up books and gear and would see their advertisement. _I'll have to warn Filch,_ he thought. _Perhaps I'll obtain a catalog. It would probably be more efficient to ban the lot rather than pick and choose among their products._

The twins had rarely caused messes in their classes, preferring to inflict their mistakes on the school instead. Snape was of two minds about that. It was only a matter of time till they overstepped themselves and required the assistance of an emergency mop-up department. It would be best if they joined the Guild, since the insurance rates for such services were much lower on a group basis than after the fact. However, he suspected they needed to hear this from someone other than himself.

_Any excuse to speak to Molly Weasley again,_ he thought ruefully.

Then he remembered. He had suspected the boys' complicity in Montague's injuries, but the nature of their departure from the school and the raid on the Ministry had kept everyone far too busy to worry about something so minor.

_I have waited too long. Even Minerva and Madam Hooch have seen the boy. I am his Head of House._ He had put it off, even when he hadn't been too ill or otherwise occupied. What could he tell the parents, anyway? That Gryffindors had nearly murdered a Slytherin and had walked out scot-free, yet again?

Snape Apparated to the front doors of St. Mungo's and strode inside. For a moment he nearly went back out as the normal chaos of any hospital waiting room battered his senses. Then he forged onward to the reception desk. The woman looked up and said, "Can you wait a little bit? The Healers are busy today."

"I'm here to see Mr. Montague," he said. "I'm not a patient." Did he really look so ill?

"Relationship?"

The receptionist obviously did not recognize him. Sometimes that was a good thing. "I was his Head of House at Hogwarts."

"Well, you'd better hurry. He's to be released today, and his parents are up there to fetch him," the woman said. "They're on the Long Term Care floor." She paused. "Are you certain you don't need an appointment today?"

He should be appreciative someone cared enough to ask, he supposed, instead of being annoyed. Snape took a deep breath before speaking. "I'm undergoing a regime for potions overload," he said. "But thank you for asking." If he kept this up, people were going to ask who had stolen a bit of his hair and was going around impersonating him.

"That's all right," she said automatically, and moved on to the person in line after him.

As he made his way up the stairs to Long Term Care, he was certain he did not want _that_ job. Receptionists were not allowed to hand out detentions or take away points from sullen patients, though he didn't doubt they'd leap at the chance.

By the time he reached the third floor he had to sit down on one of the benches out in the hall to catch his breath. He allowed himself only a few minutes, though; he must see the boy and speak to his parents before they left.

He passed by the door leading to the suite used by the Longbottoms and winced. Bella had been in fine form that night, and there had been nothing he could do to stop her. Fortunately he'd been able to hide the boy, though Neville Longbottom had seen too much anyway. _I still wonder who applied the Memory Charm to extract what happened to his parents,_ Snape thought. _Even Moody's not that clumsy. Too bad they didn't get Flitwick._ Severus remembered the small wizard's voice helping him after his parents had died after he'd been on this floor himself for a couple of weeks.

He shivered, knowing he might have grown up here if not for the Head of Ravenclaw excising that particular memory. But whoever had attempted the same thing on the Longbottom boy had clearly taken far too much. Snape walked quickly past towards a room where there was at least some life. He knocked and entered it.

Reginald Montague sat on the bed, fully dressed. He looked normal. _At least,_ Snape thought, _to anyone who didn't know him before. _

The parents were busy packing. "May I be of any assistance?" Severus asked. "I am sorry to have kept my visit till it was almost too late."

"Professor!" Reginald said, though he slurred the word. For a moment he was like his old self. Then the light faded from his face and went blank again.

"He's like that," his mother said. She looked tired. "He'll say a word or two, and then go away again." She walked over to her son and ruffled his hair. "I hope you wake up soon."

"Has he been able to explain what happened?" Snape asked.

"Not much," Albert Montague said, a taller, more muscular version of his son. "From what little he's been able to say, we think what happened is that he was Stunned and placed in some old cabinet that still had a twin that nobody knew about, and that he was tossed between the two before ending up in that toilet."

"Professor Flitwick is good at extracting memories without causing harm," Snape said. He rather hoped he wouldn't have to explain how he knew. "He can be trusted not to gossip."

"That's not the problem," Montague's mother said.

Damn. What was her name? Not Alice…no, Alison. "Is there anything I could do? Or Madam Pomfrey?"

"We were told it was the head injury," Alison said in a dull voice, as she placed clothes into a trunk. "There was swelling, no matter what potions they gave him, and they actually had to remove a section of the skull, or so we were told. It's just a matter of time for his healing."

"Did they estimate how long?" Snape felt helpless.

She shook her head.

"Never, would be my guess, except they didn't want to say so," Mr. Montague said angrily. Reginald briefly looked attentive. "Not upset at you, lad."

"The Healer did give me these papers," the boy's mother said, holding them out. "They want us to have him _crawl_ of all things! Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?"

Snape glanced through the pages uneasily. "I have heard that mentioned in the literature," he said. Poppy had found quite a bit on head injuries. This new fad, however, had been in the Muggle bits. He knew better than to confess that part. "I know, it seems ridiculous. But think of it the way Madam Hooch does her remedial broom class. She starts everyone from the very beginning, as if they had never been up in the air in their lives. It can't hurt."

"But I'd feel like a fool on the floor!" Mr. Montague said, throwing up his hands. "And so would Reggie."

The Potions Master privately thought that young Mr. Montague needed more in his life than to sit like a lump in an upper room, which was his most likely fate at this point. "When he recovers, he'll remember that you cared enough for him to do it anyway," he said in a soft voice. "This proposed home therapy does seem to take a lot of time. Is there a house elf that is closer to your son than the rest?"

"Oh!" Alison looked much happier. "I can't imagine why I didn't think of that. Mippy misses his Reggie every time he goes anywhere. I suppose once we get the hang of this, it shouldn't take long to train him to take on most of it."

Snape hated talking in front of his former student as if he weren't there, and faced the boy. "I think you should be up on a broom as soon as you can," he said.

Reginald's eyes flickered with momentary interest. "What's more," the Head of Slytherin announced, "I'm going to be up on a broom nearly every day, too. A year from now, we'll race and you can humiliate me in person."

The former Quidditch captain actually smiled at that. "That'll be fun."

"Good. But you'll have to work hard, even though a lot of it will seem quite silly, or you won't be ready. I don't often get a chance to be better on a broom than anyone else, you know."

The boy laughed. But all too soon, he faded into apathy again.

"I'll remind him, professor, don't you worry," Mr. Montague said, now looking pathetically grateful. "But you'd better sit down. You don't look well yourself."

Snape shook his head. "I have to get back to the school. But I thank you." Fortunately it was already past the noon hour. He'd miss whatever horror Sybil had planned for him then.

"Goodbye, professor." The young man's voice was slightly clearer.

He turned around. Reginald held his hand out. Severus shook it and said, "Goodbye, Mr. Montague. Remember about that race. Perhaps we could set up an obstacle course, rather than just speed along the flat. My broom isn't that fast, to be honest."

The boy appeared to consider that, then nodded. "Fair enough."

"Be sure to owl me," Snape said, refusing to consider that the injured Slytherin might not speak well, let alone write, for the rest of his life.

"Of course, sir."

Mr. Montague followed him out of the room. "That's the most he's talked in weeks," the older man said. "I know you're busy during the school year, but if you can find the time, Alison and I would love to have you visit. You seem to keep the boy on his toes."

"Good. You and your wife need to, as well. That routine will at least keep your son's muscles in shape, even if his mind never comes back all the way. And once you've established a routine, he should have a few responsibilities. Even if the house elf manages them in secret, Reginald should feel like a part of the family." Snape kept talking briskly. He hadn't expected the boy to be so badly off. "Gardening, perhaps. I recall his grades in Herbology were fairly decent. Once he's a bit more recovered, he should try practicing some basic Charms. His wand wasn't broken, was it?"

"No, that came through all right. Merlin damn it, but we could replace that!"

"You still have your son, Mr. Montague. He just needs your help now. Madam Hooch told me that when he fully recovers, the Wasps are still willing to give him a tryout. And of course I will supply any potions that are recommended."

"I thought you were on that program, not supposed to brew too much or something," the other wizard said.

"If I can manage the Wolfsbane for that wretched Lupin, I can certainly work on something like this," Snape said. "He deserves the best." He was surprised to discover that he truly meant the words. "And I am still dreadfully sorry it took me this long to visit."

"Don't worry about it," the man said with a wave of his hand. "You've been busy, or so it's said. Professor McGonagall and the coach said they were sorry, but I can tell you really are. But if you'd keep an eye on Frederic for us—we wanted to withdraw him, but he wouldn't hear a word of it."

"Of course." Reginald's younger brother would be in his third year this time.

"Well, I'd better go back in and help Alison," Montague said, and left.

Snape collapsed onto a nearby bench. He couldn't take too much time to rest, or the couple and their son would see him, but for a few moments he had to stifle his own grief. By some miracle he held back actual tears, though he had to hold his head in his hands.

"Professor?"

He looked up and went to his feet in a wave of fury. Both Weasley twins stood before him, holding packages.

"We heard old Montague was going home today—"

"Though we'd bring him something—"

"We never meant for him to get _hurt,_ we just wanted him out of the way—"

"But we had to leave, you know what Umbridge wanted to do—"

"_Quiet!"_ Snape said in rage, though he kept the volume down.

Both young men looked uncertain then. He reached in his pocket for his wand, and touched the sandwich Molly had given him instead. Severus panted, struggling for self-control. The two idiots were probably telling the truth. Once he could speak coherently, he said, "Has it occurred to either one of you why Mr. Montague is being sent home?"

"Because he's better, of course," Fred said, though more softly than usual. "That's why we brought some of our best stock. For one thing, if he ends up with the Wasps—"

"He can show them how to have a bit of fun with our Wheezes," George completed.

"It's not like that," Snape said, rubbing his temples. He could feel a headache coming on. He spotted an attendant down the hall, found his wand, and quickly covered them all with a Disillusionment Charm. "They're going to be checked out soon, I suspect," he added in a low voice. "You'll see for yourself. Keep quiet."

The young woman with the clipboard entered the room. Not long after, Mr. Montague the elder exited, trunk in tow. Alison came out, helping to guide her son's steps. Reginald's eyes were dull and empty again, and he shuffled forward. The attendant closed the door of the room after taking one last quick look inside.

"Come on, dear, we're going home," the boy's mother said. "Oh, you're walking quite well today. I hope Professor Snape visits soon. It was nice to hear you say something. And you were making sense, too! I do hope he's right and you have that broom race with him. I know a year sounds like a long time, but we all know it will take that long for him to catch up." There were unshed tears in her eyes as she looked at her son.

Once they were gone, Snape ended the Charm. "He's going home because there isn't anything more St. Mungo's can do for him," he said tonelessly.

"What was that about a broom race?" one of the twins said, clearly trying to put a brave face on the disaster.

"I told him that in a year I'd try an obstacle course with him," the Potions Master said.

"But you're never on a broom! Except when Turban Boy was trying to kill Harry, of course—"

"Stupid! He said it so old Montague would have something to look forward to!" the other twin hissed.

Snape didn't want to see their faces. He feared to see the gloating and triumph he had often seen on James Potter or Sirius Black when faced with the fruits of yet another prank.

"Sir?"

He turned around. Both twins looked devastated.

"We didn't know—

"We shouldn't have waited so long to come—"

_Neither should I,_ Snape thought, and his anger subsided. "Write a note to his parents first, apologizing. Then ask to visit. They might actually let you on the property without feeding you to the Grim."

"We did write to Monty—"

"But we never heard back—"

"We thought he was still mad at us—"

Then both of them fell silent. "Well, we'd best go back to work," George said dolefully, letting the package he'd brought dangle from his fingers.

"We'll do what you said," Fred added.

Snape nodded. "I must return to Hogwarts," he said. "School will start soon. I hope nobody hisses eleven-year-olds just because they're sorted into Slytherin without you two to egg them on."

"Er—"

"That was pretty shent of us, wasn't it—"

"People listen to you, Merlin knows why. The general consensus in Gryffindor appears to be that Montague deserved whatever he got because he dared to take points from you. You might want to mention it to your friends that perhaps it's not quite true. Now I do need to go, or I will really lose my temper, and I shouldn't on this floor. Some of the others here don't react well to loud noises." Snape turned on his heel and fled. He still wanted to hex those boys, but he knew it wouldn't do any good.

He Apparated back to Hogsmeade once he was outside the hospital, and then wished he had taken a Floo instead. It was late in the afternoon by now and beginning the dinner rush (not that anything truly rushed in Hogsmeade unless the students were there), but Rosmerta had him sit down with some tea over in a quiet corner. 'You look done in, professor," she said. "Almost as bad as earlier this summer when that nice Mr. Lupin was here."

For a moment he'd forgotten about the werewolf. He grimaced politely, sat over his tea, and mourned what had happened to Reginald Montague. _I don't even have the consolation of hating the Weasley twins for what they did. They clearly had no idea how badly he was hurt, and were upset when they saw the results of their stupidity._ He sipped his tea glumly. _I wish Rosmerta hadn't mentioned Lupin. If Pilkington doesn't have a notion of where to get more Wolfsbane Potion, nobody does. The wolf isn't much taller or much heavier than he was his seventh year, and the Shack held up to him then. Of course, it's anybody's guess how many full moons he actually spent there instead of running around the Forbidden Forest with his dear friends once James Potter was Head Boy._ He resolved to put up _very_ good wards for the next few nights.

In fact, he should leave for the school now. Sunset came much soon than it had only a month ago, and moonrise would be slightly earlier. The actual full moon was still a couple of days away, but Snape knew that the wolf experienced subtle changes close to it. During Draco's third year, for instance, Lupin had usually been more irritable and less eager to please the closer he came to a transformation, though the actual change left the man exhausted.

He paid for his tea, left a modest tip, and started up the path to the school. Snape had to stop several times to rest, though the shadows were longer than he liked. He tried eating some of the sandwich, but it had dried out—Fortescue's wrappings were not as effective as Molly Weasley's. _I should have taken a flask of tea from the tavern,_ he thought, _to help wash this down._ He finally pitched the remains into the bushes, where some scavenger would enjoy it.

The Potions Master reached Hogwarts, but entering the place gave him little comfort this time. It was close enough to dinnertime that he went immediately to the Great Hall. He didn't think his exertions had left him too offensive, and he preferred his bath directly before bed as it was. He was conscious that he'd skipped one of his afternoon potions. If he doubled up on any of them, he had best be near a lavatory.

The teachers sat at a small table below the dais, including Hagrid and Firenze. _Ah yes, the staff meeting,_ he remembered.

Including Lupin. Dumbledore looked up. "You're just in time, Severus. Have a seat. I've decided we may as well eat and discuss things at the same time." The old wizard patted a chair right next to him—and to the wolf.

It shouldn't bother him. He'd managed all of one year without showing a bit of fear. He tried to take refuge in his usual irritated manner, only to find that his anger was gone for some reason, and only terror remained.

Snape stopped on the threshold of the side door to the Hall and couldn't move for a moment. _I went out to the blasted Shrieking Shack by myself looking for Black,_ he reminded himself. _I held a wand on both those Marauders and had them both in my power. Black is _gone! _Lupin only attacked when the dog urged him on. What is wrong with me?_

He took one step, then another. He was conscious of sweat pouring down his back and beading on his forehead. With any luck the others would think his hair was merely acting up again. Severus made himself look at Lupin, who appeared normal. "Is—has anyone sent word about the Wolfsbane Potion?" he said, trying to keep his tone casual.

"Not yet," the wolf said, shrugging. "I'm not blaming you, Snape, you obviously weren't well enough to brew anything in time."

_No. I am blaming myself instead._ He took a few more steps. He had sat next to the man dozens of times before, either here, in the staff room, or at 12 Grimmauld Place.

"That's why we're having the meeting a trifle early," Dumbledore said. "Professor Lupin has kindly agreed to go out to the Shrieking Shack instead. Only someone in human form could possibly get in or out, we all know that."

"Of course." He struggled to keep walking towards the chair. Even though the shadows were long, it was still quite light out. The sun's rays overwhelmed the moon's power, everyone knew that.

Severus reached the empty seat and placed himself there in triumph. Surely Dumbledore would not endanger the rest of the staff by overestimating Lupin's capacity for self-control. _But he did,_ memory reminded him. _Lupin let Black in and deliberately forgot to take his potion the last time he was here. He risked the students' lives, and ours, too just for the sake of a fellow Marauder. I trusted Dumbledore himself last spring. Oh, yes, he's sorry now, but it…it was almost too late._ He knew better than to voice such thoughts, however.

"Professor," Poppy said. "Are you all right?"

"Tired," he said, unwilling to reveal how anxious he actually was.

Of course he couldn't eat, though he was reasonably good at appearing to while the others did. He tried to pay close attention to the usual just-before-term trivia. That helped a little. He'd had plenty of experience at not showing fear at _other_ meetings. He had to put the fork down and stop playing with the food on his plate, though, when his hands shook too much.

He'd been afraid of Lupin before, but never like this._ What is the rest of the year going to be like if I can't control myself now?_

Severus threw himself into the scheduling. The formal timetable was before them on the table; this was the time for serious negotiations to begin. Fortunately, the Headmaster had already made allowances for his morning constitutional and afternoon rest break. He was beginning to calm down until the wolf mentioned the need for an occasional substitute in DADA for the days when he was disabled because of the full moon.

Normally he would be the first to offer his own services. Last year he'd considered giving Umbridge a potion that would keep her out of the classroom entirely. But he was going to miss time, too, because of this wretched potions regime.

Was it his imagination or were Lupin's eyes brighter amber than usual? He fought down another wave of panic, though he missed some of the conversation. He took a mouthful of air, then wished he hadn't. The man reeked of his upcoming transformation. Severus breathed more shallowly then.

Dumbledore called for a break after the house elves removed the plates. Poppy stood up like a shot and went over to him. "Severus, what's wrong?"

He felt foolish being terrified of the wolf after all this time. "Didn't rest enough in Diagon Alley," he said. "Should have come back earlier."

She pursed her lips. "You're to go to bed as soon as this meeting is over," she said.

"I…I won't argue this time," he said, standing up. Black spots swam before his eyes once he was on his feet.

"Why don't you come over here for a moment," she said. "Firenze wants to find out what your usual night patrols are like. Centaurs are semi-nocturnal anyway, just like you, and he's used to sleeping in catnaps."

"Of course." If he could not pull his weight this year, he could certainly assist those who could. Just as he took a couple of steps toward the Divinations Teacher, Lupin walked up and said, "I suppose I had better listen in. I have some restless nights myself."

Snape's heart hammered in his chest, and his hand reached up to ease it. He panted for breath. Then he found his knees giving way as he began to head towards the floor. Hagrid came out of nowhere and caught him.

"You're going to the infirmary now, Severus," Pomfrey said. "Let Hagrid help you there."

The half-giant practically carried him to the quiet rooms. He felt better away from the meeting, away from the wolf. "Don't let Lupin in, please," he said quietly, ashamed of his cowardice. He didn't understand his reaction.

Poppy had him out of his sweat-drenched clothes and into a gown. She went over him with a wand. "Well, it isn't your heart," she said. "Out with it. Tell me what happened today."

He tried, but ended up having hysterics into a small towel instead, at least at first. Then he was more coherent.

"I'm so sorry about Mr. Montague. I was afraid of this," she said. "I am glad the twins now understand how their pranks can hurt, though. I suspect you're quite frustrated because you can't be angry at them, but it is better this way. But you were obviously terrified…oh. Professor Lupin."

"It doesn't make any sense!" he shouted. "I spent a whole year with him on the staff before! I hate being so afraid."

"You also had the Dementors to worry about, dear," Poppy said, as she helped him get a cup of tea down. "And you had the potion ready for him each time. What Albus forgot to tell you was that Firenze volunteered to watch outside the Shack this month."

"Oh." Centaurs and werewolves were natural antagonists. He felt foolish now.

"At the next staff meeting, sit between Hagrid and Firenze," the mediwitch said. "It's not your usual position, but I think you'll feel better. I'll have Winky bring you something to eat now, and after that you're going back to your rooms and have your potions there. You skipped the afternoon one, didn't you?"

He glumly nodded.

"Tomorrow you will stay in your rooms. I would like to order bed rest, but I know better. Winky can fetch anything you like. You have the inventory and your lesson plans done, and the rest of your supplies ordered. You will need your strength for when classes start. I'll tell the Headmaster to keep you and Remus apart till this full moon is over. You have a right to feel safe here, Severus. We have an obligation to help you. I'm going back to the meeting, but Hagrid can stay here and drink tea with you till Winky gets here with some food. Lie back and try to relax. I'll be back soon."

Hagrid shook his head. The giant had heard everything. "Sorry about the Montague lad. But it's good the twins feel bad about what they did. Heard some nasty talk after it happened."

Snape smiled thinly. He was well aware of the groundskeeper's opinion of Slytherins. "Dark wizards come from houses besides mine," he commented, and let it go at that. He was too embarrassed by his weakness to say anything more.

The larger man had the grace to blush. "Mebbe I shouldn't have said that to Harry," he said, fidgeting. "It wasn't Black killed his parents, but it was that rat Pettigrew. That reminds me, I need to fix the vermin cage. Something big got in it a couple of weeks ago and stretched it all out, and then everything else escaped."

Severus did feel safer with the half-giant there, even if Hagrid's mind wandered out to play when nobody was looking. There was nothing wrong with his heart. "I feel silly being put to bed like this," he fretted. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Ah, you're still sick and doin' too much again. Lie about for a few days and get your strength back."

"I hope I get the chance." He hadn't thought of what might happened if he were summoned during the next few nights.

"Don't worry, Firenze and me'll see old Lupin doesn't get away, even if you have to go out or something."

That was a comfort. Winky arrived then with a tray with thick soup in a cup, that made it easier for him to drink it. He was proud that he was strong enough not to hold it without help.

Unfortunately, he had his evening potions to chase it, but even those weren't too disgusting tonight. Hagrid assisted him with a robe and down to his own rooms, while Winky put him to bed. "Mistress Nurse come by later," the elf said. "Master must stay so she can find you!"

He was drowsy now, and much calmer. Snape merely nodded. Just before falling asleep, he remembered how Albus had asked him to pick out a memory. _What can I possibly salvage from this horrible day?_ Severus wondered. Then he smiled just a little. His visit to Fortescue's had been pleasant enough by itself. Molly Weasley's hand could warm any heart, even his.

It wasn't hard to choose the symbol to go into his mental 'office'.

A bowl of chocolate ice cream.

With sprinkles.

Poppy Pomfrey

She hurried out to the Great Hall. Poppy was pleased the rest had waited for her return, and all had worried looks. "It wasn't a heart attack," she said quickly. "He's in no danger. It seems to be an anxiety disorder. He was overtired on top of it, and I've prescribed complete rest for the next couple of days."

Albus looked at her, clearly knowing there was more, but was apparently wiling to wait till late to hear it.

Most of the real business had been done before Severus collapsed, and the rest took less time than usual. Soon everyone began filing out. Poppy eyed Remus and asked him to stay, as they both sat down near Dumbledore. "Are you certain the transformation isn't tonight?" The sun was down, but the dusk was so light she wasn't really worried yet.

"I think I would know after all these years," he said, looking slightly offended.

"But you are different this close to the full moon," she said. "Different enough for even someone not a wolf to tell."

It took only a moment for that to sink in. "But Snape knows I'd never attack him!"

"Rationally, he does, or why he struggled to take the seat next to you rather than disappoint the Headmaster," she said. "He is also used to having the potion ready for you at this time. You usually take it a couple of days before and after the actual full moon."

"Oh." Lupin looked thoughtful. "He was always more angry at other things then, too."

"Yes. Now, the potions he's taking are helping with that. But that leaves the underlying fear he will probably always have. He normally copes well with that, or he'd be dead by now, along with quite a few others. However, he overestimates his strength and won't rest enough."

"What do you recommend, Poppy?" Albus asked.

"At staff meetings, Severus should sit between Firenze and Hagrid. He'll feel safer, even if he doesn't know why. And for the next few days, Remus, you should avoid the dungeons and I will try to keep him in his rooms. I don't think he really trusts the Shrieking Shack any more. The building is older than it used to be, and you're stronger than you were as a student."

Remus looked grim. "I moved the cage I used when I stayed at Grimmauld Place to the Shack. You see, I'm not entirely irresponsible!"

"Then I'll take him out there in daylight so he can see it. I know you don't want him to, but you won't have to be there. He needs to feel safe. Normally he would be able to deal with it, but he can't right now."

Firenze gave a gentle cough. "Pardon me. I heard my name. I could smell Professor Snape's fear. What is wrong?"

His breath was warm on her shoulders. "He survived a werewolf attack when he was a student here," she said. "And never got therapy for it besides what little I could offer." Yes. There were some secrets that had to come out.

"Ah. And the perpetrator, was he caught?"

"It was me," Remus said, his face flushed red. "My friend set it up as a joke. Fortunately James found out in time and saved Snape's life."

"What school did they send you to afterwards?" The centaur looked curious.

"I stayed here, of course."

"And so did the friend," Poppy added. "Nobody knew Lupin was a werewolf, you see, except for me, the Headmaster, and his friends. Well, and Severus, of course. He was sworn to secrecy afterwards, naturally. The story couldn't be allowed to get out or Remus here would have lost all chance at an education, perhaps even sent to Azkaban."

Firenze transferred his analytical gaze to the Headmaster. "I see. And so nothing was done."

"Well, James did receive quite a few points for his heroism," Albus said.

Poppy still remembered that. "Which quite overwhelmed those that were taken from Mr. Black for his little prank," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Severus, of course, lost points for Slytherin for being out after dark."

Dumbledore had the grace to turn a little pink himself hearing it put that way. "Mr. Lupin was an excellent teacher a few years ago," he asserted.

"Why did you not keep him?" Firenze asked.

Poppy kept quiet. She wanted to see who would say what.

Lupin broke the silence. "One of the conditions of my employment that year was to take the potion on a regular basis. The last month, I didn't, and I endangered several students and Professor Snape, who was looking for those who had left their dormitories. Fortunately my friend Sirius Black was there, who is an Animagus, and made sure I harmed no one. Afterwards, the knowledge of my condition circulated to the parents, and I was dismissed."

"Ah. And you blame Snape for this?"

"Well, of course!"

The centaur nodded. "Yet he could have done this earlier."

Remus looked abashed. "Well, yes."

"And this Sirius Black, is this the same one who set up the joke?"

"Er…yes. But Sirius died at the Ministry last spring. He was Harry's godfather, you know, and the boy misses him dreadfully." Lupin warmed to the topic. "The Headmaster, of course, looks after Harry, but this year we all felt the boy needed more support than that."

"I see." Firenze's eyes were cloudy.

Poppy rather thought she'd rather undergo one of Flitwick's analyses for half an hour than have the centaur look at her like that, and was quite happy his gaze was on the Headmaster instead. "Remus, dear, don't get me wrong. We all trust you. But I would feel better if you were in the Shack tonight. I can transfigure a bed for you if there isn't one already."

Firenze smiled. "Don't worry, Madam Pomfrey. I will escort him out there myself." His nostrils flared slightly, and Poppy shivered.

Lupin's head whipped over to the Headmaster in appeal. "I do want to speak with Poppy alone, Remus," Albus said. "Firenze is also a member of the staff this year, and should be trusted. He'll be on night patrol more often anyway, and should become more familiar with the school grounds."

Remus sighed. He and the centaur left.

"What else is wrong?" Albus asked.

"It's not just Lupin, though that's what finally pushed him too hard," Poppy said. "He visited Mr. Montague today, just as the parents were there to take the boy home. Severus doesn't like the Long-Term Care floor anyway, and seeing the boy in such bad shape didn't help."

"Then why weren't we all treated to a rant about the twins?" Dumbledore asked wryly.

"Because they had the lack of consideration to show up, believing Montague had recovered, and were duly penitent when they saw how badly they'd hurt him." Poppy sighed. "And Severus is still afraid of being angry in front of you. He knows you won't carry out the threat you made, but part of him feels the whip anyway. On top of that, he was supposed to rest for a few days after he came back from the clinic. Instead he's done the inventory, made up his final order, and probably forgot to eat on top of it. I'm glad it _was_ a panic attack, instead of what I thought it was at first."

"If he's summoned in the next couple of days…"

"I just hope he isn't," she said. "The next full moon won't be so bad. He'll have the potion made up, and that will help him a great deal, especially if Remus must drink it in front of him, or in front of me if he's too ill or unavailable. I'm glad that Firenze wants to help."

"I told Lupin he could drink it in front of me," Albus said.

"I don't think Severus really trusts you," Poppy said bluntly. "He'll feel safer if it's me, Firenze or even Hagrid."

"I'm surprised you want Snape kept to his rooms, then, and not Lupin."

"Remus stayed in his whenever he took his potion when he taught here. That's confinement enough. After I show Severus the cage, I want him in his. He won't rest unless someone makes him. I hate to use fear, but even in daytime he'll want to stay behind his wards when Lupin doesn't have his potion."

"He wouldn't go to meetings at the Black house during the week of the full moon last year," Albus murmured.

"I don't blame him. Sometimes those meetings ran fairly long and into the night, or were at night. Black would have thought it was funny to unlatch the cage."

Dumbledore bit his lip and said nothing.

"You thought so too, or you would have insisted," Poppy said, pressing her point home. "Severus will be right as rain by the start of school, if he's not forced out sooner than he has to be. Winky cheers him up more than you would believe. But he needs _quiet_, or he'll never manage the start of school. I still think he should be at the clinic."

"I offered him that, and I meant it," Albus said, looking mulish.

"I know. I suspect he couldn't bring himself to abandon his students, though."

"I also offered him a sabbatical in place, Poppy."

She blinked. "Well, here's hoping he'll be able to teach without wearing himself down too badly, then." She poured another cup of tea, added three sugars, and passed it to the older wizard. "I think you can leave Remus to Firenze, though. When Severus is feeling better, he'll be able to brew the potions _you_ need. He does love you, you know. The ones he makes always work better for you than the commercial ones, and they wouldn't if he didn't care. He's just been through too much, and someone needs to watch out for that."

"I didn't mean to make him ill, Poppy. I wanted him to sit by me so he'd know I wasn't upset with him or anything. He notices the smallest things."

"He can't help how he feels about Lupin, dear. He's the only one of us that has ever seen Remus as a wolf, unless Firenze did out in the Forest. The way he was treated when he was attacked only made it worse. You really should have Obliviated him."

"He would have just kept snooping," Albus said wearily. "The next time he might not have survived it."

"If you had not let the Marauders run wild—" Well, that was an old debate.

"I know."

Poppy sighed, and drank her own tea. By now Hagrid and Winky had helped Severus down to bed. She'd stop by and check on her patient in an hour, and make sure he was sleeping properly. "He'll have other emotional breakdowns this year as well, probably at all the wrong times. Have patience with him when he does."

"I will." The Headmaster looked as if some of his memories appalled him.

"I'll look after Mr. Potter, too, and you, for that matter," she said. "I haven't abandoned the rest of the school because Severus is currently the one who needs help the most. I'll be honest, I think it's a good idea to give all the students a quick check. In fact, I think I'll give you one right now."

Albus looked like a deer hypnotized by a _Lumos_ as she pulled out her wand and flung a basic diagnostic spell at the older wizard. She smiled. "Nothing there a bagful of lemon drops and twelve hours of sleep won't fix. Now off with you, and no sitting up late. Harry's at the Burrow, probably eating himself sick and playing Exploding Snap with his friends till the wee hours. Or reading some disgusting magazines with Ronald and hoping Molly won't find out."

Dumbledore laughed, which was what she was hoping for. They both rose, and she escorted him to his rooms, both of them joking along the way.

Then she went to the dungeons. Snape was deeply asleep, and never stirred when she entered his bedroom. A soft light from her wand showed slack, pale features and hands that were far too thin for her liking. _He will look like that when he is dead,_ she thought sadly, having heard Trelawney's prophecy. _He will be at peace forever then. Oh, Severus, please get well! Go shout at someone, or blast something in the Forest to little bits. But for now, sleep and heal.._

Winky hugged her silently, obviously as anxious not to disturb her master as she was. "He'll be better," Poppy said quietly. "He just needs rest."

That was true. For now.


	32. Chapter 32: Bonus Chapter

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 32: Extra Bonus Chapter!

Author's note: This was supposed to be the chapter where Harry went back to school. I thought to myself, 'oh, let's see how all the apprentices, students or not, are preparing for the new term…shouldn't take that long, really…' Hope you don't mind. (Oh, yes, and the Zabini family is brought to you by the letter Z and by Riley, who probably met Nonna in Pawn to Queen).

Draco Malfoy

He packed for school. He'd always done that by himself (though he'd often sent owls asking for things he'd left behind). Father had insisted, though Mother had sometimes sent Marta up with a list just to make sure he didn't fill the trunk with toys or brooms instead of vital things like underwear.

Draco put the papers and the book that he might learn the Wolfsbane Potion from into a separate bag, and put that on top of his schoolbooks. At first he'd been upset to hear that the Mudblood had also been a recipient of this special knowledge. Then he'd learned about the bet, and it suddenly made sense. Mother would squeeze a thousand Galleons out of her clothing allowance to the professor in a minute if she thought he'd take it, and make a new fashion out of last year's gowns. Father would write a draft and never miss it. But a wager was _serious_, no matter the amount, and Draco had to admit to himself that Granger was really good. His godfather wasn't about to lose his bet with Lowenstein over being a pureblood, and nobody in the great families would expect him to, either.

It seemed odd to return to the status of a child after being 'man of the family' this summer in his father's absence. But it was a relief, too. He could lean on Professor Snape in a way he never could with Father.

His lips set in a grim line when he realized that he might not be able to this year. The last time they'd talked through the Floo, his godfather had been ill, though he'd done his best to conceal it. _I have to help him this year,_ he thought. _I can't go whining to him the way I'm used to. He's right about the pranks. Any point the other teachers can take from us strikes at him. Even though he said so, I don't think it's just a game between him and Dumbledork. I'll meet with the Headmaster the way the professor said, but I'll keep my eyes open, too._

Draco closed the lid of his trunk with a solid thump and locked it with a spark from his wand. He crossed over to the fireplace, and said "Goyle resi—" Then his throat closed up, and he quickly cancelled his request. Greg's mother didn't need reminding what this day was all about. Well, maybe she did, but he wasn't stupid enough to be the one to do it. He took a deep, shuddering breath. He had to be strong.

"Crabbe residence," he said at last. Vince was so big, nobody thought he felt anything. Draco knew better. His friend was still hurting over losing Greg. So was he, but it was his responsibility to look after him.

The flames flared up in the hearth. The kindly, small woman answered her own Floo. "Mrs. Crabbe, Mother and I are nearly ready to go to King's Cross. May we pick up Vincent along the way?" It was a ritual they'd practiced for five—now six years. Only this time they'd have to skip the Goyle house.

"Of course, dear." Vince's mother wiped her eyes. "He started packing last night. I tried to get him to go to bed, but I don't think he did. I'm—I'm glad you're coming by. He's stopped talking again, you see, and just when I thought he was doing a little better."

"I'll make sure he's taken care of," Draco said. "Professor Snape—he said Madam Pomfrey could be trusted." He couldn't remember exactly when his godfather had said it, but he remembered that much.

"There's another Healer, someone at St. Mungo's, that's been helpful as well. I haven't taken my son there yet, but if Vince doesn't improve there at school, let me know and I'll arrange an appointment."

Draco knew better than to ask the name. "He'll get better once he's at Hogwarts," he said, hoping that was true. "The professor can do a lot, and once we start playing Quidditch, Vince should hold his own."

"Thank you, dear. I know this is a lot to ask of you, but you were so good with him at the funeral. Your mother has trained you well."

He nodded his thanks at the compliment, then closed the connection. Draco went to the small bathroom just off his bedroom and bathed his face. Malfoys had standards. Blotchiness was not one of them.

"Time for us to leave, Draco. Are you ready?" His mother's voice floated up the stairs.

"Yes, Mother. All packed. Mrs. Crabbe is expecting us," he replied.

Joshua Avery

He read over the heavily censored letter from Azkaban Dad had sent just a few days ago. Many of the words shimmered and couldn't be read, but most of it made sense. He was to do what Professor Snape wanted, write letters home to Mum about how things were going, and stay out of trouble this year.

"I know you didn't do as well on your OWLS as we all hoped, but at least you didn't fail. Pay attention in class, though, and don't lose too many points pulling stupid tricks. Look what happened to the Montague boy because of those horrible Weasley twins. There's no point going after their brother or sister, though. They're being watched, and anything that happens to them will only get you and your friends in trouble."

Josh noted cynically that none of that paragraph had been modified. _Those stupid Aurors probably want me to pay attention to that part,_ he thought. _But word is the Professor feels the same way, at least according to St. Draco._ _Then again, the Malfoy Mouth saved our butts when Snape was punished. Zabini nearly blew it for all of us. Maybe the ferret is right for once._

And here Dad was saying the same thing. He sighed, folded up the letter, and threw it into his trunk. _I wish the twins hadn't hurt Montague like that. I always thought they were pretty neat, and what they pulled on Umbridge made up for a lot._ Two more years of school before he had to decide on things, though part of it was already set. Career Day had been really boring, until Hagrid and some guy from the dragon sanctuary had talked. The half-giant was all right, really. Oh, he blew off on Slytherin every once in a while, but he never took it out in class. _When I had to serve that detention mucking out last spring, the old boy was right there with me, and told me lots of stuff I never heard in class. Malfoy brought that hippogriff bite on himself being a prat. There are just some beasts you have to treat the same way smart people do Snape when the old man's in a snit. Oh, Merlin, I hope he's all right. I keep hearing how sick our Head of House is, and it's not just from people who like it that way._

Then again, Lupin was back, too. Avery was one of the few Slytherins who had actually liked the werewolf the first time around. There was a rumor that he'd tried to eat a student once. _At least we'll learn something in Defense this year!_

"Josh! Time!"

"All right, Mum." Back to dear old Hoggy!

Jake Macnair

The young man held his much-read OWL sheet. _O in Arithmancy, yes!_ He'd done all right in the others--if you were study partners with Blaise Zabini, you had better—but getting in the NEWT class for Vector was the important one for him. The older witch had given him a reading list over the summer, and it had been an eye-opener.

_I wish my uncle hadn't told Mum and Dad I had to take the Mark this year,_ he fretted. _Stupid meetings take up time I could use for other things. It just _feels_ like there should be a convergence between Runes and Arithmancy, but whenever I ask about it, Professor Vector just smiles. Granger's the only one who perks up when I mention it. If Mudbloods are so bad, why is she the only one who can follow me when I start babbling about it? Of course a few of the Ravenclaws perk up, too, but they're all good families anyway, and besides, 'Claws are nuts about that kind of thing. But of course I had to ask for Slytherin just to keep Uncle Walden happy, take Care of Magical Creatures for the same reason, and waste a crapload of time standing around wearing a mask on top of it. I have to have a long talk with Blaise about this. _

_At least Umbridge won't be there this year_, he thought with a sigh of relief. _Some kinds of favoritism are worse than knowing it's Gryffs all the way._ All his friends in Ravenclaw had snubbed him and Zabini for a while, till Blaise showed up with a scar on his writing hand. They'd all know which way the wind blew then, and things had been easier.

Advanced Arithmancy, though! That was going to be fun.

Blaise Zabini

He'd dodged the old woman all summer, and thought he'd escape to Hogwarts before she could pin him down. Unfortunately, she was now calling him in. "I have to pack, Nonna," he said, trying not to whine.

"Come in here, boy! Pointra will do it for you."

Blaise bowed to the inevitable and followed his grandmother into her parlor. "Shall I fix you some tea, ma'am?" he asked, trying to use up time.

"Sit."

Mother and Father obeyed the ancient woman as if they were still children, and so did he. He sat.

Grandmother Zabini stared at him. "Have you done something stupid this summer? Tell me the truth!"

And he thought Snape's stare was hard to dodge. He bowed his head. "Yes, Nonna."

"Don't tell me you joined those pack of lunatics who like to stand around in circles and play at being conspirators! Tom Riddle couldn't plot his way out of a paper bag, and it's only because the Ministry is being run by a pack of fools that he's gotten as far as he has."

Well, he certainly couldn't argue with _that_. "I'm afraid so, Nonna," he said, hoping her tantrum wouldn't make him late for the train.

"I see."

He waited for the storm of abuse he knew was going to break over his head. When it didn't, he looked up, though he knew better than to say more than he had to. Nonna was a foot shorter than he was and half his weight, but the whole family was still terrified of her.

Her tiny black eyes glinted. "Hmm. We can make this work for us. I've wanted to know more about them for years. I want a full report of everything, boy, and in Family cipher, too. Even your foolish opinion about things."

"Not opinion, Nonna," he said. "Facts only. I could be wrong. If any messages are intercepted and the cipher broken, my stupid ideas could get people killed." Especially if what he believed about Professor Snape was true.

"Ah. You might be salvageable yet. All right. Opinions to me in this room only, and no one else. I want some now."

"Greg Goyle wasn't the only one who felt bad on Sunday morning a few weeks ago. I was one of them." Fortunately, he'd been sleeping late, and the worst part a nightmare, but he hadn't tried to hurt himself, either.

"Who else?" her elderly voice snapped.

"I think…I think the professor, too," he said quietly. "But I don't know for sure, and I have to believe he's loyal to _them_ even in my thoughts. I don't know about any of the others, but I know Macnair isn't happy that his uncle is in charge of things. I visited Draco Malfoy a couple of times this summer. We said nothing unless we were outside flying."

"Malfoy, eh?"

"Again, I don't know for sure. He's more worried about his godfather than anything else. If _he_—if Professor Snape is hurt badly again, or dies, Malfoy could change his mind, no matter what his father says. Crabbe will go wherever the Ferret leads him."

"Crude nickname. Stop using it. He's offered you hospitality, he deserves better."

"Of course, Nonna," Blaise said, feeling ashamed. "The word is to leave the Gryffindors, especially the Trio, alone as well."

"Good advice. If they're going to be stupid, let them be stupid alone." His grandmother nodded. "The Potter boy can't help how he was brought up. The Weasley boy—ah well. His mother does what she can, I suppose. Does he still play chess?"

"Yes. He supposed to be very good." Blaise hadn't played Ronald Weasley, but had heard of the Gryffindor's prowess.

"Pity there isn't a club or a tournament so you could play him and report back to me." The old woman drummed her fingers on her little side-table. "The Muggleborn girl. Is she betrothed or otherwise partnered?"

He felt his heart sinking. "No, but Weasley looks murder at anyone who comes near her. She visits the Burrow every summer."

"I'd rather step into a nest of snakes, then. Molly Weasley has been thinking ahead of all of us, boy. That veela girl for her eldest boy, the Granger girl for her youngest, and quite likely the Potter boy for her daughter. On top of that, she has a son in the Ministry. She's come a long way from her barnyard. Don't worry about it, then. You'll have to keep your own eyes out, but if no one comes along, come back and talk to me. Your parents have already arranged something for your older brothers, but let's leave you open for now. If that madman _does_ win, you'll have other opportunities. Any girls in that little group of yours now?"

Blaise decided not to mention Percy Weasley just yet, but was stunned at the possible implications. That fat redheaded woman had played them _all_ for fools when you thought about it. "Miss Parkinson, but she's been betrothed to Malfoy since the year dot. The other one is Elizabeth Rosier, and her father probably has his own intentions. Wait, there's Miss Edgecombe. She's a Ravenclaw and was in the other group last year, but something nasty happened and she isn't, obviously. I don't know her very well. She was friends with General Chang and the Looney, but she's always been quiet. She's apprenticed to Madam Lestrange."

"Nicknames again."

"I mean, Cho Chang and Luna Lovegood. Sorry, Nonna. Miss Chang was going out with Harry Potter last year, but they broke up. Miss Lovegood's father runs the Quibbler. She thinks…oddly, even for a Ravenclaw."

Nonna pursed her lips. "We still have plenty of time. In this country, marriages don't have to be made till both parties are really grown up, even though the older families show more sense."

Blaise changed his mind. The family needed to know. "There's something else. One of the new members is Percy Weasley, the one who's in the Ministry. He's supposedly on the outs with the rest of the family, though."

His grandmother's eyes grew quite a bit larger. "Oh, ho! Arthur Weasley is a dear man in the English way, but he would never think of _that!_ And of course the poor mamma is broken-hearted by her son's disaffection. Ah, the tears and the wailing! She is brilliant, I tell you, and the Weasleys not to be crossed. Listen to that professor of yours when he tells you to leave them alone." She nodded. "Now off with you to your school. Family cipher for letters to me, of course, and make the base Italian."

"I should write in English, Nonna. Owls may be intercepted again the way they were last year. Expect a great deal of talk about Quidditch. I am Keeper this year, and will want to tell you about every game in detail."

The old woman nodded vigorously. "Wise boy. We shall make something of you yet."

Arvid Rosier

He looked at Charles and Elizabeth and almost shook with fear. Arvid Rosier knew he shouldn't keep secrets from his Lord, and would pay with his life if anyone ever found what had happened in his home just a few weeks ago. Fortunately he hadn't been called forth for any attention at the last meeting.

He had once hated Severus Snape for living when his brother Evan Rosier had died. But now that debt, if not erased, was at least put off. And who knew what had happened in Azkaban? Moody, especially, had an interesting reputation when it came to prisoners, and their new spy at St. Mungo's had come across some old medical records that showed just how far the Aurors had been willing to go to get their information. Given that some used an Obliviate to cover up their own misconduct towards prisoners, Snape might not even remember betraying his friends.

_Now I must be grateful to him,_ he thought as he watched his wife scurry about and make sure his boy and girl had everything they needed for Hogwarts. _Perhaps I am a traitor, too, for keeping silence. A traitor for not killing my own children for having doubts. After all, it's obvious that Mrs. Goyle did the right thing._

_Thank Merlin I'm not that strong. Thank Merlin Snape wasn't either._

Pansy Parkinson

"Mum, I'm going to be fine," Pansy said for the tenth time. "I know what you're hinting at, and Professor Snape isn't like that. He's just an old sourpuss who's down on any of the students doing anything at all with each other. You don't have to scare me with horror stories about what it was like to be an apprentice back in the old days. He won't touch a student, everyone knows that. Someone accused him once, or so it's said, but it was a lie and the girl had to clean cauldrons with her toothbrush for six weeks after."

"Well, dear, I'm glad to hear it," Mrs. Parkinson said. "But it would be within his rights. I suppose he's more likely to look over the boys."

She whooped with laughter. "Oh, Mum, if you'd seen his face the day Mandy Brocklehurst came in wearing that new Muggle bra, you wouldn't say that! All the boys _and_ him had eyes big as saucers and then he took ten points from her and made her change." She decided not to mention the way the professor had scoped out Mrs. Weasley one day when the great cow had decided to visit. Even Draco's eyes had wandered over, though she'd roasted him for it. Every time she thought about it Pansy cut back on what she ate. She was sure the woman had been all right before seven children had turned her into a brood sow, but _she_ wasn't ever going to fatten up like that!

"Perhaps you're right," her mother said with a look of relief on her face. "But do watch out for Mrs. Lestrange. Her stay in Azkaban has obviously affected her."

"No problem there!" Pansy shuddered as she remembered the hag. "I feel sorry for the Edgecombe girl myself, having to be her apprentice and all." Percy Weasley, who belonged to Wormtail, was cute in a dying-calf sort of way but nowhere as handsome as her betrothed.

"I am glad you were assigned to someone a bit more responsible."

If her mother admitted that, she must know for herself that Bella was barking mad. "So am I," she admitted. "I just hope…I hope he's not punished any more." She was disgusted at how squeaky her voice went.

"So do I, dear." Mum looked frightened. "But the grownups have had a meeting or two since the last one, and it's going to be all right. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised at what our Lord has in mind for the professor. Now, let's go to King's Cross. Mustn't miss the train."

Theodore Nott

He wore his sleeves rolled up, still proud of his Mark and happy his mother and stepfather understood. He'd have to remember to button them down again before he left. _Dad would be proud of me, I think, or horrified. I don't know which. _After the Lord's first fall, Harold Nott had done a bunk for the States and hadn't been seen since. Ted didn't know if he wanted his real father to be hunted down the way Karkaroff had been or be allowed to disappear. He was happy with Papa James, though naturally his younger brother and sister came first with the man. Mum still loved him, and that was what counted.

Now he was really proving that he wasn't a coward like his real father, too. He hadn't flinched when learning the Cruciatus on that old Muggle. _I'm glad I'm an apprentice to someone as powerful as Professor Snape! He showed us how it's really done!_ As Ted finished his packing, he tried to forget the limp way the professor had fallen under the Master's wand. _He deserved it,_ the young Slytherin thought. _He shouldn't have been weak over Goyle the way he was. I wouldn't expect him to risk his life for me, that's for sure. _

He bit his lip as he tried to find a way to make his broom fit along with his other gear in the trunk. _Of course he's going to look out after Malfoy and his goon squad. The brat is his godson, and everyone knows that you don't see a Crabbe without a Goyle or a Malfoy without either one. _Ted quieted the unspoken wish that someone would risk that much for him, instead of running off and leaving his family behind the way his father had done. _But Snape isn't weak, not really, or he couldn't have torn that Muggle apart the way he did,_ he assured himself.

He finished, closed the lid, and tightened the straps. There. This was his last year at Hogwarts, and he'd better make it a good one. NEWTS, too. He knew about some of the betting that went on, and figured he was one of those being handicapped. _I'll show them that Slytherin can rack up the O's just as well as any Ravenclaw. Besides, Chang has to be nervous this year with two Quidditch captains gone, and having just broken up with Potty. Snape is right about holding back on pranks this year. Let those idiots make fools of themselves. People pay too much attention to the year behind me anyway._

Theodore Nott shook his head. Scores on the NEWTS paid off in money and prestigious jobs, as did skill at Quidditch. He was nearly grown, and an apprentice to Snape. His master stood high in the Circle, though obviously not as high as he was, given what Pettigrew and Lestrange had been allowed to do to him. _Did I make a mistake?_ Then he smiled. _I know what to do. If our Lord wanted the professor dead, he'd be gone now. Snape will remember who's loyal to him and who isn't at a time like this, and when he's moved back up, won't forget. If he dies, then, I've been a proper apprentice just as I was told to be. It won't be my fault if he falls, and I'll be assigned to someone else._

He gazed down at his prefect badge. A Hufflepuff had been chosen for Head Boy, and Chang for Head Girl. No surprise there. _We all know what the score is with Dumbledore as Headmaster. But that's all right. Even the Master is much younger than that old fart. We can wait and get most of what we want that way._

Only Slytherins knew how to be patient, though Puffs were close. That lunatic Umbridge had obviously been waiting a long time to wreak havoc on the school. _If it wasn't for Reggie getting hurt, I would have cheered the twins on myself,_ Ted thought.

"Theodore!" His mother's voice interrupted him.

"On my way!"

Vincent Crabbe

His trunk was packed, and he waited. Drake was coming for him. Vince was still grateful for the way Malfoy had looked after him at the funeral, and when Professor Snape had fallen screaming to the ground. Word was that the Potions Master was better, but still sick. It made sense that Slytherin's Head of House didn't want any trouble this year. Drake said it would make Gryffindor look bad if the Snakes held off from pranking, and the Gryffs didn't.

He didn't care. It wasn't going to be any fun this year with Greg gone. He tried to remember it, but every day he went to the Floo and had to stop himself from firecalling his friend. Mum had put a note on the hearth after the second time he'd accidentally contacted Mrs. Goyle. Greg's mum hadn't yelled at him or anything, but his mother had had to apologize, and that wasn't right. _Everything I have to say is to Greg or Drake,_ he thought as he sat on his trunk listening for Mum's steps coming down. _What happens when Drake doesn't have time? Pansy was mad at the two of us last year when we hung around too much. Where do I go this one?_

Maybe he should ask Professor Snape about it. He always had his name on the List, but his detentions were almost always with Greg, even with the other teachers. They went out with girls together, too, the way the Weasley twins had.

He bowed his head, still waiting. _You didn't do anything wrong,Greg. You couldn't have. The Dark Lord must have made a mistake and hit you by accident. If _Snape_ felt it, there had to be something wrong with the spell. I wish you'd called me. I never would have grassed on you. Drake wouldn't have either. _

_It must have been a broom accident, like they said. Nobody's mum would kill them just for _that

_Oh, Greg._

Gregory Goyle

He drifted by the Quidditch field, holding his ghostly Beater club. _I should go see the Professor,_ he thought vaguely. Time had passed quickly since his summoning to the infirmary, and he wasn't sure if school had started yet.

The other ghosts had been nice to him, but he wasn't sure he belonged here either. _Why won't anybody tell me how I died?_ he wondered. _I can't remember that any more. Maybe Vince will tell me when he gets here._ Some of the others said that some ghosts faded faster than others, and seemed to think it was a good thing. He didn't know. _I'll ask Draco,_ he decided. _He'll know what's going on._

Marietta Edgecombe

She scowled at the sheaf of paper. It was bad enough she'd been hurt and humiliated by that horrible Granger girl, but to have hard evidence of how little her Head of House actually cared for her was a bit much. Cho Chang had wanted to help, and had found the counter charm to the boil curse in her seventh-year book. Flitwick could have reversed it any time he'd wanted to. _But it was more important to suck up to Potter and his gang than to help someone from his own House,_ she thought, fuming._ I'm glad the little bitch got rid of Umbridge, though. I wish I'd thought about the centaurs myself. _

Marietta promised herself to try that counter charm on the latest curse, although she'd inflicted this one on herself. She'd have to wait till she was at school; Mum was actually _happy_ her daughter had seen sense and joined the winning side, and only wished she had enough courage to do likewise. _Of course, Mum. You have the ideas, I have to do the work. What else is new?_ It had been horrible when both Umbridge and her mum had been yelling at her to tell what was going on with the DA. She was used to her mother's hard hand. Ever since birth, she'd been told that anything that went to her was subtracted from her more brilliant siblings, thus ruining their chances in society. Mum hadn't really wanted her anyway, and so on. So she hadn't been afraid when Umbridge had smiled that fake-sweet way and said she could manage alone. Marietta still shook when she remembered the hexes. None of them had left a mark, except the quill, and that horrible Hufflepuff had made her wrap the hand in murtlap right off so it would heal. But not till she'd given in.

Marietta had hoped somebody would like her in the DA, but that sure wasn't true. If you didn't bow down to the Famous Three, you could just forget it. Cho had come to her senses once breaking up with Potter, hence the counter charm, but it would be a while till she trusted the older Ravenclaw again.

And she would never, ever trust Flitwick. The one good thing that rotten bitch Lestrange had done for her was to give her permission to see Professor Snape during the year. _I'm not a Slytherin, so I can't expect the kind of help he gives his own, but maybe…maybe he'll listen. That would be a nice change. _

For now she'd used the other charms on the pages Cho had given her to hide the Mark. As her mother called her down to leave for the train, Marietta levitated her luggage behind her. _One of these days I'll leave this place and never come back! Mum can spend every knut on my sisters and I won't give a damn. When the time comes, _He_ will find me a husband as rich as a Malfoy, and I can throw all the parties I want and I'll never let my kid of mine think they're no good. I'll even be gracious and invite my family. But only if they're really loyal._

She smirked as she left the house, thinking of her glorious future. Her mother raised her hand to slap her. "Don't you look like that to me, young lady!"

Marietta composed her face to a more proper expression. "I'm sorry, Mum. I was just thinking of the great new friends I made this summer, and how glad I'll be to see them again." She had made sure to practice her new spells on various plants and animals.

Was that _fear_ she saw in her mother's eyes? Marietta hoped so.

Percy Weasley

He actually had a window in his office these days, one perk from having to work with Minister Umbridge. True, it looked out onto a train yard, but it still was better than the hole they'd put Dad in. Percy swallowed as he saw the Hogwarts Express pulling out of King's Cross. Just a couple of years ago he'd left on it for the last time. _Ginny, Ron, be careful!_ thought the young man, knowing neither one would listen to him now.

And why should they? As far as they knew he'd quit the family and broken Mum's heart. Oh, Merlin, he was so glad the Dad knew how things really were now! Moody hadn't wanted anyone to know but him, but of course Snape had found out the truth. He was glad about that, too. He remembered that horrible Sunday morning as if it were yesterday. Nothing had been right, nothing, and only Moody putting him in a body bind had kept him from doing himself in at the breakfast table. _If Alastor hadn't invited me over, if I'd been by myself in the flat—well, I'd be dead now._ He'd forgotten how long he'd been like that. Fortunately Moody had been willing to wait quite a long time. In fact, Percy had had a hard time convincing the old Auror that no, he really _wasn't _suicidal now, thank you, and yes, his shoulder hurt immensely, but would he _please_ pass the eggs anyway?

Dad coming—that had been the best, though. Moody had told the truth right off, for once, and he'd been able to collapse in his father's arms. It was so hard sometimes keeping up this pretense. _I don't know how Snape does it,_ he thought. _Playing the game for years would drive me mad. Moody thinks it has. Well, why wouldn't it? I should ask the old man if it's driven _him_ mad along with his magic eye._

He felt trapped in this office. Smarming up to Umbridge, playing Boy's Own Young Spy for Moody, bowing to Pettigrew, and trying to figure out if there was anything left of him or his real ambitions for life left him exhausted at times. At least the others here let him alone over how his employer favored him. Their attitude was 'better you than me!' He was grateful for that. Moody had told enough stories about how Snape was treated by the Order that he knew his situation could be much, much worse.

Percy made a quick inspection of Umbridge's corner of the Ministry and discovered she'd gone out for lunch with Mr. Fudge and wasn't expected back for several hours. He tried not to look too grateful and went back to manage a stack full of paper. The Minister talked a great deal about efficiency, but in practice the part that required actual work generally fell to him. That had been a good thing last summer, when he'd been able to send out preliminary copies of important materials to various parties on a more timely basis than usual.

He set out his lunch and put a Privacy Spell on his office. Most people would see the glimmer of light around his door and decide not to bother him. It was against regulations, but he turned the wireless onto the second station, which was music only. One time he hadn't been paying attention and had tuned in just in time to hear the girlish voice of Minister Umbridge gushing over something with Rita Skeeter. Unfortunately Tom from down the hall had wandered by, and so Percy had had to pretend enthusiasm instead of nausea. Dad had helped him fix this wireless machine to never do _that_ again.

The soft tunes lightened his mood as he dove into the pile of paper. For almost an hour he thought of nothing but how to process each requisition, proposed regulation, or interoffice memo.

Then he was distracted by a funny little scrabbling sound. His heart sank as he also heard a nearly inaudible _clink_ along with it. "Mr. Pettigrew?" he asked out loud. "Is that you?"

The rat-like man appeared in front of his desk. "Smart boy, to hear me like that. You'd be surprised who doesn't, and how much I hear instead."

Percy wished the building superintendent would update the vermin spells, but forced himself to smile instead. "The others probably think I'm taking a nap or goofing off when I put up the Privacy spell," he said.

"No, they actually believe you're just working," Wormtail said with a smile. "Besides, you have more sympathy than you think. One of the others was the recipient of the Minister's favor a few years back, and has told everyone how long he thinks you'll last. He believes you ought to have a private bottle laid by, but says you probably don't."

"Is there anything I can help you with, Mr. Pettigrew?" Percy asked politely. He supposed a reputation for excessive virtue was helpful. If he ever did decide to pull something nobody would believe it.

"No, not really," his master in the circle said. "Well…except maybe…for old times' sake could…could I be Scabbers for a bit?"

Percy sighed, and nodded his head. He'd already asked Moody for permission to take advantage of the situation, but had been told to play things straight. Wormtail shrank back down to a rat's body and eagerly stood on his back legs, begging to be picked up.

The stupid part was that he _had_ liked Scabbers back then, and had been reluctant to let the twins have anything to do with the animal. In fact, he'd put his foot down and forced the two to give the rat into Ronald's keeping so the boy would have some kind of familiar his first year at school. He'd carefully gone over how to care for Scabbers, and told his youngest brother to ignore pretty much anything Fred or George had to say on the subject.

As the rat scampered up his arm and onto his shoulder, Percy felt his Mark grow warm, almost like it had the night all of them had worked to help Professor Snape. He had never liked Draco Malfoy, but had become more respectful of the blond Slytherin since.

He wished Moody would let him end this farce of companionship with Pettigrew, though. He'd told the Auror already that Wormtail enjoyed being Scabbers from time to time, and had longed to reach out and break the rat's neck too quickly for the Animagus to transform back into a human being.

Percy had been surprised when Moody had appeared to _sympathize_ with the Gryffindor. "Well, it's a dog's life he's leading that close to old Tom," the Auror had said, "never mind Mad Bella to dodge. He'll talk to you all you like, if you just play along."

He'd objected. "It'd be so easy to snap Wormtail's neck in two. Sometimes he just rests in my hands. I swear he's taking a nap!"

Moody had firmly told him to keep hands off. "The little bugger isn't harming anyone in particular just now. We need to hear what he has to say."

"How can I look Harry in the face, knowing I'm letting the man who betrayed his parents live?" Percy saw the old wizard weaken a moment. He pressed on. "And harmless? You wouldn't think so, seeing what he did to the old bum we practiced on, or what he did to Snape."

"Ah. But someone has to keep an eye on our favorite Slytherin," Moody said flatly. "If you're compromised, we won't have anyone in there besides him."

_That's the real reason Scabbers is still alive,_ Percy thought resentfully. _That's the real reason I've had to give up my family, pretend Minister Umbridge doesn't make me want to throw up, and suck up to someone who wants to torture Fred and George. And smile about it. Never mind the fucking War, it's all about Snape. What does the poor man have to _do _to convince everyone he's on our side? Of course, treating him like dirt is bound to work to keep him there! Both sides do that. I wonder he knows which way is up these days. Oh, Merlin, I wish I were back at Hogwarts, and the only things to worry about were House standings, Quidditch, and who's going to try to kill poor Harry _this _year!_

For a moment, just a moment, he allowed himself to pretend that he was still a sixth-year student and Scabbers was only a rat.

He didn't realize his grief had reached his face till Wormtail transformed back and looked sad himself. "It's hard, isn't it?" Pettigrew said.

"Ah—"

"Oh, you can talk to _me_," the rat-man said with wide eyes. "You wouldn't be alive now if you weren't really loyal."

"I just miss them, is all," Percy said hastily and let his gaze fall to the floor. Was that innocent look the last thing the Potters ever saw? "Mum always took good care of you, even when we forgot. So did Ron. I'll be honest, I'm pretty glad you were never Ginny's pet knowing you are now, but it was just easier a few years back. I miss those days."

"So do I," Wormtail said. He perched on the edge of the extra chair. "I don't blame you for being worried about your sister. Our Lord is quite upset about losing the diary, or why Malfoy is staying in Azkaban longer than he likes, but _he_ was intrigued to learn that young Tom could still warm a girl's heart, if you know what I mean."

Percy felt sick. _I swear, the next time I'll break his neck, no matter what Moody says._ He forced himself to smile instead. "I worry about what's going to happen to her, you know. Along with the rest of my family." Then he realized he couldn't kill Pettigrew, at least not yet. This horrible little man might be the only way he could save any member of his family. "Do you remember the time she dressed you up with her dolls? I couldn't believe how well you stood for it. I thought for sure you were going to chew through all those pink ribbons and take off."

Pettigrew laughed. "I was in it for the tea and cakes, lad! She served empty cups and plates to the dolls, of course, but gave her own portion to me instead of keeping it for herself. Ginevra was sweet as a little lass. But lasses grow, and turn into women. She could do worse for herself than what the Master's thinking of. He'd never treat a pureblood the way you're worried about, you know, unless she fights him too hard. I'm not saying to tell her anything to make her wonder about you, but it would help if she wasn't quite so…outspoken."

"Harry saved her life when she was only eleven, Mr. Pettigrew. Most girls won't see past that. But she's more sensible than Ron, I believe, and she may be able to listen to reason. I was pretty bad at it last year," he said.

"She's a year older and wiser. A dutiful daughter might think of how to help her family, instead of mooning after some foolish boy who doesn't even look at her."

Unfortunately, Wormtail was right about that. Harry had spent most of his fourth year and nearly all the fifth being clumsy around Miss Chang "I don't know if she'll let me say anything to her, or even read what I write, but I will try," Percy said. He held his hands on the top of the desk to keep them from shaking with fury. _I will protect my sister with my dying breath,_ he thought, even as he smiled and promised and lied.

At last Pettigrew transformed back into Scabbers and left. Percy was quite careful to put a strong _Silencio_ around the office to reinforce the Privacy spell, then screamed his lungs out in rage. The window glass shattered into pieces as he lost control of his magic.

Once he'd calmed down and repaired the mess, he checked himself in the mirror. Yes. He was a little flushed. Percy visited the lavatory and put cold water on his face. He took down the spells and left his door an inch open to show he was ready to entertain whatever nonsense the Minister cared to inflict.

He left late in the afternoon, went back to the flat, and was not amused to see Moody sitting there. "Auror," he said flatly.

"Bad day, I see," Moody replied.

"Scabbers. Threats, promises. Umbridge. Paperwork," Percy recited. 'One broken window, three spilled cups of tea, and one stack of paper that went up in flames, though I stopped it before any alarms were triggered. I really need to kill something. Now."

"Ah. Follow me." Moody Apparated, and Percy followed along, which wasn't always easy if going to an unknown location. They landed in a small, dark place.

"Trap room," Moody said. "Training for Aurors. See you in a half hour." He vanished.

Percy eagerly drew his wand and blasted away at everything in sight, and in the corners, too, just in case he'd missed something.

By the time Mad-Eye came back, he was feeling much better. "No wonder Snape volunteers to patrol the Forbidden Forest," Percy said, once back at the flat. "And at this moment I don't especially care to hear your speculations on which side he's on. Supper is some cold lamb and whatever I can find."

Moody smiled. "I should ask for your report now."

"Ask away." He gave it while putting a meal together. "I still want to kill Scabbers."

"I don't blame you," the Auror said quietly. He wasn't smiling any more. "This is a hard life. Harder than most people think. It usually ends in an unmarked grave, and half the people whose lives you saved will think you were a traitor anyway. In my case, a lunatic. But you have to hang on. Harry Potter is the key, but he has to live long enough to win, and have someone around to pick up what's left of him after. Every day you work in that office and suck up to the Minister and to Wormtail is another day your family is still alive. Perhaps it is a good idea your father knows," he conceded.

"If you understand how hard it is, then why do you go after Snape the way you do?" Percy asked as he quickly laid the table. "Aren't you causing the situation you're worried about by attacking him so much? I was there, I saw what _he_ let Bella and Wormtail do to him."

The retired Auror looked somber. "I could be. Wouldn't be the first time I've let my suspicions get out of hand." He grimaced. "Lad, you're a nuisance. How dare you make me think about what I'm doing?"

Percy could tell Moody wasn't really that upset. "I'm a smarmy suck-up and a disgrace to the Weasleys," he said, setting the cold lamb and the other bits out. "But I'm also trying to decide how to keep my family from being destroyed in this war. I'd rather see Ginevra dead than what…what Pettigrew suggested," he said. "I want to give her a chance to avoid that choice." He pulled up a chair, sat and began serving. "And of course I was raised as a proper Gryffindor to believe that all Slytherins are naturally bad and our house is naturally good.

"But it's not true, Moody. We all know it. If we lie to ourselves too much we'll lose."

The older wizard cracked a rare smile. "And I was trained as a Ravenclaw to honor the truth above all other things. Even if it's about me. Or Professor Snape."

Percy sighed, and dug in. He thought he could eat now. Tomorrow he would have to do this all over again. Until the end, whatever that might be.


	33. Chapter 33: Back to SchoolGryffindor

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 33: Back to School - Gryffindor

Harry Potter

The days he spent at the Burrow were wonderful, even with Ron finishing the last of his catch-up lessons. Harry was allowed to sit in if he kept quiet, though Mrs. Weasley kicked Hermione out so Ron would do the work and not depend on his friend. _Maybe I should pay more attention myself,_ Harry thought, even if Snape had gone out of his way to humiliate him when he had. Every time Hermione had to drink from her flask or looked worried when she read over the Wolfsbane stuff reminded him that his friends' lives could depend on him keeping his eyes open.

Ron was getting better, though Harry still didn't know if he would get an O on a new OWLs test, especially if Snape was grading it. Maybe—maybe it mattered more to actually know how to make the potions. _Maybe I ought to be happy I'm going to be in the class anyway. Or scared because I'm really not as good as the others._ Now that was a depressing thought.

One day Mrs. Weasley took them to Diagon Alley to pick up their supplies for the year. Hermione was actually considering Divination, now that Firenze was teaching it, but everyone was surprised to see Trelawney listed for Muggle Studies. "Probably visited a yoga farm," Hermione said wryly. Ginny laughed.

As they walked down towards the broom store, Harry caught sight of Snape sitting in Fortescue's, grimacing over a bowl of ice cream as if it were medicine. So did Mrs. Weasley, who clucked and shook her head. "He needs some of his own potions," she said. "He's lost a stone at least, and he never had it to begin with."

Harry took another look, and decided she was probably right. The Potions Master had always been thin, but now he was skeletal. He remembered the visions he'd had, mostly showing Snape being hurt. Was what he saw real? The tall Slytherin was obviously still alive, but was also far from well. _Maybe he'll be less nasty, though with my luck he'll be more so than ever,_ he thought morosely.

"I'll pop in for a moment," Molly said. "You four stay outside. He deserves what's left of summer as much as you do."

They didn't mind, though Harry was hoping to stop there once they were done with shopping. He watched while the others talked. From what he saw, Snape didn't scowl at Mrs. Weasley the way he did at everybody else. Harry was distracted by Hermione complaining to Ron about her reduced class list, and listened to that instead. Ginny looked bored, as if she'd heard it all before.

_I think she needs the rest,_ he thought, knowing how hard Hermioneworked at her studies. She hadn't complained of being tired during the last few days, but had taken some of her potion when she thought nobody was looking. _I don't know why she's worried. She took more OWLs than anybody, from what Ron's mum said, and she's already babbling about the NEWTs. _"Think of it this way, Hermione," he interrupted. "If you don't make yourself sick by overworking this year, you'll be ready for the big push next one, when it really counts. When you went to Career Day, what did McGonagall tell you?"

"Researcher, mediwitch, Arithmancer, and astronomer," she said. "I asked about being an Auror and the advisor clouded up a bit. Then he mentioned Potions and McGonagall bit her lip."

"You'd be fine with us, 'Mione!" Ron said. "You were great last spring!"

"If I had to do it all over again, I'd go with more of a plan," she said. "I should have kept my guard up better as well."

Harry still felt guilty about dragging his friends into that fight. He needed more of a plan, too. He was glad he'd told his friends about the pensieve he received for his birthday. If the others had known about the mirror, both of them would have made him use it and talk to Sirius himself before going off the way they had.

"Well, it couldn't hurt if you went up on a broom every once in a while," Ron said. "You weren't half bad when we were looking for the Stone in that room with the keys."

"That was inside, even though it had a high ceiling," Hermione said. "It's different outside. I don't know how to explain it."

Harry shook his head. That didn't make any sense. Flying was easy outside, with all the room in the world. It was all too easy to smack up against a wall or ceiling indoors. He hadn't liked the room with the keys at all.

Mrs. Weasley came out. Her cheeks were red, but she didn't look angry or anything. Harry wondered what Snape had said to her. He looked in the window and saw the Potions Master now had a big sandwich on his table to go with his ice cream. Apparently even he bowed to the force of nature that was Molly Weasley when she wanted to feed someone up. _I've been on the other end of that one myself!_

They went on with their shopping. Harry, Ron and Ginny had a good time at the broom and Quidditch equipment store, while Mrs. Weasley took Hermione back to Flourish and Blotts, in case there were any books in the world she hadn't read yet.

At last they were all done and had some treats at Fortescue's. Snape was gone by then. Harry was relieved. He'd see the teacher in Advanced Potions soon enough.

He enjoyed the last days at the Burrow. He and Ron had a great time with the boxing gloves and practicing a few moves. The older Weasley boys had had to go back to work, though the twins dropped by every once in a while to offer advice, while Mrs. Weasley and Ginny went off shopping on their own a couple of times.

Nobody ever mentioned Percy.

Then it was time to go to Hogwarts. The four of them went to King's Cross with Mrs. Weasley to wave them off. It felt strange to be here on a Sunday. Harry looked around to see who else was there.

At the last minute, Draco Malfoy and Vincent Crabbe showed up. Harry remembered their confrontation last spring, and whistled the tune to the song Ginny had made up for it. Everyone would hear the words for "We Three Slugs of Slytherin Are" soon enough. But where was Goyle?

Malfoy and Crabbe had stony faces and didn't say anything. Harry wanted to lash out at them. He knew the others felt the same way.

Ron started up. "Hey—where's your other half?" he said to Crabbe. "He doesn't have much time to get here."

Draco's face was expressionless. "Greg died early last month. Broom accident." Crabbe turned his head and he took a deep breath.

Mrs. Weasley stepped over. "I saw the announcement," she said gently. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," the blond Slytherin said. He bowed his head a fraction, then resumed his icy demeanor. Crabbe didn't say anything, but Malfoy patted him on the arm.

_Not so arrogant now, are you?_ Harry thought. Malfoy's dad was in Azkaban now. _A good thing for you Ron's mum is here._ He remembered all the comments Draco had made about his own parents, and about Mrs. Weasley, too.

Then he looked at Crabbe again, and stopped thinking about payback. How would he feel if Ron or Hermione were gone? Either one, or both, could have died last spring, and it would have been his fault. _I've tried to put as much as I can on Snape, but he didn't take off for the Department of Mysteries or put my friends into danger. I did that all by myself. He tried to teach me to block Voldemort, and I didn't want to listen, even the times when he wasn't yelling at me. I should have apologized for going into his pensieve without permission, too, and I never did. I could have found him after Umbridge was out of the way and asked him to check on Sirius, since Kreacher never let me talk to him._

_I could have remembered the mirror…_ He wanted it to be Snape's fault. He really did. Harry wished he hadn't seen the horrified look on Ron's face after they'd been told what Sirius had done to Snape all last year. He was used to Hermione sticking up for the Potions Master, but Ron always agreed with him. At least till now. They had all been glad when the greasy git left the table, and the house.

But it had been him, not Snape, that put everyone in danger. The Prophecy hadn't even been that important. Voldemort had been after him since his first year. Even Crabbe or Goyle could figure out by now that death was going to be the only thing to end it.

Oh, he was glad to have that pensieve! He'd learned to use the memories to shield himself, even if it wasn't clearing his mind or whatever Snape had said. Maybe it wasn't enough, though. Without Dudley in the car last summer, he might have been in a lot of trouble. _I don't want to start the lessons again if it means apologizing to Snape, though._ He wished he hadn't had the vision of the dark Slytherin screaming and falling to the ground. Harry remembered only Crabbe had been there. He remembered the tear leaking down the neck from under the mask from the tall Beater. _Crap!_ he thought. _It sucks when I can't even hate our enemies._

It was time, and they all got on the train. Hermione went to the prefect's meeting, though Ron didn't. Nobody had really expected his friend to be able to control the twins, but the truth was he hadn't really tried. _Remus didn't try either,_ Harry thought resentfully, _but he still kept his badge no matter what his friends did. _But if Ron wasn't going to make a fuss, he supposed he shouldn't. _I can run the whole DA, but they're not giving me a badge either. Oh, that makes lots of sense!_ He murmured something about it to Ron, but his friend surprised him.

"But prefects are picked to make people obey the rules," Ron said. "I sure didn't. Let's face it, Harry, you wouldn't know a rule if it was painted blue and danced on the Head table with Peeves."

He wanted to tell Ron about his dad and how they never bothered with rules, but knew if he even mentioned Snape's old nickname, it'd be around the school like wildfire. That was a bit low, even for him. As much as he would enjoy watching the Potions Master froth every time someone giggled over it, not even defeating Voldemort permanently would earn Gryffindor enough points to get out of the hole Snape would put them in once that started up.

Besides, Ron was right about the rules. Harry sighed, then, and said, "As long as they let me fly, I suppose I can put up with anything."

The rest of the trip was uneventful. Most of the Slytherins looked despondent, and there seemed to be fewer of them this year, or they were keeping to themselves. Harry allowed himself to gloat a little. The fight at the Department of Mysteries had been a fruitful one for the Aurors, even if putting so many away in Azkaban had come at a high cost. So far no one had been reported escaping from the prison, Lupin was coming back, and he might play Quidditch again this year. And if not—well, he'd thought of Dumbledore's Army last year. He'd find something to do this one if he had any spare time.

Once they arrived, Harry morosely watched the thestrals as he, Hermione, Ron and Neville Longbottom rode in one carriage, while Ginny and her friends were in another. Neville looked terrified. "What's wrong?" asked Hermione.

"I passed my Potions Owl. I'm in the class this year."

All three of them stared with amazement. Ron spoke first. "I have to retake mine. I spent all summer going over it with Mum. But don't worry, with Snape giving the test I don't have a chance."

Harry kept his mouth shut. Ron was already a little mad about the special treatment he was receiving. No sense in rubbing it in. But _Longbottom_ getting an _O_?

"I knew you could do it!" Hermione said brightly, though she didn't look happy.

Harry knew he'd better make good on the promise he and Ron had given at the Burrow. "I have an idea, Neville. Why don't we trade off sitting next to you? That way Hermione won't lose so many points whenever Snape decides she's helping you too much."

Hermione shot him a look of gratitude. Then she looked at Ron. "How do you know Snape would grade you wrong if you're doing the work?"

"You know he has it in for all us Gryffindors! You've seen him in class!" his friend blustered.

"He doesn't like me either, and sometimes doesn't give me all the points I think I've earned, but my papers still aren't as marked up as yours," she said. "He didn't have to give you a second chance in the first place."

Harry was grateful to not be part of this conversation, and listened quietly. "Why do you keep defending Snape the way you do?" Ron said, his face beginning to turn red.

"Because you keep saying stupid things about him. How many times have we been wrong about him?"

"A lot," Ron mumbled.

"And Neville, you obviously remembered _something_ about Potions during the test, or you wouldn't have done so well," she continued. "The fact you're in the class means you can do things right without me helping you."

"I suppose," Neville said, ducking his head.

"And as for you, Harry, you turned out some good potions when you finally decided to start paying attention."

"You were there when he dropped my potion on the floor," Harry said. "You know he won't be fair."

"I agree. But who said the world was fair? We all know it's not. But remember what Mrs. Weasley said about him, too."

"I hate having to be fair when others aren't," he snarled.

"But that's why we're in Dumbledore's Army, and not…not the other one," Hermione said softly. "What's the point of fighting an enemy if you become just like him?"

Neville looked curious, and Harry knew he was in for a lot of questions once they were settled in the dorm. He wished Hermione wasn't right. Everyone had hated him his second year when they thought he was responsible for the basilisk. What if they'd never stopped hating him? What if Ron and his friends always went after him, and nobody ever stopped them? Last year he'd lashed out at everybody because of what Umbridge did. Mrs. Weasley's words echoed in his mind. _He's still on our side, the Headmaster says, but I don't know why. _Harry had to agree that not being allowed to eat or drink without permission was pretty scummy. He hated it whenever the Dursleys had done it to him.

_But nobody's asking me to protect the Dursleys or save their lives. Maybe Snape is tired of us hating him all the time by now. Maybe if he's a good enough Occlumens to fool Voldemort, he's good enough to fool the Headmaster, too._ Harry knew he'd have to be careful. Snape had been accused often enough and found innocent that anything he said would be ignored unless he had absolute proof.

_Maybe I should pretend to apologize and start the lessons again. I won't learn anything if I don't try. If I can duck and cover with Uncle Vernon, I ought to be able to control myself around Snape, too. Sirius would be proud of me if I'm the one who uncovers what the greasy git is really up to._ He knew better than to call the Potions Master "Snivellus" even in his mind, because it would eventually slip out of his mouth. Then Snape would be able to convince even the Headmaster that private lessons were impossible. _I'll never pin anything on him then._

The memory of the vision where the Slytherin fell and screamed ran through his head again, only this time he let himself enjoy it. True, the pleased look on Voldemort's face nearly ruined it for a moment.

He glanced up to notice Hermione looking at him. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"Yeah, you've been really quiet this time," Ron said.

"Just thinking," he said.

"Well, you keep that up," Neville said. "Every time you think of something we find another way to put the boot to the enemy. I have a wand that suits me now, and the next time I see Lestrange I'll make sure she doesn't walk away so easily. I wish I'd been able to actually do something about her, if only to make up for your godfather."

"That's all right," Harry said. "One of these days we'll all get paid back for what we've lost." The rest of them nodded. Good. The more they agreed with him on little things, the easier it would be to persuade them to go along on bigger ones.

They arrived at Hogwarts and walked into the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall led the firsties from their trip in the boats. Harry and his friends took their seats. Lupin was up at the Staff Table! It was true about him and the DADA position!

The Headmaster greeted everyone. The Slytherin table looked smaller this year and everyone seemed disheartened. Harry allowed himself a smile at that. The Sorting Hat sang its usual song. All the Gryffindor table began to grumble once it reached the verse about Slytherin, while Ginny and her friends burst out in a song of their own.

"We three slugs of Slytherin are,

Because our brains are stuck in a jar—"

McGonagall glared them into silence, though Ginny didn't look very upset. Hermione leaned over to Ginny and said quietly, "You saw at the train station. There aren't three of them any more."

Ginny sniffed. "And a good thing, too. They're all a bunch of traitors anyway."

Harry smiled at her, and ignored Hermione. _Let's see how well the stuck-up know-it-all copes with that. It's not like she's good at making friends on her own._

The Sorting began. Half the Gryffindor table hissed whenever a first year Sorted Slytherin. Harry took note of those who kept quiet, like Hermione and surprisingly, Neville. _You'd think he'd be the first one in line to join us!_

Snape glared at them all but said nothing. However, McGonagall wasn't so reticent. She stood up and said, "Thirty points from Gryffindor. We will have no outcasts at this school."

Harry was outraged, but knew when to shut up. _This is nothing compared to what Dad and his friends got away with,_ he thought. _And you never did anything about that! Why are you getting after us now?_ He tried to forget that what he'd seen being done to Snape by his dad had made him upset just a few months ago.

Once the Sorting was done, Dumbledore stood up, his eyes blazing in fury. "Hogwarts has a long and proud history," he began. "The Four Founders began this school over a thousand years ago. Notice that I said Four, not Three. Salazar Slytherin was one of them. I will not have his memory treated with such disrespect. I will not allow the current occupants of that House to be treated that way either. I have clearly failed to make myself clear in this point in the past, but I shall not fail to do so in the future. There is no excuse for treating fellow students in this manner. We are all part of Hogwarts, and those who seek to divide us are only doing the enemy a favor."

Harry still wasn't ashamed. He saw by the faces of others at his table that most felt the same way he did. The Slytherin table took heart from the Headmaster's words, though, and there was almost a smile on Snape's face. Hermione and Neville, especially, looked upset.

Professor McGonagall was obviously unhappy, though, and Harry knew they were going to have a more exciting House meeting than usual. _If this is so blasted important, why didn't anybody say anything last year when the twins were doing it?_ Harry wondered.

As soon as the Feast was over, everyone at his table left for the Gryffindor common room. McGonagall had them sit down. "First, I need to make some announcements," she said. "This year all students will be scheduled to see Madam Pomfrey at the beginning of the year, and not just those who plan to play Quidditch. You will have an appointment sometime during the next three days. It has come to my attention that some students prefer to conceal problems rather than have anybody find out about them."

"We don't know anyone like _that_, do we, Harry?" Ron whispered to him with a grin.

Harry didn't say anything. It wasn't really complaining when you _had_ to go, right? This year was ok, but some hadn't been. Considering the Headmaster would send him back to the Dursleys no matter how they treated him, maybe this was a good idea.

McGonagall continued. "As it turns out, this has been a policy of one of the other Houses for quite some time. This way no one is left out. The Headmaster decided it was past time for the rest of us to follow in their footsteps."

"Who was it, _Slytherin?_" Seamus cracked.

"Actually, yes." McGonagall had a sad look in her eyes. "Professor Snape's students tend to conceal what happens to them at home, or so I am told. This leads me to another reason for this meeting. I am appalled at your behavior today, and at myself for allowing this attitude in the past. I have noticed there is a tendency to characterize anything that belongs to Slytherin as evil or Dark. It wasn't just last year, which I would prefer to forget. Four years ago our own Mr. Potter was shunned by nearly all of us simply because people thought he had a connection with Slytherin. Once his innocence was established, others from that House were blamed. I fear I made certain assumptions of my own that turned out to be false."

Harry glanced over at Ginny. She was deathly pale. "It wasn't your fault, either, Ginny," he whispered, hoping she would hear it. "Besides, they do enough on their own."

"But they were awful last year!" Ron said, who had also noticed the way his sister reacted. "Running around being Umbridge's pets!"

"Some of them, I am sorry to say, did enjoy it. I suspect others feared what the Minister might write home to their parents. However, the only person who received injuries severe enough to be taken to St. Mungo's was himself a Slytherin. I overheard a few extremely unpleasant comments at the time, Mr. Weasley, and I wish I had said something then."

Harry was startled to realize his Head of House really did blame herself. He elbowed Ron roughly before his friend said something stupid about Montague deserving it. They both took one look at Hermione, her eyes blazing in fury, and turned back to McGonagall rather than face that.

Then he had a really nasty thought. Goyle supposedly died in a broom accident. That was what Malfoy had said. But what if it hadn't been an accident? Suppose Goyle's parents were like Mrs. Black in the portrait, or something?

Or the accident could have been caused by something besides bad flying. Dudley had kept him from throwing himself out of the car on the way back from the boxing tournament. What if Goyle had the Dark Mark, and nobody had been around to stop him from doing something stupid? Harry remembered the vision of long, white fingers holding a dagger. Had that been Professor Snape? He knew after that, his scar had hurt like anything, but he'd stopped wanting to kill himself. But that hadn't happened for nearly half an hour. That was plenty of time to finish yourself off, or even land badly if too distracted.

McGonagall was still talking. "And there is _no_ excuse for harassing eleven year old children! None! That is beneath the honor of Gryffindor. You will have no part of it. It sometimes happens within a House, and your prefects should be able to deal with it. If they can't, I will, and you won't like it. But picking on firsties from another house is a different matter, and it will not happen."

"But they're _Slytherins!_" That was Dean.

"And that makes it better? Suppose you heard someone say it was all right to hex someone because they were muggleborn, or a Weasley."

"The Sorting Hat puts them there," Ron said doggedly.

Harry had to agree on that one. He'd been given the choice of Slytherin, and had turned it down. He still remembered the Headmaster's warm approval when telling him it that his choices made all the difference. Dumbledore was never wrong about things like that!

And yet…today he hadn't seemed happy at all. Harry didn't understand. All the time he'd been here at Hogwarts, it'd been clear to him at least that Gryffindor really was the best house, and that the Snakes had better like it or lump it. Ever since that first Leaving Feast, anyway. He smirked when he thought of those fallen faces when the banners had changed from green and silver to red and gold. Last year had been different, but that was only because Umbridge was here, and even Snape had hated her. This didn't make any sense!

McGonagall took a deep breath. "I see this is going to be more difficult than I thought. It is hard, I suppose, when one is used to being favored. Let me tell you a story about the past, then. Quite a while ago, the staff turned a blind eye to a group of young men who were extremely popular. Even if they weren't popular to some, others eventually stopped complaining because it was clear nobody would listen to them. There was one student in particular who was the target of their pranks. No one believed his protests, not even when he was almost killed. One of the group became a hero, in fact, for stopping that prank just barely in time. After all, the four of them were believed because they almost always spoke up for each other, and other students knew they would become targets themselves if they came forward as witnesses.

"Their Head of House didn't believe they had done much wrong. The person they targeted was always in trouble for something anyway. Even when he was almost killed, the perpetrators were let off with little more than a slap on the wrist. The Headmaster felt it was just high spirits getting out of hand."

"Sounds like Malfoy and his gang," Ginny said.

"I don't remember any of us almost being killed, do you?" Hermione said.

Ron fidgeted. "I didn't know Montague was ever in trouble." His face was pink.

"I don't think she's talking about Fred and George," Harry said, who had a sinking feeling he knew exactly who Professor McGonagall really meant.

"They should have been expelled," Seamus said out loud. "That's just not fair.

"No, it's not," Neville said.

"Slytherins think they own this school," Lavender added. "Snape plays favorites all the time, but that's just too much!

McGonagall shook her head. "The Head of House was me. The four boys were Gryffindors. The one who almost died was a Slytherin. After the incident where he was almost killed, imagine how well any Slytherin trusted this school. All the Headmaster and I did was to provide more recruits for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

The general consensus turned around. "Well, whoever it was, he was probably asking for it anyway," said someone in the back.

Harry knew better. If Sirius knew anything Snape had done to him or the others, he surely would have said something about it at 12 Grimmauld Place.

Ron didn't join the chorus. He just stared at the ground, clearly thinking about the twins, and perhaps about what he'd said about Montague deserving whatever the twins dished out.

Hermione leaned over. "I remember the Shrieking Shack, Harry. It was Professor Snape, wasn't it? And last year it was Montague. We're just helping _him_ whenever we do that."

Harry nodded miserably. He'd said some horrible things about the Slytherin Quidditch Captain himself.

"Silence!" McGonagall was red-cheeked, never a good sign. "I am ashamed of you. I thought perhaps you might understand even _Slytherins_ are students at this school as much as you are. Apparently this was too difficult for you, so I tried to make you see how you are only helping the other side by isolating those in the greatest danger of being forced to join _him_. Obviously you don't care about that, either. I might point out that members of all four houses took the Mark in the previous conflict. I do hope you care about that part! If not, you will shortly discover that I do, and you will wish you had listened to me today."

"But you didn't before. And the Headmaster—" said one brave voice, probably hoping to be anonymous. _Like that's going to work,_ thought Harry, who wondered the same thing.

"That is my fault," she said softly. "The rest is not your business. Well, I see changing years' worth of attitudes won't happen overnight. I will, however, deal with your actions as I see fit. Slytherin House _is_ part of Hogwarts and will remain so. We call ourselves the noblest house, but we do not deserve that name if we drive others away from this school through our own arrogance."

"But look at what they do!" Seamus burst out.

"Yes. And look at what you do. It was not a Gryffindor who was recently discharged from St. Mungo's to his home because there was nothing more they could do for him. It was not a group of Slytherins who left this school in _triumph_ after having put him there. From what I heard, any difficulty on the Hogwarts Express was rather quickly resolved. Can you honestly say that you would not do the same if your Quidditch Captain had been injured, and the people who had done it had escaped without any punishment? There has been talk of eliminating the game for the year. I would be very unhappy should Miss Chang, for instance, fall prey to any little accident."

Even Ginny looked a little abashed now, and a groan of dismay filled the room.

"But Snape always gives the Slytherins extra points and takes them away from us," Dean said plaintively.

"And the Headmaster gives us enough to win the Cup anyway, generally at the Leaving Feast," McGonagall said crisply. "Of course, that's different. Last year everyone was giving out points like taffy because of other problems. Professor Snape isn't the only one who plays that game. But points taken are always unfair no matter who does it, while we all deserve the ones that are given. We hope this year to avoid outside influences in that respect."

Harry knew what she meant. He'd rather go without being heroic for once. _Another year, another fight to the death against Voldemort…_

"Well, that's enough for now. I hope I do not have to speak about this again. You won't like it much if I do," their Head of House said bluntly. "As for what you really want to know, we are having Quidditch and Mr. Potter will be able to play. Some of Madam Umbridge's decrees have been rescinded by the Ministry. I made sure that was one of them."

The room erupted in cheers. Hermione's face, however, remained stony, as did Neville's. Harry glanced around and saw the two of them weren't alone. But he was so happy right now he didn't care.

"I hope you aren't too disappointed, Miss Weasley," McGonagall said in a gentler tone of voice. "You'll make an excellent Reserve Seeker, and a fine Chaser when Mr. Potter is not holding down his usual space in the infirmary."

Harry barely kept himself from jumping up and down with excitement. To fly again!

"This meeting is dismissed. Have a better year than the last." The older witch left the room while most were cheering the Quidditch announcement. Harry felt wonderful knowing so many people cared, if only about his abilities on a broom.

The Quidditch team meeting was held on the spot as soon as their Head of House was out the door. Harry looked around and asked Ron, "Where's Katie and Angelina? I thought they were going to be co-captains again this year."

"Katie Bell went to training camp with the Steamers," Dean said, "though I heard someone say she was still studying, and was going to come back here for the NEWTS. I haven't heard anything about Angelina."

"She went to Beauxbatons," Parvati Patil said. "Her parents wanted her to pay attention to her studies, since she spent so much time on the team she didn't do that well in them last year. She wrote me and said she was happy the Lingua Spell worked, or she would have gone nuts trying to learn French the hard way. Fortunately the witch who did it for her was from Paris, because they're crazy about having the right accent over there."

Ron spluttered with laughter. "Isn't that stupid? I'm glad we don't feel we have to talk like a _Malfoy_," he said with his finger pressing onto his nose."

Harry snorted with the rest. But what were they going to do now? The twins were gone, but they would have left anyway. He didn't know about anybody else, but he was sort of depending on either Katie or Angelina to take over.

None of the seventh year players wanted to be captain, either. One of them even said, "It's Ravenclaw's turn or ours, and either way I think I'll sit this one out."

Harry gritted his teeth. If something did happen to Cho, everyone would think it was his fault just because they'd broken up. It didn't feel good to think others at the school might believe he and his friends were acting like the bad guys, or even _were_ the bad guys. He knew what it was like from his second year, but this bothered him more because of the way he'd reacted towards Montague being injured.

Then someone nominated him. For a moment he wanted to accept it, wanted it so badly that he didn't care how much that might hurt someone else. Then he stood up. "I didn't play last year," he said, "but I know someone who did. He didn't give up no matter what the other teams threw at him. He turned around the song they sang about him and rubbed their faces in it. I say it right now. 'Weasley is our king!'"

Ron's mouth gaped open. Someone in the back cracked, "Tired of being a target, Potter?"

Harry whirled around. "I already am."

Then Seamus spoke up. "Ron was always whispering to Angelina about who should go where last year. He even told her to take him out as keeper when he was so awful at the beginning. He always put the team first."

"Yeah," said Ginny. "Whenever I worried about not being as good as Harry, he put the boot to me and said I'd better go out there and do it or he'd tell Mum I was whining again." She turned towards her older brother and said, "Pretend it's chess on brooms and you'll wipe the smiles off their faces the way you do to everybody else on the board."

Ron was so choked up he couldn't talk when they put the captain's ribbon over his shoulders, then carried him out to the hall, singing "Weasley is Our King". Hermione, who had been sitting in a corner reading, jumped up and followed them. They took him all the way out to the Quidditch pitch before they set him back down.

The redheaded Gryffindor babbled at them, thanking them over and over again. Harry had never seen his friend so happy. _I could have done the job,_ Harry thought, _but Ron earned it. It's little enough to make up for missing his best game. He'll do it better anyway. How many nights last year was he running stats for Angelina and Katie? He deserves it._

Then Ron started speaking coherently again and pulled out a little notebook. He squinted at it, probably trying to read his own handwriting. "First thing is the practice schedule. I'll need everyone's class schedule as soon as they can give me a copy. I'll sign up for the best times right now in Madam Hooch's office. We can do swaps and deals with the other teams from the best position once we know which ones are going to work for us. We'll also need someone who doesn't have class at that time to scout the firsties in their broom class. I'll get Hooch's evaluation of how the second years did with their brooms from last year when I sign up for the practice times. I won't be available tomorrow. I have to retake my Potions Owl. But the morning after we start practice at 6 am. As long as the weather is good we may as well get started. I need to go to the office now, though. I think I see Malfoy headed this way to grab practice times for the Snakes. It is an honor to be your captain."

Harry was glad he'd turned the position down, now. Ron sounded like he'd planned this out for a long time. Everyone took turns shaking his hand, then let him leave for the office before Malfoy beat him.

The blond Slytherin looked nervous as he approached all the Gryffindors standing together. Harry remembered how he and his friends had turned Draco and his friends into slugs. A few members of the team began playing with their wands.

Malfoy stopped and looked at them. Though his face was calm, his hands were shaking. Harry remembered how Draco had appeared in one of his visions, trying to keep one of his friends from being blasted by Voldemort. He turned to the Quidditch team and said, "Remember what Professor McGonagall told us. It's a temptation when he's out without his bodyguard, but…but this is Quidditch. He has a right to see Madam Hooch as much as we do." _I wonder what he was told in his House meeting? Maybe that's why he's by himself instead of with his usual escort. Well, with Crabbe anyway._ For a moment, he'd forgotten that Goyle was dead.

Draco began walking towards the office again, and towards the Gryffindors who stood to block him. Everyone saw he wore the captain's ribbon as well. Harry was happy to see that his friends followed him well enough to let the Slytherin through with only a few muttered comments.

Malfoy kept his mouth shut, for a change. Harry didn't blame him. There was a difference between being brave and being suicidal, especially after the way the blond boy had gloried in being one of Umbridge's enforcers.

Not longer afterwards Cho Chang and Ernie MacMillan showed up with their teams in tow. After some joking back and forth, Harry and the others left to go back to their common room. He was glad that Cho didn't seem to be mad at him. _Funny the Slytherin team didn't come along with Malfoy…_ he thought. Then he realized they would have all started hexing each other and drawn detention the first day of school. He thought of how long he would have lasted by himself against all the Slytherins, and wondered if Malfoy had been afraid. _Of course, he was,_ Harry realized, remembering the shaking hands. _But then, if my visions are right, he's seen stuff a lot scarier than us by now._

The common room was pretty noisy, and after Roncame back and put up the temporary practice times, Harry knew he had to get out. His Firebolt was probably in the Headmaster's office, or locked in McGonagall's. He left to go find it.

This was going to be a good year! Lupin was here and Umbridge wasn't! Ok, Snape was still here, but he couldn't have everything. It was so confusing. He was caught between hating the greasy git and worried about him. _Oh, and let's not forget the guilt because he probably saved my life, again, this last summer._

He tried to shake that off as he walked towards Professor McGonagall's office to ask about his broom.

Dobby appeared in front of him with a pop. "Master Harry Potter! The Headmaster wants to see you. Oh, it is good to have you back here again, Master Harry!"

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry said, though he would rather go up on his broom instead. He went to the gargoyle, discovered the password was 'ice mice', and walked up the stairs into the office.

The place was set to rights now. He was glad of that. Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, while Fawkes perched on the stand behind him. The old wizard smiled when Harry came into the room.

"I, I want to apologize for wrecking things up in here, sir," Harry said before he sat down. He could feel his face getting hot.

"I don't blame you for feeling abandoned last year," the Headmaster said, whose smile faded. "Please have a seat. Of course you were upset. Your godfather was dead, the Dark Lord was trying to possess you, and on top of that you knew I was going to send you back to the Dursleys, even though you had just found out that I knew what they were like. You still have a right to be angry about that."

"But I'm not now," Harry said, surprised this was true. "This summer was the best I've ever had! Dudley and I were in a boxing class at a local gym, and it was great. I won my bout in the tournament, and so did he. Did you get my letter on what happened on the way back?"

"Yes, I did. I am also quite happy that you spoke of your other vision to Mrs. Weasley. I suspect you were tempted to remain silent."

"No. It wasn't fun, like the other dreams I had earlier where I saw Snape go down and liked it," Harry said. "They just kept hexing him and hexing him, even after he stopped screaming." Then he realized what he'd just admitted. _Well, Dumbledore has never gone after me for hating the Potions Master before._ "But we saw him in Fortescue's about a week or so ago, when Mrs. Weasley took us shopping. He looked thin, but he's all right, isn't he?"

The Headmaster looked sad. "A lot of that is going to depend on you and your friends," the old wizard said.

"Oh." Harry cast about for something else to talk about. The lecture his Head of House had given all the Gryffindors still smarted. "I want to thank you again for the pensieve and the memories in it. It's really wonderful to see my parents and some of their friends like that."

"I wasn't the one who gave that to you," Dumbledore said, toying with a piece of paper that looked like the note Harry remembered writing. "I should have thought of it, but I didn't. I am glad it's proven so helpful to you. I am surprised your aunt and uncle allowed you to have lessons along with your cousin."

"Aunt Petunia told my uncle it was a two-for-one deal," Harry said. Now that he thought about it, though, he wondered if that was really true. "But they both started drinking some weird herb tea, instead of Uncle Vernon having so much whiskey, and that helped. Mrs. Weasley made a joke about why both of them wanted us out of the house, too." He stared at the floor, knowing he'd turned bright red. "I nicked some out of the pitcher a few times, and it smelled like comfrey and mint. I dunno, it was kind of like that Harmonia Potion we made in our first year."

The older wizard nodded. "I suspect you would like to know about what happened just a few weeks ago. You were not the only one to feel like killing yourself that morning. Two prisoners in Azkaban who were captured in the Ministry raid also tried to hurt themselves, though fortunately the guards managed to keep them alive. There were several deaths in prominent pureblood families, usually described as accidental."

"Goyle," Harry blurted out.

"Yes."

"It was through the Dark Mark, wasn't it? I could see him going after me. I guess the scar acts like the Mark that way. Why would Voldemort want to kill his own people, though?"

"The spell was meant to harm those who were disloyal to him. Mr. Goyle took the Mark early this summer. However, there is a connection between a new recipient of the Mark and his sponsor."

"What about Snape? I had a vision of someone with hands like his holding a dagger. It was just after that I stopped wanting to throw myself out of the car, but my scar really hurt."

"He interrupted the call by putting the knife into his own Dark Mark." The Headmaster closed his eyes. "That was one of the reasons he was punished, as you saw in your later vision."

_Oh, no,_ Harry thought. _It wasn't just Goyle he felt. It must have been me, too._

Dumbledore opened his eyes. "Once he is fully recovered, you must take Occlumency from him again. However, I must be assured that you will pay attention this time."

"I thought you were going to teach me!"

"I will. But I can only go so far. Once you have learned the basics, you will resume advanced lessons with him. He was sorely tried last year, and not only by your unwillingness to do your part. Tom looked out of your eyes several times last year, and he had no escape. I will not inflict that on him again. I'm also happy you do have a pensieve of your own. Learning how to use one is an important part of the skill."

He shook his head. "I should have warned Severus to keep his away from you. You're lucky you ran into the memory you did, despite what it showed you about your father and his friends."

Harry was upset for a moment knowing that Snape had told on him. "I suppose he couldn't wait to let you know," he said.

"He didn't tell me," the Headmaster said. "You see, one problem with an expert Occlumens is that they hide things, sometimes too well. After dealing with the loyalty spell, he hid himself, and I had to go looking for him. I still cannot forgive myself for what I did to him." His voice was quiet and matter-of-fact.

Harry didn't know how to feel about this. Dumbledore had been the one figure in his life he thought he could depend on. Last year had been different, though. He'd been left as a toy for Umbridge to play with, or for Snape to torment in class and the lessons. He'd lost Sirius Black. And to top it off, he'd found out that this old wizard _knew_ about the Dursleys and sent him back anyway. Things were so twisted around, he didn't know which way was up. "I bet that was a swamp worse than the ones Fred and George made up," he said.

"It was," the Headmaster said. "I can't tell you more about it, though. For one thing it's nobody's business but his. I shouldn't have seen—I wish I hadn't seen so much. Secondly, until you learn how to shield your mind, there is little I can tell you that you don't already know. Snape is not the only one who will die if you allow this connection with Tom to remain."

Harry didn't like hearing this. What happened to the gentle, caring old man who had always been on his side? He shifted in his chair, unwilling to admit the Headmaster was right about his head being a sieve. "I know," he said. "But I never felt him, not like the way I did before."

"But you said you had dreams where you were happy when people were hurt," Dumbledore said. "You had other dreams last year about the Department of Mysteries. Tom is not stupid, Harry. If one method does not work he will try another."

"I thought I hated Snape enough by myself that I didn't need any help."

"The more you hate anyone, the easier it is for Tom to become part of you."

That brought up a new idea, one that Harry didn't like at all. _Become part of me,_ he thought to himself. _Or _be_ me._ _Maybe he's tired of that nasty looking face and wants to try mine on instead._ "I'm surprised he doesn't ride around in Wormtail or somebody else the way he did Quirrell if his body is starting to fall apart on him," Harry said, desperately trying to make a joke of it. Maybe he should pay more attention to this Occlumency stuff.

"Our best sources say no," the old wizard said, his face a stiff mask now. "Not yet."

_He's thought of the same thing, and he's scared to death_, Harry concluded. "Well, at least my eyes haven't turned red yet."

"By that time it will be far too late," Dumbledore said. "He only lets that show when he feels he can. Again, he isn't stupid."

"I guess I'd better learn this time," Harry said. "I wish someone had told me this the first time around."

"You already doubt yourself, and Professor Snape was constrained in how much he could tell you by his dual role. I thought you would trust me enough when I told you these lessons were necessary, but you let your hatred and anger get in the way. So did he, but I fear he had far more reason. Last year was not pleasant for him either.

"And now I must speak of Sirius Black. Harry, I know you loved him and that he loved you. I made another mistake by forcing Professor Snape to work with him. Severus has always believed the Shrieking Shack prank was an attempt to kill him. Black has never been sorry for it. Oh, he would have regretted what would have happened to his friend Remus if it had succeeded, but I wish I had treated the whole affair more seriously. But I had no idea your godfather was so petty as to offer full hospitality to everyone else and only door-right to Snape."

"Mrs. Weasley told us about it. Even Ron was upset," Harry said. "I suppose Sirius was wrong. Even the Dursleys usually let me have something to eat if I was allowed at the table at all. But then you know all that. I bet Snape thought you knew what was happening to him, too." He was surprised to feel sympathy for the git. After all, he had Dumbledore for a master, too.

The Headmaster took a deep sigh. "I also have a clearer idea now how he was treated by almost everyone there last year in my absence. I am appalled. We depend on his courage and willingness to risk his life. Would anybody on a Quidditch team treat someone who blocked so many Bludgers like that?"

"No, they'd feed him ice cream every day and be glad it wasn't them," Harry blurted out. "Even if nobody liked him." They had all been nasty to Snape at 12 Grimmauld Place. Well, except Mrs. Weasley. And sometimes Lupin, but only when Sirius wasn't around. "But you're the one who keeps sending him out."

"I know."

"He should have said something about it." Harry was glad he wasn't Snape.

"To whom? As you said, I'm the one who keeps sending him out. Besides, I was holed up in my office scoring points on Madam Umbridge. Lupin lived on Black's charity, and has never shown himself assertive towards his friend. Mrs. Weasley did her best, but as you saw, nobody listened to her. It was obvious even to me everyone was quite happy to see him leave. Back then I felt it was probably his fault for being so sarcastic and abrupt. I didn't know, you see, how he was treated when I wasn't there. Even last spring, when it was clear you blamed Snape for your godfather's death, I said little to change your mind."

"I know," Harry said, tears welling up in his eyes. "I know it's my fault. I should have used the mirror to find him instead of listening to Kreacher. I should have paid more attention to the lessons. Voldemort couldn't have fooled me then. Hermione tried to tell me not to go, but I didn't want to listen to her."

"I also wish you had told Professor McGonagall or someone else about the quill," Dumbledore said. "You and Severus are very alike in that respect. You both learned the hard way that no one listens to your complaints, I daresay."

Harry almost winced. That comment was too close to the bone. Yes, Snape went off like fireworks at regular intervals, but nothing seemed to change because of it. _I've learned it's no use to say anything at all._ "I'll apologize to him," he said.

"Not until you really mean it. He'll know the difference. Just give him the respect that all your teachers deserve, and that will still be an improvement. Also, I must ask you and your friends to refrain from pranks in Potions class. He is undergoing treatment for potions overload, and anything you do, even in revenge for something else, could make him extremely ill."

"But that's not fair!" Harry said.

"It is also not fair to him to breathe in everyone's mistakes, yet he does that anyway no matter who makes them. You will be handling dangerous substances in NEWTs level Potions, and you could injure your friends as well by behaving foolishly. Professor Snape will, no doubt, speak to the members of his House as well about this. His health is not good at this point, and I will perceive any actions that affect it as deliberate."

Harry was stunned. The Headmaster had never spoken to him like this. "Um…yes, sir," he said, for lack of anything to say.

The old wizard smiled wanly. "I know you're not used to hearing me like this. But I have let things slide too long, and he nearly died this summer because of it. You have to be able to work together to defeat Voldemort. Remember, that's his goal as well. Now, I'm certain you're tired of listening to all this. I've kept this safe ever since that woman took it from you, and I know you'll be glad to have it back. I hope you'll remember some of what I said in here today, though." He didn't look very hopeful, but since he was holding the Firebolt in his hand, Harry didn't pay much attention.

"Oh, thank you, sir!" Harry said as he took the broom back. He babbled on a bit more, then left the office. As soon as he could, given the labyrinthine nature of Hogwarts, he hopped on it and soared into the air, heading towards the Quidditch pitch. Oh, this was wonderful! The boxing had been ok—certainly better than moping in his room or the garden outside at the Dursley's—but this, this was what he truly lived for.

It seemed like his broom had missed him, too. He'd never felt it so alive, so responsive to his touch. He soared up into the sky till Hogwarts was only a miniature toy set beneath him, instead of the mighty castle complex he knew it was. Then he dove, going ever faster till he had to pull up to keep from crashing into the earth. After that he tried every maneuver he remembered, from several loops in a row to swooping Wronski Feints, one of which nearly put him into the dirt. He laughed, not caring how close he was to the trees when he flew low through the Forbidden Forest. Harry thought about the chase through the wood of the moon of Endor, and decided to find out if the reality was just as much fun.

It was. The looks on the faces of the centaurs he buzzed were priceless. Then he boosted up higher once he'd come a little too close to some Acromantulas. There was such a thing was _too_ much fun!

He flew up into the sky again, rolling and pitching as if he was the Millenium Falcon chasing Darth Vader. _I wonder if wizards ever have dogfights in the air? Maybe that ought to be part of dueling practice. I'll ask Remus about that._

Harry finally landed, but knew he'd go up again soon. Ron was Captain, but he was going to be Seeker again, and needed more practice with the Snitch. He walked towards the common room with a big grin on his face and the Firebolt in his hand.

Ron was fuming and sitting by the fireplace with a Potions book in his lap. "You should have heard what Snape said to me in the hall!" His face was flushed almost as red as his hair. "He sneered at me and told me he was looking forward to the Howler I was going to get from Mum when I failed the test tomorrow. Hermione, will you help me study tonight? I want to see the look on his face when I pass!" Everyone in the Gryffindor common room was helping after that, even the seventh-years worried about their NEWTs. Harry went for treats, while Neville was made to sit down and recite what he remembered from the test, just in case he'd caught some detail that Hermione had missed.

As Harry tickled the pear and waited for the kitchen door to open, he caught a sniff of lemon pie.

_Oh,_ he thought. _The Headmaster didn't offer me a lemon drop. _That had never happened before. _Well, that's one way of figuring out how much I screwed up. Maybe I'd better listen this time. _Then he thought about Snape and what he'd said. _Maybe…maybe the git knew if he made Ron mad, he'd study harder just to get back._

It was scary to think like this. But he hadn't thought last spring, and people had died. Maybe he needed to practice this some more.


	34. Chapter 34: Back to SchoolSlytherin

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 34: Back to School – Slytherin

Severus Snape

Snape was immensely gratified by Dumbledore's speech and McGonagall's obvious fury at the Welcoming Feast. He'd acerbically pointed out this problem for a few years, only to be told he was seeing a tempest in a teapot. Then he sobered, realizing it had taken Montague's near-death, and possibly his own, to make the Headmaster see reason on this point.

Yet he hadn't expected Albus to say what he had, and felt unaccustomed pleasure warming his heart. He let himself gloat just a little over what the Head of Gryffindor was going to say to her charges after everyone was finished eating at the Welcoming Feast.

His own students looked just as stunned as he moved them off, save for young Malfoy, who looked cynical. No doubt his godson wondered about the political machinations that lay behind the old man's sudden access of fairness. Well, so did he, but for now he was simply going to enjoy it.

Snape arranged his students in a hall close to the Slytherin common room. With fewer numbers than usual, there was more than enough room for everyone to sit comfortably, but no way for anyone to wander off without him noting it. There was more time this year, since the Hogwarts Express had had to pick everyone up sooner than usual, this being a Sunday.

He began. "As you saw for yourself, Headmaster Dumbledore is determined to restore Hogwarts to its former glory. We'll see what happens. However, this year is going to be far less chaotic than the one before. Despite our reputation for giving others what they deserve, I expect all of you to be extremely quiet and well-behaved no matter the provocation. Last year some of you enjoyed a preferred position under Madam Umbridge's rule, against my recommendation I might add. Those of you who participated in her little squad of enforcers will have to accept the fruits of your former glory. She is no longer here to protect her favorites, nor is she able to threaten those who fell into disfavor last year. We must start over to establish our position as the leading house of Hogwarts. To that end, we will _all_ behave as we ought. Those who are hurt by those in other houses should go to their assigned prefects. If matters cannot be properly resolved at that level, then come to me.

"However, I cannot overemphasize the importance of staying with your study group this year, even if you have fallen out with the other members of it since your first year. Slytherins must stick together, since this is probably going to be a difficult time. Those who have…lost members of their group, please see me. There will be some occasions when members of this House must travel on the school grounds by themselves, but I suggest they be as few as possible. When complaints are made, they must be truthful, and with witnesses. We all know that if it's a case of one of our members against another, we are not going to be believed. However, I will be extremely unhappy with any of you who begin a quarrel. Last year is over, and we will start fresh this one. I want no settling of old accounts."

He heard some murmured objections. "I understand how difficult it is to let go of past grudges. Trust me. Mr. Montague is going to recover his full strength, though it may take some time. I have already…discussed matters with the perpetrators, and they are suitably repentant." He let a small smile show on his face. If everyone wished to imagine that he had turned the Weasley twins into matching luggage for their sins, he was not going to stop them. He took a deep breath. "However, we must be seen to behave this year. To that end, we must tolerate behavior that would normally be avenged. I am not advocating sheepish forgiveness. I am simply advising you that a full accounting must be delayed for other reasons. However, quarter day is only put off, not eliminated. The time will come when the offenses of others will be dealt with. It just isn't going to be this year."

That made the older students sit up, and most of them actually had a thoughtful look in their eyes.

"What good will it do?" asked one bewildered fourth-year student.

"It will drive the Gryffindors mad. You saw it at the Sorting. If we manage proper self-restraint, by the end of this year _they_ will be seen as the bullies they sometimes are, or at the very least, lacking in control. It will be quite difficult at times. We may lose some Quidditch matches by forgoing some of the more spirited moves. However, the game we are playing is far more important. In prior years, we have had informal House seminars on both academics and the management of points. They have rather fallen apart in the past several years for reasons most of you are well aware of."

"Yeah, the Leaving Feast bonuses," someone muttered.

"No doubt there will be one this year as well," Snape said. Universal groans of dismay met this announcement. "However," he continued, "I want our conduct to be exemplary enough so that I will not be the only teacher objecting to next spring's surprise party. We have allowed ourselves to become sloppy since a certain Gryffindor's arrival because there didn't seem to be any point. This is not going to be the case this year. The school may not recognize your efforts," he added, "but I will." That cheered them up. He resolved to provide more special treats and other privileges, within reason, for those who did well this year.

"That's enough on that subject for now. I have some other announcements. When I post my office hours, most of you will notice some differences. I am required by the Ministry to observe their new health regulations. To that end I must take a couple of hours in the day away from Potions work. My health is quite sound and the therapy inflicted on me by a clinic in Switzerland is a precaution only. I will be most displeased if any pranks in class turn out to conflict with the potions I am taking, as I am told the side effects can be spectacular. As a further precaution, the dungeons will be vented once a day even in winter. I suggest you take note of the venting schedule once it is posted. It will take at least a few minutes for the incoming air to be properly warmed. No doubt it will be good for your own health to have cleaner air here."

Draco looked anxious, as did the rest of his apprentices. He would have to speak to them, both in a group and separately. Snape looked everyone over. "The first year students will meet with me after dinner. I'll tell you how the study groups work. You will not be assigned without any thought, I assure you. I am well aware of which families are not speaking to each other. I think most pureblood feuds should be set aside during the present disturbances, but I am not alone in feeling that way," he finished softly. In fact, the Dark Lord had been quite outspoken on the subject already, and some of the students knew that.

"Winky the house elf has been assigned to the Potions Department for the year to assist me. She is not available to help with homework or with fetching sandwiches from the kitchen. She is not to be harassed or interfered with, or the responsible party will take her place for a week." That punishment had been threatened before, but not used, although Draco had come close one year. He allowed himself to speculate how the elf's jacket, suitably transfigured for size, would look on the backs of a couple of his students.

"One last thing. All of you will receive a quick examination by Madam Pomfrey, as required by school regulations, without exception. No excuses will be accepted. The examination will not be painful or intrusive. Slytherins will require physical strength for the many challenges ahead this year. No one will be doing their housemates a favor by concealing that sort of weakness, especially when most problems can be easily cured by our most capable mediwitch. She is also discreet, as am I. You may confide in her or myself with complete trust. If you have doubts, ask one of your older classmates."

"What about Quidditch?" asked one of the seventh-years.

"The team meeting will be directly after this one. On a related subject, Mr. Montague is now home, and would likely appreciate any cards or tokens you might send him. If you still feel upset about the Weasley twins, of course, you are certainly free to _not_ buy their products. Most of them are likely to be banned in any case.

"You may have noticed that Mr. Goyle is not with us any longer. He died in a broom accident over the summer. Safety during practice and play is just as important as scoring points. We will…we will all miss him." He stopped as his voice caught. He took a deep breath. "Take care this year."

The room was deathly quiet. "The other houses have their own good qualities. However, when we organize and work together, instead of against each other, we cannot be beaten. No matter what happens outside both you and the rest of us will know our accomplishments. I am proud of you. Let's keep it that way."

Good. The students looked more heartened now. He allowed the Quidditch players to congregate while the rest of them departed for the common room. Snape took a look at the first year students and count over those who might have problems. Narcissa tried to give him a scouting report of sorts about pureblood students and their relatives from what she heard and observed at parties and from gossip. Miss Walsh would bear watching, since her mother appeared to be enjoying her sudden widowhood a great deal, and was paying little attention to her daughter. The girl's two older brothers were already married, and she had no sisters. Drusilla Walsh had been left to the house elves during much of the last year, and had a pinched look to her face Snape didn't like. _She'll get a cup of hot chocolate along with the rest next Sunday afternoon,_ he thought. He rather wished he had time to begin the custom today, but he had too much to do before taking Mr. Weasley and Miss Lovegood to the Ministry tomorrow for their Potions OWLs. Dumbledore had been somewhat lenient in his grading, but not enough to ruin their chances to pass the test.

Snape posted the schedule for physical examinations on the back pillar of the common room. He rested his left hand on it. No doubt it was his imagination, but the thing felt warmer than usual. He absentmindedly patted it and moved on. Most of the children had gone to their rooms to unpack and wouldn't see his foolishness anyway.

Winky rushed to him with a small plate of food and a flask. "Oh, no," he said.

"Yes, Master," she said. "New school schedule. Time to eat, take potion, and lie down. Dobby will help when Winky is doing things in class or lab."

Severus dragged his feet as the small, determined elf led him back to his quarter. "It hasn't been that long since the Feast," he muttered in protest.

"Master never eats whole plate," Winky placidly observed. "This not much anyway."

True, the snack in question was only a small dessert of flavored gelatin. He knew that none of the potions he took sat well on an empty stomach. Even his usual opening speech had tired him. For once he did as he was told with little protest. Besides, this way he wouldn't be tempted to sit in on either the Quidditch meeting or the prefects' meeting. He was going to have to trust the older students more this year anyway.

After the evening meal, he spoke with the first year students. There were only fifteen of them this year, the lowest number in decades. More children in prominent families were being sent to Durmstrang, or in some cases, the States. The purebloods were taking precautions, especially with the eldest children. Most of the youngest students here were those with older brothers and sisters at Hogwarts already.

Snape told them the House rules, and explained about study groups. He tried not to frighten them too much about the other students, especially Gryffindor. After all, things were better than they had been when he'd been a student. He quickly noticed three children who already seemed more isolated than the rest. He'd make sure they were in their own group with two others who were more popular. Under the guise of learning basic etiquette on Sunday afternoons, he could make sure they received some instruction in proper interaction. There was nothing like a little hot chocolate, properly applied, to induce students of that age to tell him what was really going on with them and their families. He had also learned not to neglect any of his Slytherins because they appeared to be coping well.

Most of them looked as if they would have no trouble accepting Winky's authority in Potions. Even the poorest pureblood families knew some relative with a house elf, and were used to entrusting children to them.

Of course, this year one student came from Knockturn Alley the way Snape had. Severus would watch especially hard over Mr. Andreas, since most from that area had no idea what proper behavior was or why they should care. Fortunately his little slush fund made sure they didn't suffer the same kind of embarrassment he did before the Malfoys took him in.

He would have to be careful to help the boy find a way to express his gratitude. One student had stolen mandragora for him from a potions shop when Snape had said that he was low. These days he graciously allowed any such to work off a debt under the guise of detentions or being on the List.

Snape knew that other House Heads had their own system for their charges who were financially stretched, or in a few cases, destitute from attacks by the Dark Lord. He had been the recipient of a loan from the school, taken even after the Malfoys had become responsible for him. _I prefer to owe them as little as possible,_ he thought as he watched the Bloody Baron introduce himself to the first year students and explain how they should call for assistance if Peeves bothered them before they learned spells to protect themselves.

However, there was one condition he had yet to fulfill. He'd paid every Knut of the loan itself back within his first two years teaching here, but he had never become a personal sponsor for another student needing help, though he had motivated several establishments in Knockturn Alley to assist those from that area. Mr. Andreas, for instance, had his books and fees paid for by the fagin who had been training him in the handkerchief trade. Snape didn't like having students in his house feeling _that_ obligated to him personally.

After the Baron had left, he dismissed the firsties, reminding them of hot chocolate next Sunday afternoon. The majority of them looked less woebegone than when they came in. Severus knew he would have to pay most attention to those whose faces remained blank.

Draco Malfoy

Draco went inside the infirmary as soon as the Quidditch and prefects' meetings were over. He knew he was lucky to have such an early appointment, and suspected the athletes were being looked at first. He was glowing with happiness. He'd just been elected captain of the Slytherin team, and made it through the gantlet of Gryffindors just outside Hooch's office. Though the Weasel had been there before him, there were plenty of practice times left, since the other two teams were a bit slower organizing themselves this year. It had worked out well to go alone, since that way he didn't appear to provoke anything, though he'd known the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs weren't that far behind and would have witnessed any hexes.

He smiled at the mediwitch. "Nothing wrong today, Madam Pomfrey. I know, you must feel like fainting when you hear me say that."

"But you're going to play Quidditch again this year, Mr. Malfoy," she said, waving her wand over him. "You had better watch out for Bludgers. I'm sure you know you're becoming rather tall for a Seeker."

"True. But my team always tries to protect me. Crabbe and Goy—" His throat closed up as grief overwhelmed him. He was never ready for it. He took in a shuddering breath, knowing he was much too old to cry.

"Sit down," the old witch said gently. "Have this tea."

He did as he was told and sipped from the cup. Tears still kept seeping out.

She proffered him a handkerchief. "No one will see you grieve when you're in here. Professor Snape wept for your friend. It's all right if you do, too."

He sobbed into it. It felt weird to think of his godfather doing this, but it was comforting, too, to know Snape had cared so much. Even at the Quidditch meeting part of him had wondered where Goyle had run off to. After he wiped his eyes and blew his nose, he said, "I'll have to watch out for Vincent. He doesn't talk much."

"Both of you need to talk to your Head of House about it," she said softly.

"I want to. But he's still sick, no matter how much he says he isn't," Draco said. "I can't keep running to him all the time like a whining child."

"Mr. Malfoy, I know…I know more than you think I do," the mediwitch said calmly.

_I hope not!_ Draco thought.

"He didn't betray you," Pomfrey continued. "And I won't, either. I have learned a great deal over the years. You and the others are students here in my care. Healers know many dreadful things, and never speak of them. When he was brought in here that time, I was certain he was going to die, and I didn't know how to help him. He was very close to death, Mr. Malfoy, yet even then he worried over his apprentices."

He flinched at the sound of that word. "You know so much!" he said impulsively. "But you don't know what my aunt and Wormtail did to him! He told us not to interfere. And we couldn't. Not with _him_ there. Or Nagini. I had to stop Zabini from getting up anyway…" Oh, Merlin, he'd said far too much. He shook in fear.

"You saved his life, you know." Pomfrey patted him on the hand.

"What?"

"He was dying that Friday night. I woke the Headmaster to say good-bye. Then the professor's Mark began glowing and he got better. Dumbledore said he could hear the voices of those who were involved. You have been very brave, almost as rash as Gryffindors."

Draco was stunned. Did she know about his own Mark, and that of the others? "We had to do it."

"I do hope you aren't in any sort of trouble," she said.

"No, not really." His brain spun. He had heard the professor and his mother talking once, about how the Headmaster was convinced Snape was spying for him, rather than the Dark Lord. He'd asked Father about it once, and had been reassured that though it appeared the Potions Master was playing a double game, that the man's true loyalties were with those who really mattered. _Of course Snape would have to give Dumbledore some information,_ he thought. _And with him so badly hurt, it would be easy for the old wizard to find out even more._

She stood up. "I am here for all the students of Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy. You _can_ come to me with your problems. I strongly suggest you find a way to speak with the Headmaster, along with any others you can think of who need more information."

He stood up as well. He'd been so weak over the years, running to Madam Pomfrey with every cut finger, while his godfather had endured so much without a word. Then he caught sight of himself in a small mirror. "I look so much like Father these days," he murmured. "How can he stand to see me?"

"You aren't your father," she said crisply. "But why do you think looking like him would bother Professor Snape?" Her lips pursed.

"Because I _know!"_ Draco said savagely. "Father thought I was old enough to hear it. Mother danced around it when I asked, but she knows, too!" He was really in the soup now. With any luck the mediwitch wouldn't have any idea what he meant.

"Oh, dear," the older woman said, her face now terribly, terribly sad. "I wish I had time right now to discuss this, but I am going to be busy for the next few days. Till then, don't say a word about it. You may have it wrong, and I won't have such gossip around the school."

His mouth worked for a moment, as he realized what she meant. "He wouldn't say anything!" Draco burst out.

"No, but I have been healing him for the last twenty-five years, off and on, with only a few years between when he was, wasn't here. If you feel about this the way I think you do, then you will never be like Lucius Malfoy. Go to the kitchen and find something to eat. You can't show any weakness in the Pit, I know that much."

He nodded, astounded that Pomfrey understood about Slytherin. He took a couple of deep breaths, then did as she said.

Dobby was in the kitchen today, along with a number of others. Draco was glad to see him. "Where is Winky?" he asked, used to seeing the two house elves together since last year.

"She belongs to Potions and Master Severus now. Master Severus very sick all summer, needs help this year."

He should have remembered what the professor said at the House meeting. "I'll try to keep people from being stupid in Potions class," Draco said. "It was fun running around the way we did last year, but it's time to pay up." He was still surprised to have a prefect badge this year. But after what his godfather had done for him, staying out of trouble and making sure others did, too, was one of the ways he could help pay the Potions Master back. He owed his godfather not just for the way the older wizard had sacrificed himself at that last meeting, but for doing…doing what he'd done that terrible Sunday morning.

Being on the same side as the Trio still annoyed him, but the stakes were too high to throw it away for a moment's pleasure. Then he thought about what Dobby said. "This potions thing—he's sicker than he's letting on, isn't he?"

"Mistress Nurse takes blood, sends to hospital. Paper comes back, she frowns and shakes her head, makes Master Severus take potions before his arm hurts. Big Furry's brother brings him back. More potions, more trips to lav. Dobby tries to help." The elf looked worried. "Is good to have Winky help this year. But smoke in Potions could make him _bad_ sick."

Draco sat over some pumpkin juice. It felt strange to worry so much about other people. It had felt good, though, when Madam Pomfrey had thanked him for helping save his godfather's life. He always had had the vague feeling that she was on to him whenever he demanded care for some minor ailment, and her profession the only thing that kept her from smacking him. He'd have to stop doing that. He was much too old to be homesick.

Maybe he'd just sneak down to the kitchens or sit in the Room of Requirement and have it look like his bedroom at home, or Mother's favorite parlor, whenever he was tired of playing the Slytherin game. All the students found their way down here eventually, even though the tables always had more than enough food.

Draco had taken notes on Snape's office hours. He took out the piece of paper and wondered if the Potions Master was on night patrol any more. Well, it wouldn't be too hard to set up a schedule with the older students, even if they weren't prefects, to keep watch over the younger ones so his godfather could get some rest. He shouldn't have to wake up every time some firstie had a nightmare or someone got in trouble. Vince could help with that. For all his size, Crabbe was a great softie, really. It would do his friend good and maybe help him think about other things besides Greg.

They also needed more dueling practice. Everyone had brought their _other_ wand with them to school, though he wasn't sure about the Edgecombe girl. Draco knew they needed more practice, especially after the DA had bested them so easily on the train home. _We'll need some way to meet that isn't suspicious. Ha! Why can't DA stand for Draco's Army?_ Dueling clubs were a longstanding tradition in the Wizarding World. Since there hadn't been any Slytherins in Potter's little outfit, there probably wouldn't be this year either. _We're just worried in our grade in Defense class, sir,_ he rehearsed himself saying. _With Lupin teaching it, he'll probably give extra lessons to his favorites. We need to work on our skills. _**He**_ would want us to, wouldn't he? And we'll even invite a Ravenclaw to join, so people won't think it's just us._ Now, inviting Edgecombe would really throw the other houses! In fact, maybe he ought to ask anyone feeling left out by Potter's DA. The committee in charge, of course, would be the apprentices.

He sat up. He would petition to have the club recognized as soon as it became obvious that Potter's old group wouldn't let any Snakes in, but no sooner. And he would make sure his membership list included students from all four houses. Wouldn't _that_ be embarrassing! That way it would be the Gryffindors in the wrong for a change, the way his godfather wanted it to be. When permission to form a group was denied, the Potions Master would protest, undoubtedly without results, and then work out a way to practice on the sly. If _Potter_ could manage it, then anybody could. _He's probably able to tie his own shoes only because that Mudblood shows him how each morning,_ Draco thought. Not for the first time, he regretted Granger being Muggle-born. _I bet she's tired of kowtowing to the Great Potter herself, but she doesn't have much choice._ The professor had ragged him for being stupid about her, and he'd been right. _Not much I can do about that at this late date,_ he thought with a sigh. He almost pitied the Weasel, knowing the red-haired boy was going to be trampled by the girl for the rest of his life. _Nothing wrong with his sister, even if I hated her for a moment for singing that song…_ Well. He was betrothed to Pansy, but he was allowed to _look_.

Draco stood, nodded at Dobby, and went back to the dungeons. Snape was in his office and looked busy putting together two stacks of papers. "I must go to the Ministry tomorrow so Weasley and Lovegood can take their Potions OWLs. I'm meeting with the firsties after dinner, as well," he said. "Make it quick."

The blond Slytherin explained his idea, and made sure he mentioned he wouldn't ask for a separate club till it became evident no Slytherins were invited.

"Good idea. But your committee's too large. You'll spend too much time arguing. Here's the people you should have." His godfather rapidly scribbled on a piece of paper.

Draco looked at the names. His, of course, followed by Vince's, both Rosiers, Zabini—and Miss Edgecombe. "Nobody will expect us to put a Raven in one of the top spots," he said. Then the light suddenly dawned. "Yes, sir," he said. "We'll get together next _Sunday_. Sunday morning, I think."

Snape nodded. "Mr. Crabbe is a natural Occlumens, but his main loyalty is to you rather than to anyone else. I wish Mr. Goyle could be on that list as well." He turned away. "I should have spoken to his mother. I should have spoken to all the parents."

He knew better than to ask why his godfather hadn't. Why had the Headmaster cast an Imperio on the professor? Something had gone terribly wrong. Was there a way to research the spell and find out more about it, or would the werewolf report him for being too interested in Dark magic?

Draco remembered that Sunday. It had been like the time Snape had forced him to be around a real Dementor after pretending to be one his third year, only worse. He'd felt sick at first, unable to touch anything on the table. Mother had stopped him when he'd picked up his wand and held it to his own throat, and had kept him stupefied till the feeling passed. Then his arm had hurt like anything, but that had stopped as well.

Now he knew it had been a disloyalty spell. If the link went both ways, the professor must have felt horrible. Draco shuddered. He couldn't put a knife in his own Mark. Never. But the only reason he was still alive was because his godfather had.

He broke the silence. "You must have been really sick, or you would have talked to us, too. You always remember to do stuff like that. You did everything to you could to keep us safe when we were summoned afterwards."

Snape nodded, but said nothing. His dark eyes were clearly looking inward.

"Professor," Draco said. "You didn't kill him. He was still alive on Sunday night, when I talked to him. Everyone knows what his mother is like. She probably wouldn't have listened to you anyway." It felt strange to reassure the older wizard, instead of the other way around. "Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked for lack of any other ideas. He thought the Potions Master could probably do with something stronger, but knew better than to mention it.

The Head of Slytherin sighed, and sat down. "Not right now, but thank you. I would appreciate it if you kept an eye on Mr. Crabbe, though. I'm still worried about him."

Draco took a seat as well. "So am I. Quidditch is going to be hard for him without Greg, but it'd be harder for him to give it up. Bulstrode's moving over from Chaser. Girls aren't usually Beaters, but she'd make a good one. Libby Rosier has been champing at the bit as Reserve Chaser and would love to play more." He knew he was babbling, but couldn't stop. Anything would do to distract his godfather out of his current mood. "Zabini swears he's come up with a way to keep the Quaffle from going through the goal. He'll be a much better Keeper than Rookwood. At least we won't have the Weasley twins to contend with. I still don't know how they charmed Crabbe's club into a bouquet of flowers one game last year. Hooch put in a new rule about that, but it shook everyone up the first time they did it."

The professor's mouth turned up a fraction. "They would only read the rulebook again and think of something else that hasn't been mentioned yet. Perhaps it's just as well their _creativity_ will be exercised only in their shop."

"For now." Draco briefly imagined the Dark Lord trying out a Canary Cream. "I wonder how their version of dungbomb would work on Nagini?" The Weasley's version tended to turn the victim a bright blue, as well as emitting a cloud of horrible-smelling smoke."

Snape barked out a short laugh. "Don't…even…_think_…of trying it." He shook his head. "Go along now. I need to finish setting these essays in order."

Draco wasn't quite so worried now. "Yes, sir," he said, and left. Merlin, it felt scary trying to act like a grownup. Better that, though, than the whiny brat he was last spring.

Severus Snape

He stared out from the open door to the hallway after Draco had gone. Malfoys always talked too much when they were terrified; Lucius, at least, tended to rant when he wanted to cover up how frightened he'd been in the early days of the Circle. His son wasn't much different. Granted, the boy had much more reason. _I must not fail him. I must not fail any of them. The next time something like this happens, I _won't_ run away or give up. I will fight to the last breath for them._ Severus grimaced when Dobby arrived with yet another set of potions. But he drank them. Soonest done, soonest ended, and then he would be strong enough for what was to come.

The next day he took the Weasley boy and Miss Lovegood to the Ministry for their Potions OWL. He certainly never expected to spend as much time being questioned as the children were.

The two students performed adequately. He wasn't surprised when Miss Lovegood was sounder on theory than execution, or when Mr. Weasley's potions were actually better made. The boy's mother had clearly expended effort making sure he knew how to brew properly, though he was shaky on the reasons why something worked. However, he had a much better idea of what to do with a cauldron than before the summer started. The girl, on the other hand, managed a four-foot pillar of flame for one of her potions, which no doubt explained why the Quibbler had been late one week. Miss Lovegood's bemused expression and shrug spoke of previous experience with the problem. Snape quietly took notes on what she had done, just in case he _wanted_ that effect, and hoped the Weasley twins never found out how to replicate it

While the students continued work on their practical, one of the examiners grilled _him_ about the potions regimen he was on. Snape gave his honest opinion, though less acerbically than usual. He knew what his blood test results meant, despite Poppy's attempt to gloss over them. _It's still a waste of time,_ he thought, _especially after Trelawney's prophecy._ Future generations of brewers might be helped by his ordeal, and he owed the profession that much. He knew better than to believe anyone would actually be grateful. Then he remembered how Pilkington had offered to assist him to develop a preventive protocol. _I could be wrong,_ he realized, though he still doubted it.

"You don't look any better," Madam Marchbanks said.

It was hard to believe that anyone was older than Albus Dumbledore, but there she was. Snape nodded politely at her. "I won't be for a while," he said. "The regimen puts more of the toxins in my bloodstream till they build up high enough for me to expel them. I suppose the horrid stuff is better outside than inside, but the process is not enjoyable. The potions themselves are vile, especially the detoxicant. I have a daybook which updates itself on my condition for Lowenstein's amusement. I can hardly wait to find out how the regime reacts to the next potions disaster in my classroom. I am venting the dungeons once each day. Right now it's not a problem, but in winter it will take some time to warm the air."

"It might be best to vent at noon each day," the old witch said crisply. "Most of the students and you will be in the Great Hall at that time. If the spell is properly done, the area should be tolerable by the time classes resume in the afternoon. You should also vent whenever you have a problem, whether it's created by a student or your own brewing. Cold outdoor air has long been recommended as a curative for lung problems. Just warn everyone to wrap up properly, and this should actually improve everyone's health."

Snape was aware of the theory. Many sanitariums were in mountainous areas for just that reason. "I only hope we are not in the middle of a blizzard then," he muttered.

"Then ask Professor Flitwick for a Filtering Charm," Marchbanks said. "And in your case, follow the rest and exercise recommendations from the Ministry. You do have an assistant this year?"

"One of the brighter house elves has proven both cooperative and teachable," he said. "So far the hardest part has been to persuade her that proper gear is equipment, not clothes. Perhaps I should put 'Potions Department' on everything as well as her name."

"That might help," she said, nodding briskly. "Has she developed a personal attachment to you?"

That wasn't a silly question. House elves were always helpful, but how they felt about their master or mistress did affect the quality of their service. Kreacher's disdain for Sirius Black, for instance, meant he would obey a direct order, but only to the letter of what was said. Snape knew he was foolish to be proud that Winky clearly cared for him, but finally admitted, "Yes. I really have no idea why."

"Good. You have a dangerous job teaching Potions, and need someone directly concerned with your health who isn't as busy as Madam Pomfrey is once the students return. I know that Albus tries, but he was distractible as a boy, and he continues to take on more than is good for him now."

"I don't quite understand, madam…" Had he been a topic of conversation between the Headmaster and this old teacher?

"I am concerned about this new Grindelwald," she said quietly. "Albus doesn't say much, but I recognize how he acted back then and what he's doing now. I know you must have concerns of your own, especially with students like Miss Lovegood in your class, but do look after the boy if you can, will you? Teachers shouldn't have favorites, but we all do anyway. He used to be one of mine."

Hearing the Headmaster described as a boy hurt his brain, but Severus agreed. "He takes being hovered over as badly as I do, madam, but I shall try." Dumbledore wanted him to meet and practice both lowering and raising his mental barriers, and he had been ducking it. Perhaps he ought give in, though Albus hadn't insisted on an appointment so far. He still didn't understand why he should relax his defenses; they had both seen what he was really like inside last summer. But after knowing what people thought of him anyway with the table-spell, perhaps he could risk it anyway.

He was a Slytherin. Slytherin always repaid their debts.

Marchbanks sniffed. "He'll bury me yet, though I was concerned a couple of months ago. Albus has a good befuddled act, but things didn't seem right for a bit."

Snape pressed his lips together. No, he had to warn her. "If you receive any papers from the Ministry where the ink smears, be careful handling them, and have a window open when you do." He must be insane trusting this elderly relic on such little acquaintance.

They both fell silent and watched the two students brew. The remainder of the test passed without further incident, save for the addition to the ceiling of an enthusiastic particle of lobster shell that hadn't been ground finely enough. That came from Mr. Weasley's cauldron, but even that potion turned out well, so he lost few points for that. Given the room was normally used for brewing, the piece of shell was eventually expelled by the wards and fell harmlessly back to the floor.

After a conference of the judges, both students were conditionally approved for the sixth-year class. Fortunately the authorities had insisted on a Dictaquill for Mr. Weasley—no doubt the Headmaster had warned them about the boy's handwriting—so his essay was at least readable. Formal notification of their grade would come in about a week, but after a cursory glance at the essays and noting the quality of the actual potions made, Snape would be very surprised not to see an O alongside both names.

In fact, the two were eagerly talking together. Mr. Weasley had either changed since the Ministry raid, or he was attracted enough to Miss Lovegood to pretend to care about the mating habits of Blast-Ended Skrewts and how interfering with a breeding pair affecting the brewing potential of the eggs. The boy had been hit by a stray thought from the brain room, or so Madam Pomfrey had said. _One can only hope it stuck,_ Snape thought, _despite the healer's attempt to excise it._

"Well," said Madam Marchbanks. "It looks like you have two more students to help you win your bet. All of us heard about it, and I wasn't the only one to point out to certain parties that private wagers are not covered by the restrictions on your income, even if a patent on a new process is. That's so ridiculous! I've noticed you haven't published much for the last two years, and I don't blame you a bit. One can only hope when this horrible mess is over that you'll release more new material."

"Thank you," he said mordantly. "I have been busy with other matters, unfortunately. I hoped for some research time this summer, but I ended up a subject instead."

"'They also serve who only puke and wait,'" the old witch quoted. "I am looking for the paper that comes out of this. Potions overload is a real problem, especially with older brewers who concentrate on their specialty for too long without a break. When you get to be my age, you learn there's time enough for everything."

Snape grimaced. He would never know. Bitterness overwhelmed him for a moment, but oddly enough, only a moment. Normally he would spend several hours sunk in the depths before things lightened for him once more. "Let's hope we all survive the present difficulties," he said politely.

Marchbanks glanced away. "Well," she said after a moment's silence. "You had better return these two so they can complete the work of blowing up Hogwarts that the Weasley twins began. Or was that the Millikens in 1876? They were a pair, all right. And mind you see Flitwick about those charms. He loves nothing better than to show off, ever since he started there right after the war."

"I hear and obey, madam," he said with a stiff half-bow.

The old witch laughed, a dry, cackling sound. "Not very well, at least according to Albus. But he's never been good at that himself. He covers it better, of course. He's had more practice."

He put on his Malfoy manners and made a deprecating little gesture at his obvious inability to manage any such thing. "You have the advantage of me, I fear. However, you are quite right and I should escort these two back. I'm losing valuable point-taking time being away like this. The Hufflepuffs will start thinking it's safe again."

She nodded and waved him off. Snape collected Miss Lovegood, who nearly hugged him in gratitude, and Mr. Weasley, who pulled the girl back in time.

"Well," Snape said, "it looks as if I will have to suffer your presence in my class after all. You may not think it's such a good idea by the end of next week."

Luna continued to beam happily at him anyway. He'd heard that some of the other students thought she was unnaturally trusting of others, and he believed it. She was never frightened of him, though admittedly he never blew up quite as much in the classes she'd had with him. Weasley was far more prudent and wary, and continued to keep a discreet distance as they left the Ministry and returned to Hogwarts.

_Good for you, boy,_ Severus thought. _Not trusting people may keep you alive yet._

How strange it was for him to have to learn the opposite lesson.


	35. Chapter 35: Class Begin

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Author's Note: Just a reminder that this is my version of events that incurred _instead_ of Half Blood Prince. Also, I cannot reply individually to anonymous reviewers.

Chapter 35: Classes begin.

Harry Potter

The next day Ron was gone to retake his OWL. As it turned out, Snape wasn't really giving the test, but was accompanying Ron and Luna to the Ministry to have one of their wizards do it. Harry was glad about that, but decided not to echo everyone's relief the greasy git wasn't in charge. Hearing what he had the day before was still bothering him. He didn't understand the part of him that liked seeing the man hurt. Ok, maybe some of it was just payback from all the years before, but deep inside he was afraid the Headmaster was right that hating someone just made things easier for Voldemort.

Right after breakfast, he wanted to go up on his broom again but Hermione reminded him that the Gryffindors were seeing Madam Pomfrey this morning. Most of the class trooped up as a group, but left again when they found out their appointments were an hour or so down the line.

Harry was close to the front, though. He tried to ignore the cynical looks from his own classmates as they saw once again that he was getting special treatment. Well, if they wanted to be in the Prophecy instead of him, they were welcome to it. He was glad when the mediwitch called him in.

She looked tired, but determined. "Harry! You're looking much better this year," she said as she waved her wand over him. "You've put on some weight for a change over the summer, and getting some more growth. How are you sleeping?"

"Much better than last year," he said.

"Well, be sure to tell me if and when you aren't, instead of keeping it all in. Things are easier to fix when they first start."

He nodded. At least he didn't run to her with every little stubbed toe the way Malfoy did. But maybe he should listen to her this time and tell her if he started having bad dreams again. Or he might wake up one day with red eyes instead of green. "Looks like you have a lot of paperwork," he said.

"Oh, yes. This is a good idea, but it does take a lot of time. And with the new Ministry health regulations, everyone who's taking Potions has to have their parents sign a release. In your case…well, I don't know who will sign yours, actually. I'll have to ask the Headmaster. The Ministry is also regulating the hours and conditions of work for Professor Snape. That means I have to buy more potions on the market to allow him time for what Professor Lupin will need. There goes my budget…anyway, there you go," she said with one last flourish of her wand. "I'm glad you're playing Quidditch again, even if that means you'll have some more broken bones. Lots of fresh air and exercise help give you a proper appetite, and you'll sleep better, too. Just stay out of the way of Bludgers."

"Thanks!" Harry said, and left. Hermione was right after him. He stuck around and chatted with a few others whose appointments were fairly soon. His friend's exam seemed to take longer than his, but he suspected girl stuff might be involved and resolved not to ask questions.

Hermione came out clutching a piece of paper and looked indignant. "I could scream!" she said. 'I have to redo my class schedule!"

They walked down the hall. "Why?" Harry asked.

"Because of some new health rules, she said. Mum and Dad will have to sign a paper for me to take Potions. Madam Pomfrey says I'm not completely healed yet, though I feel fine. On top of that I'll have to take Remedial Broom. That means no Ancient Runes, unless I drop Arithmancy."

"You passed your first year class," Harry said.

"But anyone who isn't picked for Quidditch has a broom class in second year. I was either a cat or petrified during most of it, apparently. You or Ron wouldn't know about it, since you were on the main team and Ron was on the Reserves. The third year, I could have taken it, but there was so much else I wanted to do instead, the fourth year we had the Tournament, and last year, well, I don't think Umbridge followed the curriculum much."

"At least it's not next year," Harry offered.

"True." She calmed down a little as they approached the common room. "It would really mess up my NEWTs if I had to take it then." She glowered at the piece of paper. "I'm going to see Professor McGonagall. Maybe I can test out of this stupid broom class and still take what I want. After all, if Luna can test into a Potions class past her own year…"

"I'll help any time you want me to," Harry said. "You know Ron will, too. Hey, I have an idea! We could use another scorekeeper and let Dean fly more. You wouldn't have to fly unless five or six people were all sick at once. Being on the team would let you out of the class."

"With my luck they _would_ be sick, and everyone would be thrilled to see me screaming and throwing up all over the field," Hermione said with a grimace. She gave the password to the Fat Lady, and the two of them went inside. "I can just hear the Slytherins singing 'Granger is our Queen'. No, thanks. I'll try this way first."

Harry shrugged. "Let me know whenever you want to practice, though. I know some good places where nobody can see you if you keep low."

"Keeping low, now that's a good idea!" She nodded vigorously as they walked down the hall. "But I'll probably have to do some higher flying to pass. Ick. At least I won't be the only one in the class my age."

"Ron and I should find some time to start you off," Harry said. "If you can find out what the test is, we can drill you on it. It's only fair after you helping us all this time."

Hermione agreed. "Regular class won't start till day after tomorrow, when all the physicals are done. I suppose the sooner we start the better."

That afternoon the two of them were up on brooms, though in Hermione's case, 'up' was more like two feet off the ground. She'd been fairly decent in their first year, but it was obvious she had forgotten nearly all of it by now. He showed her some basics, but Harry stopped pushing her when he saw how white she was. _I don't want to wait till white turns to green_, he thought. "Let's go in," he said. "That's pretty good for the first time after so long. At least when your class starts you'll have a better idea of how to go on."

"Thanks, Harry," she said, sounding a bit less wobbly now she had her feet on the ground. "This is a good area to practice in, behind these trees. Once I get used to flying at all I'll have less trouble. I hope."

It felt good to walk along the halls like this. Harry remembered the way he had been upset with her at the Sorting, and wondered what was wrong with him. From the very first year it had always been the three of them, even when Ron was so jealous at the Yule Ball, and he had been an idiot himself last year. _If I was ever stupid enough to make either one hate me, then I deserve to lose,_ he thought. _And I should have asked the Headmaster who gave me the pensieve since it wasn't him._

Hermione waved at him as she went up to McGonagall's office, probably still trying to get her schedule changed.

Harry turned the other way, though. _I should ask Remus about dueling practice, and what I thought about when I was flying yesterday. It would be hard to for Hermione to keep up with some of the rest of us on a broom, but I hate to split us up._

Then he thought of something else. All right, Dumbledore hadn't given him the pensieve. It must have been Remus! Who else would have so many good memories about his parents and their friends?

He went to the DADA classroom, and found the werewolf looking at seating charts and watching names magically appear. "Oh, Harry, I wanted to see you," said Lupin, who sat behind his desk as if he would never leave.

"So did I! I'm sorry I didn't write you very often last summer."

"I don't mind. I heard how well you were doing at home for a change. I wish your birthday hadn't been on the full moon, or I would have dropped by. I must admit, Shacklebolt has been keeping me busy."

Harry remembered what the Auror had told him when picking him up to take him to the Burrow. "I hope…I hope you're feeling better," he said. "I miss Sirius, too."

Lupin smiled wanly. "So do I," he said.

Then the young Gryffindor noticed that his friend really looked ill. "Bad full moon?"

"Not the best, no. I am not unhappy the beginning of school has been delayed a few days, let's just put it that way."

"Didn't Snape make you a potion?"

"That's Professor Snape, Harry," Lupin said gently. "And no, he didn't this time. Before you get upset about that, you ought to know he was near death during the time when he would normally brew it, and the Headmaster was unable to find any on the open market. I was escorted out to the Shrieking Shack each night by Firenze, so everyone was quite safe."

Harry didn't know what to think about that. "Well, I'm just glad you're better," he said. "I was on my broom yesterday and I had some ideas about dueling up there. Oh, and I want to thank you for my birthday present. That pensieve was the best thing I've ever had!"

Lupin stopped smiling. "It wasn't me, I'm afraid. Those things are hideously expensive, but I would have tried to find you one if I'd thought of it. Kingsley said it came fully stocked."

"That's why I thought it had to be from you," Harry said as he sat down at one of the desks. "I mean, it has Mum and Dad's wedding, and you and Marauders doing ordinary stuff, not anything rotten. Like Dad at a game, and stuff, or Mum at the library." He was really surprised. "Those memories really helped when I was feeling bad last summer."

"I wish I had thought of it," Remus said. "With my friend's will in probate, though, I was lucky to have a place to live. I think I wrote you something about it."

"I don't remember it—wait, yes, I do. You said you were given an allowance to take care of the place, and would let the Order use it till all the paperwork is done, and at the rate people were going, Voldemort would be dead of old age first." Harry hadn't thought about his godfather leaving anything but the house to anybody—and that horrible portrait! "Do you have enough money? I still have a ton at Gringotts from Mum and Dad, and you know they'd want to help the Order if they could. You aren't having to come up anything out of pocket, are you?"

"That's all right, Harry," Remus said firmly. "At least here I'll have the Wolfsbane on a regular basis, though I'll have to drink it front of Madam Pomfrey."

"I'm surprised Snape didn't insist on it for himself," Harry said.

"I wouldn't blame him if he did. I put you all in danger when I skipped it because I was so angry with Wormtail, and didn't want to be left out of things. I could have asked the Headmaster to stay, but I didn't that time. It was always hard for me to tell Sirius no about anything. I miss him, Harry, and I know you do, but…" Remus let his voice trail off.

Harry wanted to defend both him and his godfather. "But now he's gone." He still grieved, though not as sharply as he had at first.

"Yes." Lupin's face closed up, then softened after a moment. "Always feel free to come by to talk whenever you need to. I've missed you."

Harry left and went back to the Gryffindor common room. _That was weird,_ he thought. _If the Headmaster didn't give the pensieve to me, and Remus didn't either, who did?_

Ron was back and looking triumphant. "I actually knew what the stuff was this time!" he said. "They let me use an enchanted quill so they could read my writing. That helped. I could spend more time on thinking what to put down instead of worrying about how it looked. I remembered what Mum showed me in the kitchen on the practical, and it was loads easier than last time! A bit of lobster shell hit the ceiling from my cauldron, and Luna had a big fire in hers, but other than that everything worked the way it was supposed to!"

"Well, this year I'll go to you and not just Hermione when I'm in trouble," Harry said.

"I knew you could do it, Ron," Hermione chimed in, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Ron flushed till even his ears were pink.

"I meant what I said about helping with Longbottom," the red-haired Gryffindor said quietly, and just as well, as Neville was in the room. "Harry and I can split it the way we promised back at the Burrow."

This time it was Hermione's turn to look bashful. "Thank you, Ron," she replied.

Harry knew he'd better come up to snuff as well. "You can count me in, too."

The three of them looked at each other. This was the way they were supposed to be, Harry knew. Anything that separated them only helped the enemy.

Hermione Granger

As soon as she was done with that horrible broom practice, she went to Professor McGonagall's office. _Something_ had to be done about her schedule. She also had questions about Luna Lovegood. If the Ravenclaw was allowed to take her OWLs early, why hadn't she been allowed to do so as well? Hermione wouldn't have minded a summer course or two to take her mind off the debacle at the Ministry, or off the implications of being sent notes on how to make the Wolfsbane Potion.

She knew better than to tell the boys how relieved she'd been when they had seen Snape in Fortescue's. Yes, he was a horrible person a lot of the time, but Voldemort was far worse. How well would they be prepared for the war to come if everyone was nice to them? Of course, she held a small grudge herself over "I see no difference"; but she certainly didn't obsess night and day over the man the way Harry did.

Hermione felt resentment flare up over the way Harry squandered his opportunities. He blew off the Occlumency lessons with Snape, even though letting the enemy paw through his mind pretty much guaranteed nobody dared to tell him anything important. Yes, it was wonderful that Harry had been able to save Arthur Weasley that time. But she and the others had nearly died going after Sirius, when the git had been safe as houses at 12 Grimmauld Place.

As long as she was being honest with herself, she was not looking forward to Potions this year. Harry could do the work, but often chose not to; Ron might be on fire to do well for today, but she knew how long that would last; and then, of course, she would have to keep on nursemaiding Neville. She knew the boys were sincere about their promises, but doubted their execution. Well, she'd survived this long in the stupid class with them dragging at her like weights some days. She supposed she could manage this year, too.

She leaned against a wall, surprised at how upset she was with them. At least Neville had kept his head during the Sorting, along with a few others, but the rest had behaved like timber wolves. Was everyone really so blind they couldn't see how they played into Death Eater hands by treating Slytherins like pond scum? All right, she wasn't fond of Draco and his goons either, but hissing and making fun of eleven-year-olds? Couldn't anyone see where that led?

_Then again, I'm as guilty as the rest,_ she thought. Last year, when they'd been recruiting for the DA, she hadn't volunteered any Slytherin names either. After all, what was the point? Obviously the whole house was tainted, blah blah blah. She'd bought into the stereotype herself. Oh, this was insane! Sometimes she thought the Wizarding World was much too small, to have school rivalries writ large and cause people to die. Nobody had said how that Montague fellow was, but Hermione had a nasty feeling that he wouldn't be reporting to the Wimbourne Wasps this year. She'd scanned the sports pages all summer and never saw his name, though she had noticed Katie signing a contract earlier than usual.

_Paybacks are a bitch_, she thought in the Muggle phrase. _We certainly enjoyed ourselves when the twins escaped and Peeves had so much fun. Most of us enjoyed ourselves yesterday at the Sorting. I wonder how Gryffindor is going to get paid back for that?_ Then she thought of something that _she'd_ done. Not Umbridge—she would never, ever regret saving Harry from that horrible woman—but the way Cho Chang and a few of the Ravenclaws had looked at her at breakfast this morning suddenly made sense. _We had a great time seeing 'Sneak' on Marietta Edgecombe's forehead. I think Professor Flitwick enjoyed pretending he didn't know how to take the boils off because, to be honest, it's just not that hard a charm. But how many Ravenclaws are going to join this year? Harry broke up with Cho, and Marietta was one of her friends. She seemed all right with it then, but she wasn't very happy with me today._

_Maybe there's a reason it seems like only Gryffindors are in the Order. Maybe there's a reason the Ministry drags its feet. If the Headmaster is so powerful, why does he need children to fight for him?_

She tried to disregard the horrible feeling the speculation brought her. Losing this war would devastate Wizarding Britain. It was obvious how rotten the other side was. She wished there was someone she could talk to about this. But before today, her Head of House had turned a blind eye to anything they'd done for Harry's sake. Hermione once more tried to suppress resentment at her friend's special treatment. _At least Ron studied his arse off to get into Potions this year,_ she thought, _but Harry just waltzes in. If he mucks about the way he did last year, I am _not_ going to help him this time. He doesn't even have the excuse of the Dursleys for once. From what he's said so far, he had a great summer. Of course he doesn't crack open a book when he finally has a chance to—not the great Harry Potter!_

Why was she so angry? Harry was her friend. Sometimes it would be a great relief to have someone worry about her, too. At least she'd had a week or so with Molly fussing over her. It got on her nerves after a while, but was still nice. But as soon as Harry had arrived, it was all about him. Her parents were so used to her being independent after all these years, and she didn't know how to ask for attention any more. If she told them what was really going on, they would never let her come back to school. It had been a near thing anyway, after all those tests when she didn't get well from what was only a cold. She'd seen the relief in their eyes when she began receiving potions by owl. Hermione could almost hear them think, _oh, it's magical, we don't have to worry about it._ Granted, she'd done the best she could to foster that belief, but it still bothered her even though she wasn't being fair.

She took a deep breath and continued to McGonagall's office. She knocked and was allowed in. "Why, Miss Granger, please sit down," her Head of House said. The older witch sat behind her desk and had a teapot going. "Have a cup?"

"Yes, please," Hermione said. "No sugar, just a bit of lemon, please." It felt odd being served when she was the younger one. Despite the sense of freedom she felt here at Hogwarts when away from her parents, she normally followed their strict regimen when it came to diet. She'd seen the X-rays of those who didn't.

After a quiet sip or two McGonagall opened the conversation. "My dear, I will not change your schedule. I do not have a Time-Turner. Being on a broom several times a week will only do you good, even if you are only two inches above the ground. I am sorry for you that Mr. Longbottom will once more be a burden to you in Potions Class. If you are ill, see Madam Pomfrey. Professor Snape will brew more potions for you if you need them, now that he is somewhat better. Have I covered most of the salient points?"

"You don't believe in wasting time, ma'am," Hermione said with admiration. "But you missed one. I heard that Luna tested into a Potions class ahead of her year."

"Ah yes. That was a special case, and is done only on the recommendation of the teacher in charge. It is an experiment of sorts, I suspect. Trust me, Miss Granger, we are more than satisfied with your progress through this school. There is much to be said for depth of knowledge as compared to speeding rapidly through and checking off boxes. No doubt you could pass your NEWTs today, though not with the highest scores, but why? What do you plan to do after you leave school that must be done in such a hurry?"

Hermione thought for a moment. Her Head of House had a point. "The three of us," she said. "But I take different classes now at times than the boys do."

"You are still here," Minerva said, "while you share some of the classes. Enough, at least, to remain a team. I do not know how matters will be arranged if the war lasts longer than that, but for the next two years the old ties should stay strong."

"You want this finished before we separate, don't you?"

"I want it finished _now_! It is my surmise, however, judging by other factors, that the spring of your seventh year will be extremely important. The crisis might come precipitately, and you need to be here, Miss Granger."

_Oh, no,_ Hermione thought, _I hope they're not all listening to that crazy Trelawney again!_ Yet judging by logic alone, McGonagall made sense. "You could always take me as an apprentice and student teacher," she said.

"True. However, it would be most difficult for you to deal with students your age on that level. Young teachers normally have a great deal of trouble in that respect."

Hermione shook her head. "I swear, the entire Wizarding World in Britain is just a glorified Hogwarts, and people spend their lives paying off old scores."

The Deputy Headmistress offered a frosty smile. "You have no idea how true that is," she said, more softly than Hermione expected.

"Then Riddle is just a symptom," the girl said. "If he weren't so abominably _stupid_ he would have won by now."

"Yes?" The older witch raised her cup in a gesture for Hermione to go on.

"Well, if he weren't so nasty and cruel, we'd have a much harder time getting anybody to see anything is wrong with him at all. Hitler didn't terrorize anyone, well, not much, anyway, until he was already in power. He was supported by the pureblood equivalent who thought they could use him till it was too late. He found someone elderly, respected, and senile to be his front man, while he pulled the strings. If Vol—if _he_—had been that intelligent, he'd be Minister of Magic by now, or maybe Lucius Malfoy, with _him_ actually running things."

"How do you know he did not try that first?"

"I don't," Hermione said. "Our History of Magic book only goes so far. But it wouldn't surprise me. In Muggle history, you're either a terrorist or a freedom fighter, depending on if you win or lose."

"I must ask for your discretion, Miss Granger, but steps were taken earlier to block his political advancement. Perhaps it was not the wisest course of action that we could have taken, but it seemed appropriate at the time." McGonagall looked unhappy. "There were those who saw parallels between him and Grindelwald even then."

Hermione had done a little research even with her out of date books, though. "I found out that both Minister Fudge and Minister Umbridge were Hufflepuffs," she said. "I looked up a few other names, too. That made me wonder about other areas of the Wizarding World. With some exceptions, obviously, Gryffindors do sports, Hufflepuffs do politics, and Slytherins plot. What do Ravenclaws do? I can't seem to find them."

"In the academic journals, of course," the older witch said. "They often end up ranging far afield. You would have to ask Professor Flitwick, since I believe he keeps statistics on such things, but many of them end up in the States or on the Continent. In fact, if you want my opinion, Ravenclaw Tower has the highest concentration of foreign students to begin with."

Hermione chewed her lip. "That's an awful lot of power to give a hat. How long has it been since there was a Slytherin Minister of Magic?"

"Quite some time…but then it's been nearly as long for a Gryffindor one as well." McGonagall drank more tea.

"Easier to let Hufflepuffs be the Quaffle?"

The older woman spluttered. "It's not quite _that_ blatant, Miss Granger. That house offers the Wizarding World some stability while the rest of us posture."

"But something's wrong with that system," Hermione said. "Trying to keep things the same all the time only guarantees a bigger blowup when the system finally fails."

"I might point out that the system, as you call it, is what is protecting you right here."

The girl felt her face go hot. "I love my friends, Professor. I would die for them. But I can't help seeing that even with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gone, that someone else will come up in his place unless something _new_ happens. Isn't that why Hogwarts accepts the muggleborn in the first place? The Wizarding World is too small, at least in Britain, and this school creates too many patterns that play out afterwards. Nobody can ever live down what they did at school no matter how old they get, or get over being what they were here. The Ravenclaws are probably glad to see Hogwarts in their rear-view mirror, that's why so many leave. The Gryffindors have Quidditch, more or less, and the Hufflepuffs have the Ministry. But the Slytherins are left out. If they were really intelligent they would stop sending their children here at all, and try somewhere else, but from what I've seen they're the most fanatic about old traditions. I noticed they didn't have very many students this year. Is that temporary, or part of an ongoing trend?"

"Matters are a trifle more complicated than that, my dear, but I suppose your surface observations have some merit," McGonagall said. "However valuable they are in the long term, we still have the short term to deal with."

"I know," Hermione said. "I thought I was going to die there at the Ministry. And then I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life in the lav with all the potions I had to drink. Harry has to win and we have to help him, and that's the end of it. But what happens when it's over and we've won? If we keep repeating the same patterns, we'll be stuck in more battles. We'll end up devouring ourselves."

The Deputy Headmistress sighed. "I know. We're trying to change some of them, as you saw at the Welcoming Feast and at the house meeting. It will take a great deal more work than some people think. That's one reason I'm glad you're a prefect this year, along with Mr. Longbottom. We need students who think clearly at a time like this."

"I wish the boys did," Hermione said. "After the Ministry raid, it was Professor's Snape's potions that kept me from having to be carried around in a bucket. I was…I was really glad to see him when we visited Diagon Alley. You see, he sent me a copy of his notes on the Wolfsbane Potion. Once I learned that Professor Lupin was going to be here, and when Harry had his vision, I was really scared I was going to have to try to make it." She didn't mind admitting feelings like that to her Head of House.

"We have all benefited from Professor Snape's presence here," McGonagall said. Her face was still, but her eyes looked worried.

"I know this is probably grasping at straws, but whenever the Hat sings about Slytherin, it always mentions ambition. If people are picked for ambition, and then told over the next seven years they might as well give up…"

"It's not quite that bad, Miss Granger. For the better part of a decade Slytherin received the House Cup. I quite despaired of ever seeing it again."

"Not since Harry started here."

"Yes. Well, you must admit yourself special circumstances were involved." The older witch looked uncomfortable. Then she smiled. "However, you are quite right that Hogwarts in many cases is simply a precursor to the rest of the Wizarding World. If you feel so strongly about that, you might consider a future career as a shaper of young minds, and perhaps change the mold's shape."

For a moment Hermione was tempted. Given her premise, the teachers here had a great deal more power than appeared on the surface. Then she thought, _I bet that's what her school advisers told Margaret Thatcher, too. When _was _the last time a witch was Minister of Magic, anyway? And if you wanted to put people off the idea, why, just promote incompetents like Umbridge while still pretending to play the equal opportunity game._ She suddenly realized the war, should she survive it, offered her much more scope. One her mum's feminist magazines talked about women in the military in the US, and how those who had experienced combat in the Gulf War would have more political opportunities than usual in that country. _Harry wouldn't have the Ministry if you held a wand to his head. Ron wants whatever his family wants, except to be like Percy. _"I'll have to think about it," she said. "Since I'm older, I'll probably be on more night patrol. Maybe you're right about building up my strength for next year. All this speculation won't do a bit of good if I make myself ill and fail to hold up my end when the crisis comes."

Yes, her Head of House _definitely_ approved of the sentiment, judging by her smile. "I am glad that you're thinking things through, Miss Granger. At your age you have a great deal of time. Use it wisely, of course, but consider future needs as well."

_But do I have that time? Witches and wizards live for well over a century, it seems. But is that true of those who are Muggle-born? Of course, if I die from a hex it won't do me much good to have everything laid out anyway. Maybe that broom class is a good idea after all. _"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said, rising. "It feels weird to be here and not be in class already, but having everyone looked at is a good idea. I counted actual class days and we're running at the same number we did last year anyway with a shorter Christmas break."

"I can always count on you to notice the important things, my dear. Now get some fresh air. The weather won't always be this nice, and you should take advantage of it while you can."

Hermione smiled, nodded, and left the office. She was glad she'd let Harry take her out on the practice pitch, and made all the approving noises she could think of when Ron returned in triumph.

The next morning, though, she woke up earlier than usual and went out to the pitch by herself with a borrowed broom. One thing at a time.

Harry Potter

Class finally started. Of course the first one on his schedule was Advanced Potions. The three of them and Neville entered the room well in time, not wanting to start off on the wrong foot. The number of students was smaller than usual, and had people from all four houses. Malfoy, Zabini, Macnair, and Bulstrode upheld the honor of Slytherin. They were already seated and said nothing when Harry and his friends came in. Harry noticed a few Hufflepuffs, but the majority of the class came from Ravenclaw, including Luna Lovegood, who waved merrily at everyone, including the glum Slytherins. Padma Patil nodded, though she looked disappointed that her twin sister Parvati hadn't made it into the class.

Harry was glad he didn't see the Edgecombe girl. Who'd want a sneak like that in a class? Then Snape entered in his usual dramatic fashion, though he sat down for the first of year lecture.

"This is Advanced Potions. Those of you who survive it will go onto Potions Project, which is individual research. For two of the classes per week in here, you will have lectures, demonstrations, and labs as you have in the past, though in spring we will devote that time to group analysis of various unknown substances. For the last class of each week you will have to work together to learn one single, complex potion. In the commercial world, teams are more common than individuals. Half your grade will be on individual work, while the other half will be earned as a team. It will be up to you to plan out the potion, brew the potion, and write a group report about the potion. Any sabotage or laziness will only hurt the grade as a whole for this part."

Harry noticed that some of the students were looking at Hermione and Malfoy, while most of the Ravenclaws were looking at Luna Lovegood and Padma. _Maybe Luna is better than anybody thinks,_ he thought. _I'll have to ask Ginny what she's seen. And she did do most of a year's work in the summer or she wouldn't have gone with Ron yesterday. _

Absolutely everyone, though, was avoiding the corner where Neville Longbottom sat. _If I don't pull my weight, they'll look at me the same way._ Ron seemed nervous, but not as much as he usually did in this class. Harry chewed his quill. Maybe being put into here wasn't such a big favor after all.

Snape continued. "This class is an elective, which means most of you should actually want to be here. I must admit, Mr. Longbottom, to being surprised at your presence."

"Me, too," the Gryffindor said, then looked stunned at what he'd said.

The Potions Master inclined his head, then resumed his lecture. "And Mr. Weasley. I hope you did well enough on your test to stay here. Most of your brothers did so. As for the rest, many of you found it difficult to get here. You will find it all too easy to leave if you do not meet my standards." His eyes rested momentarily on Harry.

He braced himself for the inevitable sneer, afraid this time he might deserve it. He really hadn't done the same work as the others. He was surprised when Snape turned his attention to his precious Slytherins. "I will not tolerate the behavior I often face from younger students in here, and this includes members of my own house," the professor said in a soft, menacing tone. "You will be working with dangerous materials. I cannot make the allowances in here or in Potions Project that I can in lower-level courses."

Draco and the others sat bolt upright. Harry was ready to faint. He'd expected the git to ream in him public for being in the class in the first place, but never thought the man would land on his little darlings like this.

Then Snape wrote the assignment calendar on the board and waited for them to copy it. Once they were done, except for Ron, who printed it slowly, the Potions Master asked review questions. Harry noticed Hermione and Padma, and even Luna, were racing each other to raise their hands. Malfoy wasn't far behind. _Even Draco knows he really has to work this year,_ Harry thought, and knew he'd better do so, too.

"Now, who can tell me anything about the Polyjuice Potion?" Snape asked.

_Ron_ raised his hand. "It smells like a dead cat when it's orange," he said. "And you have to be careful to put in the right kind of hair." Hermione turned red. Malfoy looked as if he was strangling, but didn't say anything. Harry knew it would be wrong to mew.

"Correct. Now, what are some of the ingredients?"

The 'Claws were the first to have their hands in the air. Harry took notes, since he suspected this was going to be on the next quiz.

"Mr. Potter, what can _you_ tell us about Polyjuice Potion?"

"Take off your shoes if you're going to change into someone with bigger feet," Harry blurted out, remembering how his had hurt when he'd changed into Goyle during his second year. _Goyle is the one who's dead_, he thought.

"Practical enough." Snape raised one eyebrow and let a corner of his mouth turned up as he glanced at Hermione, who had a glazed, doomed look in her eyes.

The class continued with the review, though fortunately they moved away from Polyjuice Potion before either of his friends said too much.

However, Harry was not surprised when he heard at the end of the class, "A word with you, Mr. Potter," just as he was about to make his escape.

"Yes, sir," he said. Maybe this time if he smarted off, the Headmaster wouldn't be as sympathetic as he normally was. After all, the whole class could witness that Snape had been more evenhanded than usual. Now it would only be his word against the Potion Master's.

"You are at a considerable disadvantage to the others this year, with the possible exception of Mr. Longbottom. Toward the end of last year you showed that you could do the work if you put your mind to it. I suggest you do so, especially in the class project. I daresay you will be motivated to see it succeed. Even Miss Lovegood is relentless in the pursuit of knowledge, and will lose respect for someone who does not attempt to keep up. Mr. Weasley's work over the summer has clearly borne fruit, though he will have trouble managing his other obligations. I suggest that you not burden Miss Granger more than you must."

Harry gulped. He began to answer angrily, but caught himself before he said anything. This was actually good advice. Last year it didn't matter so much, because everyone in the DA hated Umbridge. It would be hard to keep their respect, though, if he arsed off here. Besides, Snape hadn't made a big deal out of him being in here in the first place. "Yes, sir," he said. "I will try."

"See that you do." With that, Snape handed him a pass and began going through papers.

Harry left, feeling as if he'd just ducked a curse. _I've dropped into one of those parallel universes, I think. Oh well, disaster will strike soon enough. It always does._

The rest of his classes that day also went pretty well. DADA was going to be really good with Lupin here again, who assigned some reading in the Curses and Cures book they had. As he was heading back towards Gryffindor to drop off some books a couple of hours before dinner, he ran into Luna Lovegood in the hallway. "Snape sure let us off easy today," he said.

She blinked. "He's like that in all the classes I've had with him," she said. "It was funny he didn't give or take any points, but this is just the first day. I heard he gets really nasty in some of the other classes, but as long as we pay attention and don't blow anything up he doesn't get _awful_. Well, he didn't last year, anyway. Except that time when the Minister sat in and batted her eyelashes at him the whole time. I probably shouldn't have put the salamander powder in when I did, but it made an awful lot of smoke and she left. He threw a fit then, but none of us could take it seriously." Luna paused for a moment. "Then again, Longbottom is kind of a legend by now. Does he really melt a cauldron a week?"

"Well…" Harry decided he'd better tell the truth. "One time last year he did it twice in one week, but that was mainly because Hermione was sick. It's really only a couple of times a month, but it just seems like more. It would probably be a good idea for him to pick out any plants we need for the group project, because he's really good at Herbology, but well, it might be best if he didn't do any of the actual brewing. He does have really good handwriting. Ron is better than he used to be, but his handwriting is really bad unless he prints."

"I wondered why they let him use a Dictaquill on the test yesterday," Luna said. "But what about you? You made a good point about Polyjuice Potion. I never thought about what it would be like to change to a different size in the same clothes."

"Uh," Harry said with a gulp, "I need to work on it more. You, Padma, Hermione, and I hate to say it, Malfoy will probably mostly be in charge on the group project. Well, maybe Zabini. I don't know him very well. The rest of us will do whatever we're told."

Luna nodded. "Some of us call Granger the Lost Ravenclaw. But she was really brave at the Department of Mysteries. I looked up that curse Dolohov used, and the potions needed for it are really tricky to brew. They have to be keyed to the individual, and made almost right before they're taken if they're going to work at all. She was really lucky."

Harry didn't enjoy hearing that Snape had probably saved Hermione's life after she'd almost lost it because of him. "But you were there, too," he said, hastily changing the subject. "Guess us Gryffs are corrupting the whole school." Except for the Slytherins, of course, but they didn't count. At least with the DA he'd been able to keep them out, even if one of the Ravenclaws had suggested Blaise Zabini as a possible member. He tried to forget that it hadn't been a Slytherin who had squealed to Umbridge.

Luna looked thoughtful. "But we didn't have anybody from Slytherin. You heard what the Headmaster said at the Welcoming Feast about there being four Founders, not three. I noticed something funny the last couple of days. All the first year Slytherins walk around in little groups. You almost never see one by themselves. I think it's always been that way since I came here. Maybe they're scared of us."

"No, they just want to be able to gang up on everyone else," Harry said. True, he'd never heard of first year Gryffindors being attacked, but he'd never been a prefect either. He tried to forget how scared Draco had looked when the four of them had gone into the Forbidden Forest. Maybe he'd heard stories about what happened to Slytherins when they were by themselves.

Now that he looked back, he wondered why Hagrid had left him and the blond boy out by themselves there, even with Fang to help protect them. _Maybe it wasn't right for Hagrid to call Draco a coward for wanting to hold the dog. Maybe Malfoy thought the three of us would beat up on him as soon as Hagrid turned his back. _He was still angry at the way the Slytherin had run away later on, but maybe he'd been stupid himself for not running. Harry still remembered the horror of the dead unicorn and the terrible shape feeding on it. _I would have been toast without Firenze coming by. But what were they thinking to send us out there by ourselves in the first place? Hermione and Ron were all right, but maybe Draco was just being intelligent to want to hold Fang. I dragged Ron out there to see Aragog, and we both nearly died that time, too. _He shook his head, wondering where his brains had been. _Maybe the next time I pull something that stupid, nobody is going to rescue me._ Dumbledore and the Aurors had saved them at the Ministry, and Grawp had come along just in time when Umbridge and the centaurs looked like they were going to flip a coin to see who was going to win the chance to chew him up. But how long would it last?

Maybe the baby Snakes stuck together because they knew nobody was going to rescue them. He'd been like that himself around the Dursleys. He'd never called any of the phone numbers Hermione had sent him even before the Headmaster had told him why he had to stay with his relatives. When was the last time _he_ trusted any adult, besides Sirius or Remus?

He'd never told even Ron or Hermione about Umbridge's quill, as far as that went.

Luna continued to walk placidly by him, apparently not bothered by his lack of attention to her. Then again, she expected others to understand when she spaced out, too. _Only fair,_ Harry thought.

Dobby dashed down the hallway carrying a small tray with a pasty, an apple, and a flask. "Oh, I'm late!" the house elf said to himself.

""Who's that for?" Harry asked.

"Master Severus, Harry Potter. Very sick before school starts, not eat much for long time before. Has to take nasty medicine, too." The elf scrunched up his face.

"Why doesn't he just make it himself?" Luna asked.

"This medicine for making too much potions! And for cleaning up what naughty students do! You looking well, Harry Potter! Don't need potions like this." With that, Dobby ran off.

Luna chewed her lip. "That makes sense. He's been teaching for years and breathing in our mistakes. Dad said all Potions Masters were crazy because of that when I told him how about Professor Snape my first year, and not to mind the fireworks."

Harry remembered how Uncle Vernon grumbled about the cost of the environmental and safety regulations at his plant, and the lawsuits when people got sick anyway (usually from their own stupidity, according to his uncle). It had never crossed Harry's mind working with potions might be just as hazardous as some of the waste spills he'd heard about on the telly. Now he thought about it, Snape was always right in the middle of any mess in class. As far as anybody knew the Potions Master never went out for fresh air except to watch Slytherin play Quidditch.

"That still doesn't help much," Harry said. "He hated me personally from my first day."

"He didn't act like it today."

"Just wait." Harry wondered if the medicine Dobby carried to Snape was helping with that. He would be for sacrificing a goat in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, if it came to that, and knew Neville would help him hold it down.

He and Luna parted as soon as he turned off for Gryffindor Tower. Before he went inside the common room, though, he stopped by Professor McGonagall's office. If the Headmaster hadn't bought him the pensieve, and Lupin hadn't either, maybe his Head of House had—or knew who it was.

When asked, though, she shook her head. "That was a truly splendid gift, Harry, and I'm happy it helped you. You should have the Headmaster teach you how to put memories of your own into it soon. But I wasn't the one who sent it or filled it memories of your parents."

"Do you know who it was?"

"I have a fairly good idea, but it's possible the same person who acquired it isn't the same one who put memories into it." She had a catlike smile.

Harry knew that one. It meant she was going to make him work for the answer. "Which teachers are still here from when Mum and Dad were students?"

"Let's see. Trelawney came after that…and so did Vector, Snape and Sinistra. Professor Flitwick has been here for about as long as I have, as has Professor Binns. I really think you must eliminate the ghosts, however. Gringotts requires ghosts to have a living sponsor for their accounts, and pensieves are rather expensive. Mr. Filch has been here for quite some time, but I'm not certain you'd care for his memories of your father and his friends. Madam Pomfrey and Hagrid were also here at the time, though. Madam Hooch started a couple of years after Professor Snape did. Good hunting."

This was as bad as that rotten logic puzzle with the cups his first year! He thanked her, though not as sincerely as he could, and went to see his friends. He sat down in a corner of the common room with Hermione and Ron and told them what he'd found out. He didn't want to walk all over the school, and thought Hermione at least could eliminate some possibilities.

"Well, it's not the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, or Professor Lupin," she said. "You told us about the wedding. What other memories are in there?"

"Stuff around the school. Quidditch games, some classes, a couple of Mum in the library by herself. A few of the Marauders just walking down the hall."

"Any in the common room here?" Ron asked.

Harry thought about it. "No," he said. "So it's probably not from a student. That's why I thought if it wasn't Lupin, it's from one of the teachers who was around back then. I keep thinking that maybe Sirius put them together for me before he died and meant to give them to me, and that whoever is in charge of his stuff sent it to me on my birthday. But that would be Remus or your mum, Ron, and you'd think she would have said something when I brought it up at the Burrow. Besides, Sirius would have memories of the common room or even the bedroom the four of them shared. I was sort of hoping for a memory of all four out together for the full moon, but there isn't one."

"Well, at least we know they're not from Wormtail!" Ron said.

They all laughed at that. "Unless he's a lot smarter than we think he is," added Hermione. Then she said, "Is there any way your parents could have put these aside and then have them sent to you for your sixteenth birthday?"

"Oh, I wish!" Harry said. "But they would have put in some from Godric's Hollow or maybe my first birthday or something. It is funny there isn't anything from the common room. I'll go see Hagrid. Maybe it was him. He was the one who gave me the photo album of all the pictures he could find. Maybe this time he asked people for memories. That would explain why there were so many inside the school."

Hermione pulled a book into her lap from the stack beside her, a clear sign to him and Ron to either join her or flee to their bedroom to lark about. This time Harry went for schoolwork of his own, even though it wasn't dark yet and he could spend more time on his broom. He'd noticed there were more team projects in his classes this year, and didn't want to let anybody down. Hermione smiled at him approvingly, while Ron groaned and joined them instead of taking off for the Quidditch pitch or setting up his chessboard.

When Longbottom came in, he sat by them as well. "Maybe if I ram this stuff into my head often enough it'll actually stick."

"How do you manage so well with Herbology?" Hermione asked.

That was a good question, Harry thought. Neville was undoubtedly top in the class in that subject. "You could teach us about it," he said. "You have to know a lot about plants to not die in Potions anyway."

"I don't know!" Neville said at first. Then he closed his eyes in thought. "I draw pictures," he said after a moment of silence. He opened his eyes. "They're pretty bad, but they stick. The plant is always in front of you in the greenhouse anyway. I never have trouble as long as I can really see what I'm doing."

"Then how did you get past the OWL in Potions?" Ron asked. "Mum just had me do them over and over till I could feel what to do for each one. I wish I knew how I did!"

Neville looked down at his books. "It was the colors, I think. Everything was laid out like one of Sprout's greenhouses, with related stuff all together. There isn't enough room for me to do that in class. I just have to _remember_ what goes in and in what order and what I do next. Even if I write it down I forget, and when Snape is yelling at me, I can't remember anything!" He took a deep breath. "Today wasn't so bad. If he's like that the rest of the year maybe I'll do better."

"Why can't you draw pictures on your notes?" Ron asked. "I get yelled at all the time for doing it, but it's usually Quidditch diagrams or brooms I like. Maybe the old bat would let stuff about Potions go by."

Hermione nodded. "You could make a map of how things ought to be laid out on a piece of paper, and then follow it from there. Make up a couple of practice ones, maybe, on potions you already know how to do. Try it in class. It might take you longer to get started, but if you don't have to stop to remember what to do next it shouldn't make that much of a difference."

Neville looked startled. "I'll draw it out like one of the greenhouses," he said.

Harry paid close attention as Longbottom made a Potions map for the Harmionia Potion—even Neville hadn't been able to screw that one up—and it was really interesting to see things that way. "Maybe you could even take notes that way," he offered, thinking about doing it himself. Of course, taking good notes in the first place would probably help him anyway.

All their classes were more interesting this year, or so Harry thought as he finished the week, though it was a very short one. Snape had finally taken points from someone, but more as a reminder than a pleasure. The Potions Master had snarled at a few students, but one of them had been a Slytherin.

Harry mentioned the change to Ron and Hermione after the end of their first Friday potions class, where they had been given the ingredient sheet for the group potion.

Ron blinked. "You're right. He actually seemed…well, ok, not happy that I passed the OWL along with Luna, but not pissed off either. And he hasn't insulted you all week. I mean, it's only been three days, but that never stopped him before. He hasn't even called Hermione a know-it-all yet. We ought to take up a collection for Dobby for giving him those potions. Or bring Snape a pudding or two at the beginning of class. Maybe Mum knew what she was doing when she put down that big sandwich for him at Fortescue's. No wonder he was so snarky whenever he was at…er, well that other place, if he wasn't allowed to _eat._"

Harry hated being reminded of that, but didn't say anything. "Too bad we don't have a Time-Turner to go back a few years and make Dobby give him those potions then," he said.

"It makes sense, though," Hermione said. "He's probably had to make some pretty foul things over the year, not counting what we've all done in class. That can affect people's moods. I read a Muggle novel last summer my dad had around called The Gold Crew about a submarine that had the wrong paint inside, and it started making people crazy."

"But with Snape, how do you tell?" Ron asked.

All of them laughed a bit then. "Besides," Hermione continued after, "I've noticed how you've eased up on the backtalk, Harry. You weren't fun to be around for anybody a lot of last year. I know it wasn't your fault, but even we were a little afraid of you for a while, and you're our friend."

"Well, if he leaves me alone, I'll leave him alone," Harry said. It was true that Snape didn't have that peculiarly malicious look in his eye for him so far. Judging by what Dobby had said, and how thin the Potions Master still was, maybe he was just too tired to bother, and things would return to normal as soon as he got well. Harry hoped not. Of course, it would still be nice if he could find absolute proof of Snape's treachery and get him sent to Azkaban, or least booted out of the school, but he was beginning to lose interest in obsessing over it.

Besides, there was another reason for the git to be ill besides the potions he taught. Harry still remembered the vision of the long fingers of one hand around a dagger, the dagger that had stopped him from pushing his way out of the car back from London to his death. Never mind the even worse vision that showed a black-robed limp body that Bella Lestrange and Wormtail kept hexing even after Snape had stopped screaming.

The three of them discussed the Potions homework, and moved on to other stuff after that. The more he could get done right now, the sooner he and Ron could get out of here for Quidditch practice, and the less hanging over them for Sunday.

"Did you make a guess about what the project potion for the year is from the ingredients list?" Hermione asked.

Harry remembered that. He could receive extra credit by identifying the potion from the list, and maybe a few points more if he had a good reason for the guess. He hadn't made one because he didn't have a clue, and he could lose points for a wrong answer.

Both Ron and Hermione looked mysterious. "Well, what do you think?" Harry asked. "I couldn't come up with a thing."

"We're not supposed to say till Monday." Ron tried to look innocent.

"Like that ever stops you!" Harry said.

"And there's no way that I could have missed it," Hermione said ruefully. "I'm surprised he's allowing me to put anything down."

Harry suddenly realized it. "Maybe you aren't the only one who has a copy of those notes," he said, hope welling up. "It's Wolfsbane, isn't it? The one you were afraid you might have to make by yourself this year. If he gave a set to Malfoy, he'd have to stop his favorite from getting extra credit and not just you." But he hoped it was anyway. Lupin would have an easier time of it if more people knew how to make it."

"Maybe it won't be so hard if we all work together on it," Hermione said. "I don't think it's made by a team, or it would be cheaper than it is, but if he can teach it to even just a few of us, then that will show it's not as hard as people think and more will learn how."

Ron hopped around with a smug look on his face. "I guessed it, too!"

Harry congratulated his friend. It felt strange to be outclassed in anything academic by _Ron_, of all people. It wasn't quite like being passed up by Crabbe or Goyle, but it wasn't the usual thing, either. He quietly resolved to study much harder this year—in all his lessons, no matter who taught them.


	36. Chapter 36: Sweet Sunday

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 36: Sweet Sunday

Severus Snape

During the first few days of teaching classes he was utterly exhausted. Without the rest periods mandated by the Ministry, Snape knew he would not have made it through without completely losing his temper. Even sleeping most of the nights instead of spending them patrolling the halls wasn't really enough to restore him. His first morning break was spent mostly sitting by the practice field holding the broom, though he made a few token circuits just to prove he could. He noticed footprints and bent grass in the screened private area, but since Madam Hooch had been serious about her Remedial Broom class, thought little of it.

He dreaded the first Potions class with the sixth years. Snape was relieved to discover it wasn't as bad as he'd anticipated. Even the sight of Harry Potter sitting next to the usual suspects didn't bother him as much. The boy watched him with only his normal wariness from years previous, and not the snarling antagonism from the last one. For his part, he remembered how his own fury had been seen by the boy, never mind the nightmares of his own father and the extra ones this summer of Vernon Dursley.

_Only a boy,_ Severus thought, as he delivered the beginning of the year lecture. _Only a boy, shorter and scrawnier than most his age from being half-starved whenever he's exiled to his relatives,_ he thought. No matter what else the Malfoys had done to him, he'd never lacked for anything to eat once they'd taken him in. He still had a hard time forgiving the Headmaster for continuing to send Potter back to those Muggles.

_Only a boy_. Even at the end of the class he had seen that Mr. Potter was worried about keeping up with his friends, now that Mr. Weasley was paying more attention, and Miss Lovegood apparently holding her own. The boy had obviously long given up keeping in step with Miss Granger. Well, very few could. Severus was glad to see Draco was still trying.

_Only a boy_. Was it really going to be this easy? For a moment he thought the Gryffindor was going to flare up after the end of class, but Snape watched with amazement as Potter actually thought about what he'd heard instead of just reacting. Once the boy was gone, Severus bowed his head over the papers. _I used to snarl at anyone trying to help me, too, because I couldn't believe anyone really cared. In fact, I still do it._ He understood how to deal with that. Potter was like so many he'd taught before. It had taken Dumbledore's nightmare hex for him to see it.

For once Lily's green eyes staring from Potter's face reminded him of his promise, instead of stabbing him through the heart with jealousy. He didn't care if it had been a hallucination brought on by impending death. He _had_ seen her. _I hope I remember,_ he thought.

He was still glad that Albus was going to teach Potter Occlumency first. He didn't know how strong his own walls were now, or even if they existed. Snape was afraid he would have to find out soon.

The first weekend he slept heavily. Though he suspected his potions had more sedative in them than usual, Madam Pomfrey denied it. "You're still catching up from years of not getting enough rest, Severus," she told him when he stopped in just after lunch on Saturday. "And frankly, you look tired yet. I'd tell you to go back to bed if you'd only listen."

"But I will be sitting out in fresh air when I watch the team practice," he said disingenuously. "And it is the first one of the year."

The mediwitch muttered something about men and sports that Snape was careful not to hear too well, and kicked him out of her office.

It was pleasant sitting in one of the bleachers watching his Slytherins fly about, though he became weary faster than he thought. He stuck it out for the usual time, though. Draco and the others would know if he left. From the way a few students looked at him, he knew rumors of his ill health had already circulated.

He made a point to talk to more of the team when they were done than normal, especially Vincent Crabbe. The large, muscular boy still looked lost. Snape was glad he was teamed with Miss Bulstrode this year. She was nearly his height already and dwarfed most others her age. Fortunately her parents had trained her out of slumping. Quidditch was good for her, too, since in her new position size was an advantage. If Mr. Crabbe should turn to the girl for comfort, as long as the proprieties were observed, Severus thought it would do them both good. Perhaps he should ask Miss Parkinson to keep an eye on things. He turned the occasional blind eye to the use of some potions as long as the parties were of age and discreet.

Snape was surprised and rather gratified at how pleased the students were to see him there. He'd never encouraged demonstrativeness in his Slytherins, since the world they would move in usually took advantage of it. Today, though, he enjoyed basking in their welcome, instead of quashing their high spirits for their own good.

After making evening rounds, he retired for the night a little earlier than usual. That night he indulged himself with a long bath instead of a shower. The endless grind of grading homework would not start till Monday, when the first weekend essays would come in. The physical exams had delayed the actual start of classes, but he was not complaining this time. Fortunately only a few of his students had been hurt over the summer. He had already made appointments to see them privately, while his first years were in unusually good shape this year. He didn't have to start the Wolfsbane Potion till the end of next week, with the dark of the moon.

As he prepared for bed, he vaguely wondered why he had yet to be awakened in the middle of the night for some emergency, especially with the younger students. It wouldn't last, of course, but he decided to enjoy it while he could.

Severus warded his bedroom, lit a candle, and took the magazine Filch had found for him out of its wrapper. He looked again at the table with the tokens that everyone in Hogwarts had left for him. Just thinking of how Molly's hand had felt on his in Fortescue's nearly made him gasp with desire. The pictures he found of her, or the woman who looked so much like her a couple of decades ago, in the advertisements in the back turned the surge of lust into a blast of fire. Matters were over before they had properly started, as if he were a boy again, but it didn't hurt to know the potions regime hadn't ruined _all_ his pleasures.

His potion at the evening meal this night had tasted slightly odd, but then they all did. As he cleaned up and climbed under the covers, Severus wondered if there had been a flask scheduled for Saturday nights, but knew Pomfrey would first turn bright red, and then lie to him about it. At this point, he was enjoying the afterglow so much he didn't care.

Snape stretched out and was pleased to have his muscles so relaxed. In a way, he was glad he had no hope. He was inoculated against the rage and despair that had nearly consumed him when Lily had decided to marry his chief tormentor. Yet loving Molly kept him safe from other temptations the Dark Lord might offer—and the ones that assailed any man when faced with female students, some of whom were quite frank about doing _anything_ to improve their grades. Even he, ugly as he was, had been offered forbidden fruit at times over the years.

He was better off like this, armored with another love. Far better.

Severus slept later than he expected on Sunday as well, and discovered he'd missed the first 'committee' meeting. That could be for the best. His godson would have to learn to manage people without the backing of other authority, and now was as good a time to practice it as any. Snape stopped in the common room, bade a brisk good morning to those students already conscious, and ate more heartily than he was used to in the Great Hall.

Snape cornered Draco afterwards, just as the boy was on his way to the Quidditch pitch, and found the first meeting had gone well as they spoke in his heavily warded office. "I haven't found a way to invite Miss Edgecombe yet," the boy said. "I suspected why you chose the others, and when I asked Vince to go to the kitchen I confirmed it. It…it was a bit awkward at first, because we were all afraid of what would happen if any of the others discovered that we had been, er, weak like Greg. Once Vince was back, we started talking Quidditch, and when we could get together to practice the um, other spells we were taught over the summer."

"Good. Mr. Crabbe will have to be brought in once you're certain of him. People are too used to seeing a Malfoy with a Crabbe and a Goyle, and to break with him would be talked about. Also, I feel his loyalty is to you more than to anyone else."

"Can't you, um, tell?"

"Not with your friend. Most people leak their thoughts like the Wireless in bad weather. Mr. Crabbe, however, is one of those whose minds are a blank, at least from the outside. And yes, I know what _you're_ thinking about that. I believe he is still upset enough about Mr. Goyle's death that he would be quite reluctant to betray you, or the others. People with his special talent are often the best choice for a Secret-Keeper."

He could see the wheels revolve in Draco's head. "I'll have to have a private talk with him," the blond Slytherin said. "It's going to be difficult to keep things hidden without one."

"We know the consequences will be if we don't," Snape said. He almost flinched when he saw the sympathy in the young man's eyes.

"I know," said Draco. "We all do. It's not a game any more."

"It never was." With that, Snape sent his godson off to the pitch and went to a small sitting room next to his office. He made up some hot chocolate. He suspected that Dumbledore did the same with one of his bowls of lemon drops. Some of his first year students, even at their age, would recognize the effects of a full dose of Veritaserum. But one drop per child only loosened the tongue somewhat, while essence of chamomile warmed the soul and helped the children trust him enough to tell him the truth without feeling they had been forced into it.

The first years filed in, one hour after lunch, just as they were supposed to. Some of them had older brothers and sisters who had told them about the ritual. How much of what they knew was the truth was anybody's guess.

He had them sit at the small table with their cups of chocolate and slowly drink them. He also sat down with his own cup. He didn't want them afraid of him for this.

"I know some of you are finding Hogwarts confusing, in spite of, or perhaps because of, what you've been told. You don't have to face it alone. Please sit with those in your assigned study groups now." Everyone rearranged themselves. "I will want you sitting like this at every meal from now on. I have noticed that most of you are moving from class to class this way, and I am very pleased. It is much more difficult to get lost when in a group like this. Has everyone met their assigned prefects yet?"

They raised their hands. Good. That part was going well, anyway. "Next Sunday, I want everyone to tell me if your group is all right the way it is, or some members are not getting along well. I will interview each of you privately then as well as today, so do not fear any problems from telling the truth. You will need to be friends with each other for the next several years, so I know how important it is for things to start out right."

He listened to them chatter. A few looked sullen or blank. Two of the groups hit it off right away, while the other two seemed in flux yet. He made mental notes of who looked the unhappiest.

Then Severus went to his office and called each student in for a private interview. The small amount of Veritaserum in each child's cup ought to be working by now.

Two of his students received extra attention. Pomfrey had already healed their injuries, which were of a suspicious nature, and had made records of what she could find out about previous ones. At least none of the first-years appeared to have been raped or other abused that way this time. He would have to make time to see one fourth-year girl, however, who apparently had not been so lucky. Snape always had nightmares after trying to deal with such students. There were many other ways to hurt children, and he'd learned a lot of them over the years.

As he talked with these first years he was surprised, though he probably shouldn't have been, that a girl who seemed the most cheerful was worried about the way her older brother accidentally disturbed her when she was dressing.

_That_ would stop. Snape knew the family, especially the father, and had witnessed the man's conduct with Muggles. The boy had been warned before about his attempts to enter the girls' side of the Slytherin dormitory. _Perhaps I ought to ask his family if they've arranged his marriage,_ he wondered. _Or allowed him to find out which waitresses in Hogsmeade are the most cooperative._ The boy in question was a fifth year, but Orasmus Eddington was about to become the focus of more attention than he wished. Better a squalid little affair with oh, say, Mrs. Emmet at Madam Puddifoot's, than a scandal that would require letters home. Such things were easier to manage than when a parent was involved. Miss Eddington would also learn some special little hexes normally taught to older students.

As he spoke with the first year students, he remembered what Narcissa had told him about the Walshes. Miss Drusilla Walsh would require some supervision. She still mourned her father, dead in the Ministry raid, and didn't understand why her mother appeared to be celebrating instead. Snape could enlighten her, and would later on, but the girl's grief was still too fresh. He contented himself with generalities instead when he spoke to her privately. "Divorce is quite rare in the Wizarding World, especially among pureblood families. Rather than embarrass you or your brothers, she decided to bravely carry on though it's clear now that she was unhappy with her marriage. Of course you miss your father, Miss Walsh, but he may not have been as kind to your mother as he was to you. I am sorry she appears to neglect you, but she will likely settle down in a few months, and be glad to see you at Christmas and in the spring. The other members of your study group have also lost relatives recently. It would be wise to stay together, especially since other students may say ugly things about how some of them died. You can comfort each other, since you will all know how hard things are for you."

She blinked back tears. "I didn't think of that. I just knew that Mother was a Wilmington and Wilmingtons aren't supposed to like the Elfhams…"

Severus tried not to roll his eyes. Rose Elfham had probably been told the same thing about Wilmingtons. "At Hogwarts all family feuds are to be left aside."

"I remember, Papa told Mother that once when she was doing invitations for a party. He said that um, _he_ said that too."

"And quite properly," Snape said. "Besides, you are a Walsh, and when you marry, you will become part of another family. I think I have a copy of the Prophet with the list from your mother's last party, and recall seeing an Elfham there, too. Now, isn't it silly to carry on a grudge when even your mother has given it up?"

Miss Walsh smiled a little then. "Is…is it all right if I make friends outside the House? There's a girl in Potions who's really nice, but she's a Hufflepuff and scared of Slytherins."

Sprout had asked to put some of her first years into the class normally reserved for Slytherins and Gryffindors, ostensibly to even out the numbers as the Sorting Hat had put more in her House this year than usual. Snape had been for a more even mixing for years, but of course the Headmaster wouldn't hear of it from him—however, Sprout had blackmail material of her own from years past she didn't mind using, or so she had told him just after school began. "My darlings are in no danger there except possibly from their own stupidity," she had said in Snape's hearing while talking to Albus. "There is absolutely no sense in making one class much smaller or larger than the others."

He should have expected at least one cross-house friendship out of the experiment, and perhaps he ought to be glad of it. Snape answered her question. "It's quite all right to make friends outside of Slytherin, Miss Walsh. To be honest, it's a trend I would like to encourage. There are pureblood families in all the houses."

'But she's a Mudblood!" the girl wailed.

"Ah." He tried to decide how to encourage the friendship without his words coming back to haunt him. "We need to learn more about the Muggle world, for obvious reasons. But don't leave out your study group. In fact, your friends here can help this other girl learn more about the Wizarding World. Do you know they don't have any house elves?"

Miss Walsh looked unable to comprehend such a thing.

"It's possible she might even be afraid of them," Snape said. "Your new friend might not know about a number of things which are common here. You could help her a great deal. In turn, she will likely give you much assistance in Muggle Studies in a year or so, which I believe is going to become a required class. Think of how much you and your group can find out about the Muggle world this way. Your grades will be much higher, I suspect."

The first-year looked much happier. "Oh, I thought you would yell at me," she said.

"If you neglect your Slytherin friends for others, I might talk to you rather sternly," he said. "Oh, yes, and one last thing. I'm certain your mother has done her duty with you, or perhaps one of the older house elves, but if you or any of the other girls begin to experience what is often called 'growing up', please go see Madam Pomfrey. She will be glad to help you find the proper supplies and has the potions needed."

Miss Walsh looked blank. He sighed. _Not again,_ he thought. _I should be used to this by now._ "When you have any bleeding start, for instance," he ventured.

Her eyes went wide. "From where?"

"In your underwear. This is not a dread disease, though to hear some women one might think so, but a normal part of becoming a young woman." At least he'd done the Talk often enough he didn't actually feel like crawling under the desk now.

"Oh! The curse!"

"Yes. That's what many women call it. Again, please go to Madam Pomfrey when it starts. Please encourage the rest of your study group to do the same." Despite this exhortation, some of the girls still came to him for potions anyway. He supposed he was resigned to it after all these years.

Miss Walsh left in a much happier frame of mind than when she came in. The rest had their problems too. Unfortunately the sullen boy from Knockturn Alley didn't trust him yet. Snape hoped it wouldn't take till Christmas as it had for some students in the past.

For a brief moment he sat in the office after the last one had left before he returned to the group. He imagined a short, thin boy with dark hair, glasses, and green eyes walking in and gradually giving up his secrets about the Dursley household over several weeks' worth of Sunday afternoons with hot chocolate. _I could have done so much,_ he thought regretfully. Instead he had wallowed in spite and malice without knowing the facts.

Well, he had made a beginning this week. For once the Potter boy had actually listened to what he'd said instead of automatically striking back. Perhaps he ought to content himself with that small victory for now.

Snape returned to the room as the sugar began to put the children into a hyperactive state, and dismissed the first years to run about the grounds and exhaust themselves. The good weather wouldn't last much longer, and they may as well take advantage of it while they could.

Once they left, he saw an older girl standing in the shadows. He wondered who it was this time. Many Slytherins remembered their time in first year as a safe haven compared to later, and dropped by to experience it again if only as an observer.

Marietta Edgecombe stepped out and shyly greeted him. He was glad to have permission from Madam Lestrange to help the girl, though he would have found some way without it. Snape knew better than to advise the girl to see her Head of House instead. Part of him was still unhappy that Flitwick had seemed so eager to wash his hands of her.

"Miss Edgecombe," he said courteously. "Is there a problem I can help you with?" Since she wasn't in Potions this year, she was going to have difficulty coming up with a reason to visit the dungeons.

"I don't know," she said, glancing around to make sure nobody was around. "I wish—I wish I hadn't come back to school. None of my old friends want anything to do with me, though Cho sent me a charm to take the boils off if I hadn't found another way earlier. The professor—I mean, Professor Flitwick—he must have known it, too."

"I cannot argue with his level of expertise," Snape said neutrally. "Sit down, Miss Edgecombe." He felt like fixing her a cup of chocolate as well. "I see you have found a way to wear short sleeves in this warm weather. However, your friends are likely to notice continual use of magic if you must use the same charm all the time."

She sat in one of the chairs. "It will fade, won't it?"

"Yes. But it will also darken. I suggest you research alternative methods. In Slytherin, it is common for students to conceal injuries from visits home, and thus few ask too many questions. In your house, especially after your visit to Madam Pomfrey at the beginning of this year, that isn't an option."

She brightened. "The new catalog from Zonko's has fake tattoos that get up and walk around. I heard the twins are going to do the same, only with house designs. If I can figure out how they work, or play with Padma's henna patterns…"

He nodded. "You might wish to encourage others to wear them first, so it appears as if you are only following a fad, rather than starting one. As for winning the others over…" He had to think about it. Snape didn't know the Ravenclaw social structure well. "Is Miss Lovegood still having problems with people taking her things?"

"I can't believe they're starting it so early! At least I'm not doing it this year." She hung her head.

"Then become her protector when others are cruel to her. When she's with the Gryffindors, her cousins will probably leave her alone, but they'll make up for it when her other friends aren't around." He knew how that worked. Next year should be easier for the strange girl, as most of her relatives were in seventh year.

"But…but she knows what I did!"

"She is also…unusually forgiving, I believe."

"But I'm a Death—"

"Miss Edgecombe, I think we both know how you truly feel," he said in a low voice. "Both on a Sunday morning and then again late on a Friday evening. You are in terrible danger if you cannot hide your true feelings, especially at meetings, but I'm certain you know that already. However, it will be easy to justify a friendship with Miss Lovegood to those same people. The Quibbler has a great deal of influence with a small segment of the Wizarding World. Becoming helpful to the owner's daughter will be seen as intelligent.

"Miss Lovegood is also friends with others that certain people would like more information about. Once they realize this, you will be asked many questions. I suggest you have appropriate answers. If you have trouble formulating them, you may come to me for advice.

"As to your own problem with other Ravenclaws, any assistance you give Miss Lovegood will shame most of the perpetrators and help them see you in a new light. You will have some unpleasant months ahead, but if you persevere, you will see an improvement in your social standing. Also, from the contact I have had with the girl, I suspect you will enjoy your association with her. She thinks oddly even for one of your house and thus will offer stimulation to your own intelligence.

"I wish you had made an O on your Potions OWL. You would have more reason to visit the dungeons. Mr. Malfoy wishes to form a dueling club, and would like to include people from all the houses in it. However, I commend you on finding your way here without making noise and being observed by others. Which hallway did you use?"

"The one by the portrait of the Crazy Nun," she said. "Everyone knows about that one, but when it splits we usually take the left hand one, because that exits right by the pear to get into the kitchens. The right hand way smells funny, but the big spider in it likes Ice Mice and lets me through whenever I give it one."

Snape knew about old Oswald, of course, since he used that passage whenever he needed a quick shortcut to Ravenclaw Tower, or as a student had simply wanted to hide from the Marauders when he'd first discovered it.

He nodded in approbation. "One consequence of helping Miss Lovegood will be that word will get back to those in charge of the DA. Miss Granger won't believe it at first, but eventually she will if you pay no attention and keep on with it anyway. I do not suggest attempting to make friends with her again. But anything that makes her doubtful about what she did last year will be a help."

"As if I want to go anywhere near her again!"

"I don't blame you. But I have seen her champion the most unlikely people. Learning she is capable of being wrong and having to change her mind is something that she needs to experience. At present, she is in danger of developing a severe sense of self-righteousness. I would find that unfortunate." If the Granger girl could lecture the others at Grimmauld Place on their treatment of Kreacher, of all things, she was capable of much more than she was showing at present. It was frightening how he trusted a Gryffindor's sense of justice.

"I'll try, Professor," she said, then left. Snape glanced down the hall to make sure she was not observed, then forced himself to take his next potion along with the dish of pudding Winky brought him.

Maybe Poppy had been right about the mood enhancers. He had been less prone to rage lately, and under circumstances when he usually erupted, too. Normally he felt like hexing everything in sight after the first set of interviews with these children, especially when he learned how badly some of them had been treated. Instead, he felt some anger but was still able to think clearly. In fact, he'd done his best to give good advice to the Ravenclaw girl when in past years he would have ordered her back to her own Head of House.

Albus had been right, too. He did need this crutch. How annoying the old man's smug look would be when he finally admitted it, too.

Snape decided to take his dinner in his rooms. He was tired, and wanted to rest. _Next week I'll start having Sunday dinner with Draco,_ he thought, looking forward to the treat. _Besides, Albus won't complain too much when I present myself to his office later this eveningto have my walls tested. I've been lucky I haven't been summoned already._

Harry Potter

It was Saturday morning, and at last it was time for Quidditch practice—and freedom! Harry barely felt the crisp autumn breeze that announced the changing of the seasons. He soared through the air after the practice Snitch, and was pleased that boxing had apparently kept his reflexes sharp. It was delightful to see Ginny fly alongside him trying to grab the tiny golden creature before he could. She was good, almost as good as he was, and it was like they were dancing in the air with each other. He caught it first, but just barely, and then had to duck a practice Bludger as well. It hit Ginny instead, but she grimly hung onto her broom and landed properly anyway.

"Go to the infirmary, Ginny," Ron said.

"It doesn't hurt that much." Her face was flushed.

"Go anyway. I want you in top shape all year. What if you'd done this right before a game? Harry might get knocked off his broom and you'd have to go in against Malfoy or Chang. Crabbe and Goyle aren't a team any more, but we don't have Fred and George to keep them in line, either."

Ginny obeyed, but reluctantly. Ron was team captain as well as her brother. Then Harry did some Bludger-dodging practice of his own. He had fun catching them when he could and sending them back barehanded, just to see the others scramble. There was no rule against it he knew of.

They finished just before the Slytherins came on and went to lunch. Madam Hooch had decided to leave at least an hour between team practice times, even though that made for some interesting schedules. It made sense, though—some practices did run over, and in the past there had been lots of arguments about clearing the field for the next set of players. Harry thought it was overkill for Hooch herself to come out and make sure everyone left, but maybe it was a good idea. It would take less time for each team to get started if there weren't any scuffles over the last team hanging on.

The noon meal was good. He looked around for Hermione, though, and didn't see her. Parvati Patil said, "She went out somewhere with a broom in her hand this morning and I haven't seen her back yet. Maybe she's just riding around from here to the library and back to get used to flying again."

That could be. Harry worried that she was going to be on the screened practice pitch the same time that the Slytherins were out there, though, and muttered something about it to Ron. His friend looked worried, too. "I've got an idea," Harry said quietly. Then he spoke up. "Hey, Ron. Why don't we all stick together after this and work on our homework here at the table after it's cleaned off? That way we can have all of tomorrow for slagging off." Besides, this way he would have some of it done before his first Occlumency lesson with the Headmaster tomorrow morning—and they would all be together if Hermione needed help.

Ron grumbled, but thought it was a good idea. If nothing else, they could figure out what they didn't understand, and get more help on Sunday when they still had time to fix it. The rest of the team groaned out loud as well, but all of them came back with their books and papers to the Great Hall, though one of the elves asked them to use a different table. Not a single one skived off. Harry thought that was amazing.

Ginny came back from the infirmary, then rushed off for her schoolwork, too. "I'd be an idiot not to take advantage of this," she said as she arrived not much later than everybody else. "A lot of you have taken your OWLs already, and maybe you'll explain stuff to me. Nothing against Hermione, but she doesn't understand why I don't get things that are blindingly obvious to her."

Harry smiled. For a little while he could pretend the team was just one big family. He supposed he ought to think of Ron's sister more highly than he did, but he knew what he'd felt for Cho Chang. Though Ginny was far prettier than she'd been, he didn't look at her the same way. He'd been such an idiot around Cho! But how could he blame her for dumping him?

"Finite incantatem!" Ron whispered at him.

"What?"

"You looked like you had a Confundus on you, mate," his friend said.

"Oh. Erm. Thinking about Cho."

"Same thing," Ron replied.

Harry paid more attention to his work after that. There was a lot of talk and a few paper airplanes magically enhanced to sail further than usual, but almost everyone kept on track.

"Who knows three uses for lungwort?" Dean Thomas asked out loud. Several people shouted answers, though Harry wasn't sure any of them were right.

An hour or so later, Hermione stopped by and joined the mob. Harry was glad to see she was all right, and moved over so she could sit between him and Ron. "How's the flying going?" he asked.

"Could be worse. I can make it to the library in much less time. Madam Pince was a little upset at first, but I just asked her where I could put the broom where I could get it back later, and she showed me a little closet with a broom-rack in it. Apparently there was a fad for flying to classes and such, but they put a ban on it when things got out of hand. But she told me that it might be lifted for the Remedial Broom class."

"That's neat," Harry said. "I thought you might have gone to that little practice field at the same time the Slytherin Quidditch team was there."

"I did, but Professor Snape was in the stands keeping an eye on things, so I didn't worry. I wasn't there that long anyway."

Harry gave up. Hermione was always so careful, except about Snape. He'd never understand it.

She looked around at the academic chaos. "This is a really good idea."

Then people started asking her questions, and Harry wondered how long she would stick it out. She began looking tired after only a half hour or so of being on the hot seat.

Ron said loudly, "Hermione, aren't you supposed to be on patrol today? Not that we hold being a prefect against you, but how can we plot mischief with you sitting right here?"

She flashed him a smile and left to a mixed chorus of cheers and boos, probably to go lie down. "Maybe she should take some of that potion she had this summer," Ron said once she was out of the Great Hall.

Harry nodded. It hurt him every time he was reminded of the raid on the Department of Mysteries. How many of his friends still had nightmares about it? Or were still sick at times because of the trap he'd led them into?

After an hour or so longer, Seamus announced, "I don't know about you, but I'm done, at least till tomorrow. My brain is oozing out of my ears—"

"Which is actually pretty normal for you," Ginny quipped.

"Ok, that's true enough, but I just don't care about Fluxion Charms any more," he retorted.

There was general agreement and a mass departure. It was still light enough to get a little time in the air, and the Slytherin practice should be over by now, so Harry spent the last hour before dinner up on his broom.

That night he had a peculiar dream. He stood in the Forbidden Forest in the light of a full moon. Harry glanced about cautiously, as centaurs, giant spiders, or even Dementors could find him there.

Then he heard a wolf howl, answered by the bark of a dog. _Oh!_ Harry thought. _Maybe there's a memory I didn't find!_ _I want to see them in the moonlight, I want to see Prongs and Padfoot and Moony, and even Wormtail when it's like this. Maybe it's in the pensieve and trying to get in my memory through a dream._

He eagerly walked towards the sounds. A stag bounded past, as glorious as the Patronus he'd called in his first third year. It was followed by a wolf, and then by a black dog with a rat grimly clinging to the collar. _It is them, it is,_ he thought through tears of grief. _But they're almost all gone now. They weren't as wonderful as I thought they were, but it's just so wrong for them to be gone._

As if the horrible memory he'd seen about Snape had come into his dream, he saw the Marauders were chasing a bat. It was barely staying ahead, somehow unable to fly high enough to escape its enemies. Then a huge eagle owl swooped down at the other animals and gave the bat time enough to get away. The Marauders backed off, except for the stag, which fought the huge pale owl's beak and talons with his prongs. After a bit of this the eagle owl wheeled off into the forest. Harry breathed easier when he saw the other animals run off in some other direction.

Then he looked up into the sky when he heard a high, squeaking sound. The owl had rescued the bat only to seize the dark creature for himself, and now carried it off towards a monstrous serpent further off in the forest.

Harry was afraid he was beginning to understand. _If Snape is the bat, then who is the owl?_ His heart sank as he realized Malfoy always received his letters and packages from home from the same kind of bird.

He rooted for the bat, especially when it escaped from both the owl and the serpent that nearly devoured it. The owl, now rather obviously upset, flew at _him_, while the giant snake began to slither in his direction. Harry grabbed his broom just in time to get away. He didn't realize he had the Firebolt with him till he needed it, but wasn't complaining.

He woke up, his head pounding, though his scar didn't bother him that much this time. The owl _was_ different than regular ones, he realized. The one in his dream had icy grey eyes and silver feathers. _If owls had canes, I bet I know what his would look like,_ he thought.

Harry dressed, ate some breakfast, and went up to the Headmaster's office after fetching his pensieve.

Dumbledore seemed happier than he was the last time, and offered him a lemon drop right away. He told the older wizard about his dream.

The Headmaster looked sad for a moment. "Don't talk about this with your friends, Harry. Some secrets belong to others."

The Gryffindor gazed down at the floor. "I remember Mrs. Weasley saying it didn't matter if Snape had to do the can-can last year to find out what the Order needed to know, and Black shouldn't have ragged him about it." He paused. "I remember the way Malfoy—the older one—looked at Snape at Mum and Dad's wedding." It was beginning to dawn on him what kind of relationship the Potions Master and Draco's father could have had, and his breakfast threatened to come up.

"It's far more complicated than you imagine," Dumbledore said.

Harry thought for a moment. In the memory in the pensieve, Malfoy was looking at Snape. According to Aunt Petunia, Snape was eating his heart out over Lily. How far had the Slytherin gone to get information? Had his godfather been right with his nasty cracks? It gagged him to think of the dark man as some kind of victim, but he was having trouble avoiding it. "I bet my friends and I aren't the only ones who're glad Malfoy is in prison," he hazarded.

The Headmaster sighed. "I can't say anything about this, Harry. Again these are secrets that you do not need to know, nor to circulate rumors about in school. Lives hang on this, and not just Professor Snape's. I know you can be trusted. There's a certain nickname you found out last year, and which I have yet to hear around school, despite your godfather's fondness for it. We were all pleasantly surprised under the circumstances, frankly."

"What my father and his friends did was wrong," Harry said, blinking back tears knowing Sirius was gone. "But I miss thinking of him the way I used to. Why didn't anyone ever tell me? I thought for years Snape was out of his mind to hate my father the way he did. That made me believe he was wrong about everything else, too, and so I didn't listen when he tried to tell me stuff, especially last year. He was right about a lot of things. It wasn't fair to either one of us."

Dumbledore bowed his head. "We only wanted to let you have some happiness, Harry, after all you'd been through."

"But it didn't work. He thought I was an idiot and I thought he was crazy. And he's been right all along. No wonder he gripes about favoritism and me being pampered, because here it's true. You have let me break the rules when anybody else would have been expelled. You do it for other Gryffindors like Fred and George. I thought Hermione was nuts when she yelled at us over Montague, but maybe she was right about that, too.

"I've done some really stupid things because I keep thinking I'm always going to be rescued. I never backtalk Uncle Vernon the way I did Umbridge or Snape last year. I took my friends to the Ministry last year to rescue Sirius. I didn't say it to myself out loud, but I guess I expected you or somebody to show up when things went bad. My godfather is dead because I was stupid. Hermione almost died.

"I don't know, it's like that goose Hagrid fattens every year on anything it wants to eat, because it's going to be part of a feast…"

"Harry…" The old wizard looked alarmed.

"No, wait. It's not just me. Snape's done things that would get most teachers sacked, but you've kept him on anyway. Are we both going to be served up to Voldemort?"

The Headmaster smiled sadly. "I hope it's not going to be like that. I am tired of burying people I love. You've endured things no child should to make you strong enough to survive. Professor Snape knows the risks and is willing to pay the price. Believe me when I say there will be a time when Tom Riddle is no longer a menace. You will be able to just be Harry Potter and decide for yourself what your life will be."

Harry noticed Dumbledore hadn't said anything about Snape. No wonder the Potions Master was bad tempered, knowing he was being sacrificed for people who didn't give a Knut for him. Maybe Snape knew a prophecy about him, too, and didn't like it. But Harry nodded, and pretended to believe what he was told about his own survival. Sometimes sugarcoating things didn't help. At least his pensieve had only happiness in it. He ran his hand on the smooth lid, gaining comfort just by its presence.

"You need to learn to use one properly," the Headmaster said, obviously happy to change the subject. "Having one is part of being an Occlumens, especially when facing someone like Tom. Memories he can use to hurt you or force you to do what he wants can be stored there. Professor Snape did try last year, Harry. That's why some memories about your father were tucked in mine, because he really did want the lessons to go well. Clearly his methods did not suit your level, but he _did_ try."

_And I didn't,_ Harry finished.

The older wizard continued. "Unfortunately, having to find that sort of memory forces one to relive it, so the process wasn't as helpful as either one of us hoped. This morning I'll show you how to place a memory in yours and how to retrieve it as well."

"That's something I wonder about," said Harry. "Once you've let go of a memory like that, how do you know you have it when you have to go looking for it?"

"You still remember that whatever it was actually happened, but you just don't have the details any more," Dumbledore said. "It's not like an _Obliviate_ or other Memory Charm." Then he demonstrated how to take a thought or memory already inside and then pull it back.

It turned out to be a simple process. Harry just hadn't known the proper spell. He chose a few meaningless memories to store elsewhere, took them out, put them into his pensieve, and then brought them back into his mind without much trouble.

That was it for the first lesson. He'd expected a bit more, really. "If it's so important that I learn this, shouldn't we go a bit faster?"

"We tried that last year," the Headmaster said.

"Oh." Harry knew it was his own fault he was being treated like a child now. _So this is what Remedial Occlumency is about,_ he thought flippantly as he left the office.

There was still time till lunch, so he went to Hagrid's, passing by the Quidditch pitch where Ravenclaw was practicing. He waved at Cho, but she didn't see him.

As it turned out, the groundskeeper hadn't given him the pensieve either. "You know I can't do that kind of magic, Harry," the giant said. "But it must be better than the photo album! Oh, the memories I have of them!"

Harry wanted to teach Hagrid, but knew his friend wasn't supposed to have a wand, and didn't want him to get in trouble in case that little pink umbrella was still around. "You don't have to pretend all of the memories you have are that great," he said. "I know Dad wasn't always nice to people. Mum tried to stop him once I know of. Even Sirius admitted it when I asked him, and Remus, too."

He'd been so sure that Snape had asked for what he got, but his godfather hadn't mentioned anything the Potions Master had done when confronted, and Harry knew Sirius would have if there had been anything. The year before, Sirius had made comments about Snape and 'that nasty little gang of Slytherins', but when Harry had asked about the incident, nothing like that had been said at all. "My saying how great Dad was all the time—no wonder Snape always looked so upset, if he thought I knew what really went on."

Hagrid looked sad. "I don't like remembering stuff like that. Even if it was Snape, it still wasn't right. If he could make it here, though, he was safe enough. You'd think his own mates would have stood up for him, but they didn't lift a finger till he finally gave in…oops. Shouldn't have said that."

Harry sipped his tea. If his dad and his friends only got a slap on the wrist for trying to kill him, even if they changed their minds at the last minute, why _should_ the greasy git trust the school about anything? Why not go with the people you knew? _It's amazing that he's against Voldemort at all. If he is, of course. But why make people hate him all the time?_

He promised Hagrid to bring Ron and Hermione with him next time, then went back to the Great Hall to eat. Hermione was lost in a book again while she ate, but Ron was full of Quidditch strategies. "I want to bring Ginny in as Keeper every once in a while, Harry," his friend said. "I talked to Madam Hooch and she said that she should go in as a substitute every once in a while in a real game, and not just when the reserves are playing each other."

"As often as I'm in the infirmary anyway, she'll get all the time she wants, probably." He was glad to eat real food instead of pretending to chew on Hagrid's rock cakes. "But we'd better have someone trained to play Chaser then, for when she does go in for me."

"Good point," Ron said around a mouthful of food. He swallowed. "Say, Hermione, ready for some more broom practice? I promise we'll take it easy."

"You'd better. This stuff doesn't taste nearly as good coming up as going down," she said, turning a page, then going after another forkful of pasta. "After that I have to study. With this stupid Remedial Brooms class and practice, and Madam Pomfrey wanting me to rest more, I don't have as much time as I thought I was going to, even though my schedule's easy this year."

"Have you ever considered doing just the assignment and not three times as much?" Ron asked with a cautious air.

Hermione gave him a Glare of Death, almost as good as one of Snape's. Then she sighed. "If I could write what I know in the feet assigned, I would! If only I knew how to boil it down."

"I dunno. Mum said if I said what the question was, what the answer was, and then showed why it was right before the end, then I'd have better grades. She said it looked on my essays like I threw random bits of knowledge at the wall and hoping some of it would stick."

Harry almost had pumpkin juice go up his nose. He would have laughed out loud, except Ron's method sounded suspiciously like his own whenever he was running late or would rather be doing something else.

Hermione sighed. "I hate not to explain _everything_ when I write an essay. There's always so much more to the question than it looks at first. But you're right, I need to shorten some of it or I'll never manage it all. Maybe your mum is right. And maybe this stupid broom class wasn't such a bad idea after all. I end up with some good ideas going around the practice course. Flying doesn't bother me so much when I'm thinking of something else."

Ron looked concerned. "'Mione, you have to pay more attention! I swear, if you could think of a way to read while on a broom, you would!"

She just grinned.

Harry said, "Don't give her any ideas, Ron! We'd better go while the weather is still decent. Those clouds look like they might move in tonight."

They all went to the practice course behind the trees and ran Hermione through a few drills. Harry was glad to see she was a bit further off the ground than before. As much as Ron obviously wanted to turn Hermione into another player, Harry thought helping her not to be afraid of flying was the best they'd probably do.

As they walked back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione asked, "Have you found who gave you the pensieve?"

"No," said Harry. "It wasn't Hagrid, either. Was it one of you?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Mum would have given it away somehow if it'd been her or Dad."

"Well, it probably wasn't any of the Marauders or a student," Hermione said. "You would have had something from the common room or maybe even the bedroom. It wasn't from your parents, because they would have had something from when you were a baby. You already told us it wasn't the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, or Hagrid.

"And it probably wasn't a teacher anyway, since some of the memories are in different classrooms or the library. Were there any memories from the infirmary?"

"No," Harry said, and wondered why she asked. "Oh, wait. So it probably wasn't Madam Pomfrey, either," he said as he figured it out.

"Hey, what about Filch?" Ron joked.

They all had a good laugh over that one. "The only thing I can think of, Harry," said Hermione, "is to go through each memory and see if there's one person in all of them. You can make a list."

"That makes sense," he said. "I wish I'd thought of it." It wasn't going to be much of a sacrifice to look at them all like that.

Ron and Hermione talked some more as they walked, while Harry thought. _Memories. It would be fun to have extra happy ones to look at whenever things were bad. Maybe I ought to add some of mine to the pensieve as part of my practice._

He looked at his friends as they walked up the steps to their tower. _This moment, now, could be one of them._


	37. Chapter 37: Walls

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Authors note: the idea for the posting of point schedules was borrowed from "Vector's Challenge" by Kayla Rudbek (and when the heck are you going to update, anyway?). It's probably been used in other fics, but I first noticed it in that one.

Sorry to be late—spent the last week in Las Vegas watching shows and seeking a slot machine that would be nice to me.

Chapter 37: Walls

Albus Dumbledore 

The Headmaster was pleased to see Severus come through the door of his office and sit. The Potions Master might be summoned soon. His friend had to learn to raise what walls he could—and know how to lower them as well.

He was not so pleased to notice how still Snape sat, as if hoping a predator would pass him by. After a moment, during which he greeted the man and offered the inevitable lemon drop, Albus realized why. Terrible thing had happened to Severus in here at his own hands. He ought to count it a miracle the younger wizard was here at all. Fortunately there was an alternative. "Severus," he said, "it's such a pleasant evening and we should enjoy it. We'll have to button up the place soon enough when the season changes. Follow me."

He led Snape out through his personal quarters to a balcony. One wave of his wand made an opening and a set of steps appear that led down into a garden. Dumbledore walked down with the other wizard behind him. "We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," he said. "I would like to test your barriers because you may be summoned soon, but that's all." Albus sat down in one of the chairs in this charmed garden, while a second one magically appeared. "The wards here are as strong as those in my office. It will be quite safe for you if you decide to try to lower your mental walls or relax them entirely."

Severus eyed the chairs, and the small table which had also added itself in, as if they were charmed dice. He gingerly sat down.

Dumbledore felt impatience, but reined it in. Trust had to be earned, especially after how badly he'd treated Snape.

Tea and crumpets rose up out of the table, along with the cream and sugar dishes. Severus poured, though his hand shook a little. "It…it is nice out here."

Indeed, it was. The lingering warmth of the fading afternoon and the deepening twilight gave an air of tranquility to the small pocket garden, which was laden with plants offering peace. Albus wished the clouds had waited for another day, but itwouldn't rain till morning, he was certain of that.

"I know you won't enjoy your tea if you think it has to be paid for later," the older wizard said. "It will take a moment to cool anyway. I'll test your walls now and get it over with." He lifted up his wand, making sure his movements were slow enough for Snape to anticipate. "_Legilimens._" He almost whispered the spell, as he would for a child. His mind flowed out as gently as possible, letting the magic surge like an outgoing tide rather than a rushing flood.

Albus was pleased to see Snape's House of Memory intact once more. The walls were firm, with no holes or wreckage. However, he noticed a difference. Instead of washing up against the walls and being denied entrance, or knocking at the door, he found himself shunted down a hallway and into the small room in the dungeons that clearly held happier memories.

He was pleased to see more tokens representing joy than had been there before. When he tried to snoop by touching each object, he was unable to discover anything. What an interesting twist! As he mentally left the 'office', he discovered he had to work to keep from being thrust back there again.

Dumbledore also saw the young wizard's mental image of Hogwarts wasn't as empty as it had been last summer, but contained some of the uglier memories that had been confined in a chest in Snape's version of Knockturn Alley. He didn't look in his friend's model of the Headmaster's office, for fear the portrait and 'Vernon Dursley' might be there.

He returned to the real world, wishing there had been some other way to test Snape's walls. "I hope that didn't hurt," the Headmaster said.

Severus trembled as he tried to lift a cup of tea to his lips. "No. Not really."

Albus knew that for the lie it was. "I'm so sorry. I should have done this in the office and brought you down afterwards. Now you won't be able to relax here, either." He placed his wand on the younger wizard's side of the table. "I won't do anything else while we're here this evening. You may pick it up if you like."

Snape stared down at the length of hickory as if it were going to bite him. He tentatively reached out and ran his fingers down its length. "Both dragon heartstring _and_ phoenix feather? How…why doesn't the wood burn?"

"Not many realize I have both in the same wand," Albus said. "Almost nobody realizes it from a touch."

"My father's mother was an Ollivander," Severus said. "Just as well. We never would have been able to afford a wand without the family discount."

Dumbledore kept quiet. This was progress, and he didn't want to disturb it. The Slytherin almost never talked about family or finances, and now he'd spoken about both. Albus didn't understand why the Ollivanders hadn't taken Snape in after his parents' death. The wand-gift was far rarer than it used to be. _No doubt the Malfoys put in a prior claim,_ he thought. He drank his tea in silence, hoping the enchanted peace of the garden and the breeze still warmed by the afternoon's sun would help Snape.

After a few moments Severus picked up his own cup again. His hand didn't shake as much this time. "I'm afraid," he confessed in a soft voice. "I'm afraid of what's going to happen the next time I'm summoned."

"Very reasonable," the Headmaster said, stunned by the admission. "Only a fool wouldn't be terrified."

"I keep wondering what he found out when I lay at his feet," the younger wizard continued, his grip tight on the cup. "Yet, if he discovered what was really there, why am I still alive? Why did Macnair tell me in Diagon Alley I was to be paid back for the extra wands I bought for the apprentices?"

"That's a good question," Albus said. "The Ministry missed that exchange, by the way, or didn't bother to put in their report. How is to be managed?"

"I have an account at Madam Malkins and at Flourish and Blotts. I had a positive balance in both of them I didn't expect. I gave into temptation at both of them, though not much."

"I wish you had bought something just for yourself, Severus."

"I did at Fortescue's," Snape said, one corner of his mouth turned up.

Dumbledore didn't pry. Apparently Mrs. Weasley's quick visit had not been unwelcome. The woman could end up being quite helpful if the time ever came when Snape needed someone to speak for him. _Severus has a bit less than two years left, but he could still survive me. It would be terribly wrong for him to perish at the hands of the very people he protects._

Albus was about to mention the possibility when he looked up and noticed his friend leaning back in the chair, his eyes half-closed. He waited. The younger wizard deserved this moment of rest.

Snape's eyes closed all the way after a few moments. Dumbledore looked at the tea leaves in his cup, which made no discernable pattern he could see, even after years of listening to Sybil. He peeked over at the other cup. Ah! That configuration was 'unrequited love' or something like that.

Perhaps, despite the younger man's protestations, he had fallen for Narcissa Malfoy. They had had to work together on the legal issues recently, and Snape was terribly susceptible to any sort of kindness. Nothing likely had happened, and no doubt ever would. Severus had always been as discreet as his position would allow in his private life. From what Albus had read about the potions regimen, the younger man was quite likely unable to create a scandal even had he wished.

A pity Severus could not fix his affections on someone more available. Lucius Malfoy was notoriously jealous of his wife, and remarkably so given his own reputation. _I'm probably creating a castle out of clouds, or in this case, random tea leaves,_ Dumbledore thought ruefully. _I wish he could have the love he wants before he dies._

After a few more moments, Snape woke up with a start. Albus pretended not to notice the Potions Master had been asleep at all, though inwardly he was quite pleased Severus had felt safe enough here to doze off.

Snape finished his cup. "I had better go find out which of my students have hexed themselves or each other," he said as he gently placed the Headmaster's wand back on the other side of the table. "I haven't been awakened by any disputes, but that won't last much longer. Or I'll find out who's intercepting my late night callers. Young Malfoy seems unnaturally mature these days, and may think to protect me. I don't want him to take on upsets he's not really qualified to manage by himself."

Albus smiled to himself. Filch had noticed Winky snoozing by the door to Snape's private quarters. No doubt the students had to run quite a gantlet to speak to their Head of House. Yet Severus needed his sleep. He couldn't bring himself to stop this situation just yet.

"If anything involves blood or fire you'll soon learn about it," the Headmaster said. "Next week I'll do any testing with you upstairs. I want to find you a place where you can feel safe."

Snape grimaced. "Do you know a way out through the rest of the grounds, or do we need to goback through the office?"

"Go past the hollyhocks over there. You should see a path that leads back around to the front. It disappears from behind you, but I'll set the wards so you can find it again."

"Thank you." Severus stood up and left.

Dumbledore whispered a spell to the guardians of this place. Snape would be allowed in whenever he wished, despite not being Headmaster. The younger wizard's barriers had bent a little and not lowered at all, even though he'd fallen asleep. _How can I blame him? I must work now to regain the trust I lost by hurting him so badly. He must have protected the secrets of the Order somehow even when Tom nearly killed him, or he would be dead now. _Riddle was forever rushing his fences, and surely would have used what he learned from the Potions Master if he had discovered anything of use. Snape's mind must have been in so much turmoil that grasping specifics must have been difficult.

He summoned a house elf and had the table and its contents cleared away. The staircase back up lowered itself and returned him to the office. Minerva waited for him inside, already drinking a cup of tea from the pot on his desk. His quarters had long been open to her, even before she became Deputy Headmistress.

"How did it go?" she asked.

"He's still too afraid to show any anger," Albus said.

"He will eventually, though Poppy thinks the potions are helping already. I've heard from some of the students who almost miss his shouting, while Mr. Longbottom is circulating a thank-you card to send to the clinic. I think he's just too exhausted, though he normally shows how tired he is by blowing up. At least he seems to be eating properly."

"Trelawney should get some credit for that. As long as she enjoys 'the Muggle muck' Severus is willing to go along with it in his diet, too." The Headmaster had noticed the surreptitious glances the Potions Master had given Sybil's dinner whenever they were at the Head Table at the same time.

"Thus speaks a man who's always had a sound digestion," McGonagall said. "Of course, when you're overstressed you eat too many sweets and your skin breaks out."

"At my age, too. It's not fair!" Fortunately his beard concealed most such blemishes.

She made a derisive noise. "When I first hear the shout 'those dunderheads!' I'll know he's really feeling better."

Dumbledore nodded. "His normal teaching style is full of sound and fury, even before Harry started. Before then, that was just his usual noise level. I should have realized he was past his limits long ago. I really thought he was getting over things the year before last, though."

"That was because he thought Moody was here. We all could see how frustrated he was, but he shut up whenever the man we thought was Alastor walked into the staff room. On top of that, the Mark must have been bothering him even before it starting burning in earnest, from what I recall of him that spring. Severus must have thought you were trying to keep extra watch on him by bringing Mad-Eye here."

"No, I was more worried about Karkaroff, and I thought it was time Harry had better training since Lupin couldn't stay. Severus tried to tell me something was wrong, but I thought he was just ah, reacting…"

The witch's lip grew thin. "Yes. Lupin, who almost killed him, one year and the next, a person that Poppy refused to shake the hand of the next. She wouldn't say much about Moody that year, but she was more than happy to fill me in once he was discovered to be an impostor. I must admit, we all found it suspicious when Crouch was disposed of so….quickly. Unfortunately, having to spend so much of the summer at Grimmauld place left Severus little time to gloat. Now that I know what his duties were last year, I am quite amazed he managed to teach at all. He thought little of Umbridge as well."

Dumbledore heard the rebuke on her voice. "She is quite discredited now, Minerva, along with her sponsor Lucius Malfoy. I wish I hadn't let things go so far."

"You put Harry in danger, too," McGonagall said. "I suppose that we should all be used to how you treat Severus, but I was surprised you allowed the boy to be harmed."

"You were nearly killed as well. I made many mistakes last year." The Headmaster sighed. "I would still give almost anything to have heard you say, 'it unscrews the other way.'"

The witch grinned. "Peeves and I have been much better friends since." Then her face grew sober. "However, the rest of the staff and I are still quite concerned about Snape."

"Your warning has been received," Albus said with a nod. "I plan to speak to a friend in Switzerland who has some experience in these matters. I hope to arrange a haven there if the worst happens."

"That's a good idea. But we are interested in his safety here as well. I know you wish him to trust you again, but we really think one of us or Poppy should sit on any future meetings. I seem to recall a promise made about that, actually."

"He fell asleep in his chair down in the garden, even though I had to test his barriers at first because I'm worried about him being summoned."

"Good. I'm sure either Poppy or I would have enjoyed seeing it."

McGonagall could be ruthless. Dumbledore knew Flitwick was even more so, while he'd rather wrestle a Norwegian Ridgeback without a wand than get between Poppy and a patient. "Then choose someone and have them here next Sunday evening about this time. I'm on trial with you now, aren't you?"

"Yes. How perceptive." Minerva looked down into her cup. "Your absence last year was understandable, though inconvenient. Your actions this summer were…abominable. Well, as long as I'm here, what news on the Order front?"

"Not much. I really am afraid Severus will be summoned, probably at just the wrong moment. Of course, there's never a right one."

"You should be frightened for his students as well. Percy Weasley is young, but he stands a better chance of survival than we all think, I daresay. Alastor does train his people well."

"Tom must be desperate to recruit so many underage followers," the Headmaster added.

"Or wants us to think he is."

"True. Azkaban must be carefully guarded."

"For a number of reasons," McGonagall added, who looked as if she'd bitten into something sour.

Dumbledore nodded. "Malfoy continues to appeal his captivity. Fudge keeps putting off the trial. One wonders if he's gathering evidence or bribes."

"I hope Severus finds it easier to make his reports at the safe house this year. I heard stories, and Lupin only confirmed them. I cannot believe that even Sirius Black was that petty."

"I found it hard to believe, too, but I had no choice. Mrs. Weasley knew about it, too, and probably thought I did as well. When she complained to me, I gave her a specious bit of reasoning how something like that helped Snape with the other side." Albus knew he had a very bad habit of sweeping any problems Severus had under the carpet. "As far as others go, I've spoken with Moody already, and will do so again."

The Deputy Headmistress snorted. "I'm surprised he hasn't realized that if Snape were really a traitor, a number of people would be dead already and in ways where we would blame someone else. As it was, I spoke to Remus and he confirmed how Snape did try to convince Black to stay in the house. I shall make sure he tells Harry of it, just in case he's forgotten."

"Fortunately the boy had a good summer. Severus managed it far better than I could."

"Ah, yes, the pensieve. I really wished I could have told young Mr. Potter exactly who had given to him, but I was just as helpful, or I should said say unhelpful, as you asked me to be. What is so wrong about just telling him, anyway?"

"We don't have much of a record for telling him the truth. He's far more likely to believe it once he discovers the identity of his giver for himself. I don't want him thinking Snape was forced into the gesture."

"Even though he was," Minerva said.

"The memories were his idea, and his idea alone, my dear. I am terribly afraid the temporary peace he gained by disposing of them for Harry's sake gave Severus the idea to hide too many more." Albus would never forget the shock and horror of them smashing into his mind once he'd broken the seal on the 'chest'. "He needs time to recover before giving Harry any more Occlumency lessons. I can only go far before the boy requires more instruction than I can properly give."

"Aren't you still afraid of Tom appearing the way he did last spring?"

The Headmaster drained his cup. "Yes, of course I am. Right now there is little danger, because I haven't gone beyond teaching the first steps of using a pensieve. Later may well be another story. However, Harry was able to use one of the memories he was given to fight off the suicide spell to a certain degree when he was returning home from the boxing tournament. There are several forms of Occlumency. Severus must use the hardest kind because he cannot appear to be hiding anything, hence his use of the old medieval House of Memory. However, Harry can use the method that most suits him, since resistance would be expected of him. Pure concentration on something else can often block a Legilimens. In fact, Snape uses that method subconsciously—I may as well try to read a brick wall as to use the spell when he's brewing something quite complicated."

"I would merely turn into a cat." Minerva smiled.

"That one works as well," the Headmaster said, remembering how Sirius Black was able to slip past the Dementors. "Someone like Vector could concentrate on complex equations, for instance, or Madam Pince on the library cataloging system. However, most of those methods require knowledge of being enchanted and a moment or so to ready one's mind. Tom moves extremely fast and hard to break the initial mental barriers most people have, or why Severus must have his barriers up for longer than is good for him. This is why Harry will eventually have to go back to him for advanced training."

"What would happen to Severus if Tom decided to show up then?"

"I…I don't like to think about that," Albus said. His throat went dry. "I didn't realize Harry would welcome the visions so much he would actively fight being trained. I will have to be careful to ensure Riddle is not just lying low waiting to entrap me, or merely listening in. Someone with his abilities can do a great deal of harm to another's emotional structure merely by encouraging tendencies already in place."

"I wish I knew enough of the art to help," McGonagall said.

"I wish you did, too. Once I learned what really happened, I can't say I blame Snape for stopping the lessons when he did. Harry snooped into the pensieve where Severus kept some rather unpleasant memories about the Marauders, and found an ugly one. I am glad the boy didn't gossip, but unfortunately that was not the way to bet."

"Oh." The Head of Gryffindor bowed her head.

"Don't blame yourself," he said softly. "You weren't alone in letting them run rampant. I thought they were good-hearted enough not to do any real damage. I even believed Sirius was only being thoughtless and not malicious when Severus nearly died." No wonder Snape had tried to purge himself of so much of the past.

"There was more than any of us knew. I've had a little chat with Lupin and he saw a great deal he didn't report, since he valued the others too much as friends. I also believe he feared becoming their target if he talked too much."

Dumbledore could have told her about every incident not long ago, though those memories were fading fast. He should store them away before he lost too many of them. Second-hand ones never stayed long, and it might be useful to have a tally to jog the werewolf's own recollections.

"That's why young Mr. Weasley isn't a prefect this year," Minerva added. "No one really expected him to manage the twins, but he didn't try. Mr. Montague may never recover from his treatment at their hands. There was some unpleasant talk about the young man among my students, and of course the whole disaster of Umbridge and the twins diverted attention from what they had done wrong. I will not allow it again on my watch."

He was uneasily aware of the parallel. Another Slytherin nearly dead, another set of Gryffindors in glory, and the school divided. Albus suspected that few Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws would join the DA this year were it reactivated. Parents handed down stories to their children, and older brothers and sisters did the same for younger ones. He already knew that the other two House heads rarely brought him complaints about Gryffindors—or Slytherins, for that matter. Except for last year, which he suspected everyone wanted to forget. "In that case, I am glad to see Miss Granger's health allows her to be a prefect this year. She has a strong sense of justice, though she is quite loyal to her friends as well. I am thinking about her for Head Girl next year, and possibly Mr. MacMillan for Head Boy." It was early, of course, but all the staff had their preferences, and some students were watched from their first year.

"Shouldn't you speak to Professor Flitwick?" Minerva asked hesitantly. "Miss Edgecombe…she doesn't seem to have many friends this year, and it's probably just as well, but she was a close acquaintance of Miss Chang last year."

Albus smiled. "She's perfectly fine now. Besides, Flitwick was the one who pretended not to know the counter-charm when the hex made itself apparent. On top of that, I understand Severus sent Miss Granger some material on the Wolfsbane Potion this summer, as well as to Mr. Malfoy. I realize Snape may have to concern himself with the Edgecombe girl to some degree, but he's clearly depending on the cleverest witch in Hogwarts to help win that bet with Lowenstein."

"That would be quite a feather in his cap," the Deputy Headmistress said. "I would still like to see Miss Granger capable of learning from her mistakes before placing her in such a position of responsibility. Remember, all the Houses will need to rely on her. I fear the way she managed Madam Umbridge might give her too much belief in her capabilities. I realize by now her statement about the troll in her first year was a falsehood designed to shield her friends from punishment, but it was one quite easy to believe, now wasn't it? Pride before a fall, Albus."

"I'm certain she learned a great deal from the Ministry Raid," Dumbledore said.

"Perhaps. We don't know yet. She is still far more likely to help her friends get into trouble than to stay out of it. I rationalized myself into some dreadful messes at that age, though fortunately not at a time when such folly could be quite so…deadly." She took a deep sigh. "Well, when is the next Order meeting?"

"In a couple of weeks. I believe Severus should attend. It would do him good to have the house finally accept him without other stresses." _Sirius Black won't be there. That ought to help. _

McGonagall rose, and the Headmaster naturally stood as well. "Here's hoping for a better than year than the last," she said in farewell.

"The same here." He watched her leave. Then he turned his chair around to watch for stars up in the sky over his garden, and the rest of Hogwarts as well.

Albus Dumbledore felt the fading of his strength as the last of the twilight disappeared. The spirit of the school now sustained him, rather than the other way around. How long could it last before he took too much? If he had true courage, he would step down now, allow McGonagall to become Headmistress, and devote all his time to the Order. _I am being selfish. I don't want to leave here ever._

It was hard to remember not everyone saw Hogwarts this way. Despite the light the Bride had showered on him, Severus would always find this place a prison full of sorrow. Yet the bars holding the Potions Master captive also protected him from the Ministry who would use him as a scapegoat for their own folly. Snape had refused the escape offered him earlier this year, though only for the sake of the students in his care.

_Trelawney and her prophecy,_ Albus thought. _He has so little time. He probably thinks he has no chance for anything he wants._ At first he'd believed Snape had been teasing her, too. When Sybil had repeated the short poem, though, Dumbledore had felt the echo of power in the rhyming words.

Would Harry be ready so soon? His own calculations, as well as those from Vector, showed a crisis not this spring, but late into the next. Future probabilities were chancy things, but the Arithmancy Professor knew her field better than anyone outside the Foundation. In fact, he'd consulted with them as well, though only in general terms, but had received only a couple of nonsense phrases about the red baron teaching the white knight to fly, and the red queen overcoming the dark one. The only Baron he knew was the Ghost of Slytherin…well. That one might come true after all.

He bowed his head. The prophecy for Snape called for the role of sacrifice and the falling of the light. Albus feared the same for Harry. _Will I have to bury them both?_

Severus Snape

Severus made ready for bed. He felt weak and trembling inside, though he'd kept up a stern front as he'd walked through the dungeons in case any students were around.

_Of course the old man has to test my barriers. I can still be summoned at any time._ Just thinking about _that_ made him more terrified than ever. At least his walls still held. Snape had felt the Headmaster's presence inside his room of happy memories, so the shunt he'd put in months ago remained in place. Albus hadn't been able to really touch anything inside, so the new protocol was working as well.

But it still didn't make sense for him to have the ability to bend or lower his barriers. If he knew how to do it, the Dark Lord could learn it and force him to do so, and then all would be lost. He sat down on the edge of the bed and wondered what the Headmaster was really up to.

Snape had been amazed when Dumbledore had allowed him to touch his wand. Wizards and witches almost never allowed someone else to handle their own symbols of power. It was hard to remain cynical after that gesture of trust. No wonder Albus was so strong even at such a great age with so much fire in him, and so well contained.

_I can't believe I actually fell asleep down there afterwards,_ he thought. Now he felt restless and shaky at the same time, as if he'd been brewing with Ashwinder eggs all day. Perhaps being in contact with so much flame upset his own balance.

_Now I'm sounding like Trelawney or one of her idiotic books!_ Yet even when he lay down after taking his final potion for the evening he had trouble sleeping. That was probably from having such a lie-in for two days in a row. After a while, he sat back up. He knew from long experience that staying in bed like that wouldn't work at all.

Severus went out to the chair by his fireplace and took one book at random from the stack Sybil had left him. He wouldn't have much spare time once the essays began thundering in, and he had promised. The first volume recommended about a yard's worth of whinging every morning just to get the day started properly. He had to smile at that one. His trouble would be learning how to stop! Snape set that book aside, to be gone through in more detail later, and picked up another one.

Ah. This one contained relaxation routines. He rather liked the one calling for imagining himself in a garden. Severus lay back in the chair, pulled the lever to lift the leg-support, and closed his eyes. He tried to hear the gentle sound of insects, feel the light, cooling breeze, inhale the scent of the last of the summer flowers, and know he was safe from any intrusion with the Headmaster's wand within reach.

He was just drifting off when he heard voices outside the door. A good thing he'd been out here—he always cancelled the _Silencio_ across the threshold of his bedroom when school started, but sound didn't carry as well to it anyway. However, students having an emergency usually knocked loud enough for him to hear their pleas anyway.

Severus levered the leg-support back down, threw on a robe, and went to the door. Winky held one of the children and cooed to her, as the girl sniffled all over the house elf's shoulder.

"Are you all right, Miss Walsh?" he asked.

""Nightmare," she sobbed. "Papa and Mama were yelling again…didn't want to wake up my roommates."

He fetched a small cup of watered-down Dreamless Sleep Potion. "This will help. Take this back up to your room and drink it, then return the cup to me tomorrow morning. It works rather quickly, so you should be in bed when you take it."

"Yes, sir," she said, disengaging herself from Winky. "Thank you, sir."

He was glad Winky was here. Students often needed holding more than a kindly cup, but it would not be proper, nor safe, for him to do so. But he certainly didn't expect the elf to be on duty all night. Miss Walsh left with the cup in hand blubbering her thanks.

Winky stood with her head bowed. "She just want to cry, Master Potions Master. Doesn't know quiet spell yet, not want to wake other girls."

That was worrisome. He was used to children afraid to disturb others with their distress, for fear of untoward results or knowledge no one would help, but it was still wrong. "Have you been on duty like this all week?"

"Yes, Master Potions Master, but I's gets plenty of sleep right here," she said, still looking down at the floor. "I's to get Master Shiny-Head if student hurt bad."

"Well, he needs his sleep too. I shall have to speak to him about that," he said, trying to keep his voice soft. Snape closed his eyes, trying to think before he started yelling. Part of him was angry he wasn't being told everything. He didn't care much for being wakened in the middle of the night, but he certainly preferred that to ignorance. Another part of him was astounded Winky and Draco thought it was so important for him to get enough sleep to give up some of their own rest. _I was so tired last week, and the next one will probably be worse._

He decided he could manage this rationally for once. Snape transfigured an extra chair from his parlor into a small pallet for Winky. "If you're going to waste your time sleeping outside my door, at least have something to rest on. If you cannot manage the problem, you are to tell me, not Mr. Malfoy. I am still the Head of House, and it is my responsibility to look after the little dunderheads when they become homesick. Many of them have unpleasant family situations I must learn about. Remember all those Harmonia Potions you helped me brew? They were for Mr. Harry Potter's family. Surely Dobby has told you about him?"

"Yes, Master Potions Master," Winky said, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"I didn't know how unhappy his family was until last year, because he isn't a Slytherin. But I was asked to help because I have practice with other students. The stamps come from his aunt, who was worried and wanted things to be better. They _were_ better last summer, and you helped me with that."

"I did?" She blinked.

"Yes. But I can't help the students if I don't know anything is wrong. You don't have to wake me up for every student who comes to see you, but please tell me who they are and what was wrong in the morning. If they are hurt, you must wake me immediately, so I can take them to the infirmary. And since you aren't sleeping as much as you ought to, you should lie down whenever I do during the day. You will be working with potions ingredients, and being too sleepy is dangerous for you and everyone around you." _Merlin! I'm sounding like the Headmaster when he's talking to me!_

"Oh, you is the best master in the world!" Winky hugged him.

He tried to pretend that the gesture didn't make _him_ feel better, but it didn't work. Severus felt silly to be so pleased by the compliment. "Now stop that," he said gently. "Lie down and try to sleep. With any luck Miss Walsh will be the only one tonight. I'm going back to bed, and I'll feel better knowing you're resting as well."

"Yes, Master Potions Master," she said, and promptly obeyed. "Oh, this is _soft!_" she squealed as soon as she lay down, then clapped her hand over her mouth. "Winky quiet now!" the elf whispered.

Snape nodded, then returned to bed. This time he closed his eyes, though he still felt oddly restless. Then he realized why. The first full moon of the school year was only a few weeks away. _I will start the Wolfsbanenext weekend,_ he assured himself. _In fact, I'll start two batches just to make sure one of them doesn't fail, and if both do well, donate the extra to St. Mungo's._

Once that was settled in his mind, he finally slept.

Harry Potter

He didn't have as much time as he thought to examine the pensieve between classes, Quidditch practice, and having a bit of fun. It felt good to be at Hogwarts without Umbridge or some other menace threatening him for a change. Even Malfoy was better-behaved than usual, while everyone whispered about the change in Snape. The Potions Master had posted a point schedule for discipline which applied to all students. Some of the items seemed like the old Snape, of course—"50 points and detention for any disaster that sends more than three students to the infirmary, and yes, Longbottom, I mean you" and "20 points deducted for essays in excess of three feet longer than the assignment, especially from know-it-all Gryffindors" were just a couple of them. Just seeing the faces of the Slytherins who were discovering life without blatant favoritism was worth it. Then again, some of the Ravenclaws had fussed over the essay requirement. Maybe Hermione wasn't the only one who believed in overkill.

There were ways to gain points, too. Harry decided to try a few to see if the greasy git really meant it. Cleaning up after class or volunteering for Saturday sessions wasn't in it, as his time was spoken for already, but he could earn five points every time he was on Longbottom watch for 'preventing another student from blowing up the place, though I have to see it'. He could also gain points every time he did a potion perfectly, though he doubted Snape would ever grade him that fairly after last year's incident. _But if I keep doing it and everyone sees it, then I'll still win, because everyone will know he doesn't really mean to be fair._

He was quite surprised on the Wednesday of his second week when he actually did receive those points for a good Calming Potion. (Hermione had left his cauldron for cleaning till last, not being stupid herself, just in case Snape's hand 'slipped' again.) However, that was easy to rationalize. _Well, he has to pretend to go along with this for now,_ Harry thought as everyone looked on in stunned surprise, especially Ron. _I wonder how long it will last?_

Harry didn't rejoice for long, though. Other teachers posted schedules as well, though without the entertaining remarks. In fact, Binns was the only professor who didn't post one. Well, only two people stayed awake in History of Magic anyway. Even Malfoy had been seen to struggle to keep his eyes open, while Hermione just did her homework.

Maybe McGonagall was right, and the point thing was out of control. Of course, Harry waited for the Headmaster to post how many points for defeating Voldemort, and the bonus on top for ridding the world of him permanently.

He was glad for Ron when his friend received his final Potions OWL results and was allowed to stay in the class, along with Luna. However, Ron's joy was brief as he also received points for guessing the class project correctly, but had to write three feet on other potions that the flower _lupin_ was used for.

As the second week passed, Harry knew he had to find time for his investigation. He wasn't looking forward to playing Quidditch on Sunday against Ravenclaw right after his Occlumency lesson with Dumbledore. He'd be flying against Cho Chang, and would need all his concentration. Maybe it was just as well they weren't snogging each other now.

On that Friday, he volunteered to fetch ingredients for the class Potions project. Anything that would help Remus was worth some work. Besides, that kept Longbottom from signing up for it, and maybe picking the wrong things out of the supply cabinet. As he had said to Luna, it was her, Padma, Hermione, Malfoy and, Harry thought, Zabini who formed the brain part of the group. Neville's handwriting was put to good use starting up the journal. As long as he didn't have to actually brew, he was usually all right.

Harry was surprised to be partnered with Bulstrode in managing the supplies and ingredients, but it worked out better than he thought. They were told to fetch everything without magic, to get used to potions where even simple levitation affected things. With her greater height and longer reach, she went after the things on the high shelves while he was in charge of the lower ones. He reminded himself to be on his best behavior, especially since the Slytherins were so uncharacteristically decent this year.

What with practice and another afternoon team homework session, he didn't get much chance to look at his pensieve till late Saturday night. He walked into the bedroom planning to get ready for bed and have a go at it, when he saw his best friend holding the ceramic dish.

"Ron!" he shouted, taking the pensieve into his own hands before the other Gryffindor could drop it. "Get out of there!" He'd told his friends everything, and this was his reward!

"Oh," Ron said, blinking and staring down at his empty hands. "Didn't mean any harm, mate, just having a peek. Mum was a looker before all of us happened, wasn't she?"

"But that's mine!" Harry said. "You can see your family whenever you want! Don't you understand what this means to me?" He held the pensieve to his chest. Just as well he hadn't put any of his own memories in it yet.

_Oh, crap,_ he thought. He sat down on the bed and set the pensieve down on his night-table. "No wonder Snape had such a huge fit."

"I didn't mean to get you mad like this," Ron said, as he sat down on his own bed just across from Harry's. "What do you mean about Snape?"

"I didn't tell you about this," Harry said, "but last year when I was taking those extra lessons with him I looked into his pensieve and saw some really rotten stuff."

"Oi! Surprised you weren't struck blind! What'd you catch him at, anyway? Something, gory, I hope."

"He wasn't doing anything wrong. Dad and his friends were doing nasty things to him. It was awful, Ron. I never knew the Marauders were like that. It wasn't just Sirius, it was my dad, too. Mum tried to stop it, but back then they weren't in love or anything, and Dad threatened to hex her. Then Snape called her a Mudblood, she went off, and Dad told everyone who was watching, "Let's see what—" Harry stopped abruptly. If Ron heard the nickname, he'd promise not to use it, but he would anyway. "Anyway, that's when Snape pulled me out of the memory. He probably thought I was going to go straight to the Gryffindor common room and have a good laugh over it."

"I wish you had," Ron said, and sighed dramatically.

"You heard what Professor McGonagall said at the beginning of the year."

Ron snorted. "Knowing him, he probably hexed them six ways from Sunday every chance he got."

"That's what I thought too, till I talked to Sirius and Remus about it. They never said Snape did stuff to them, just that they were bored. In what I saw, Snape did hex back…but Ron, it was four on one. I've done worse than he did to Malfoy, but at least he always has his friends around. Even Remus said he tried to talk to Dad about it some of the time, but from what I saw he only tried to pretend nothing was happening and didn't stop anything. They were awfully quiet for a little while, but Sirius never said he was sorry about it, and I think he liked it when I reminded him about it."

"But why is Snape so foul to Lupin, then? I mean, I never tried to talk to Fred and George about anything last year either."

"Your brothers never ganged up on one person the way my dad and his friends did. And this was _mean_ stuff, I mean not even Malfoy and his lot did any of this. And Snape never went after Sirius like that. Ok, he gloated a lot in the Shrieking Shack, but we put an end to that, didn't we? And we didn't care what happened to Montague even though Hermione tried to tell us we should. He could be dead. Snape could have died when he hit his head, or when Sirius pretended it was an accident when he let Snape hit his head again on the way back."

"So?" Ron said, but he didn't look as happy as before.

"If we're Gryffindors, we're supposed to be better than the Slytherins, aren't we?"

"Well, of course we are!" his friend said loyally. "You know the Headmaster thinks we are. He didn't fuss over stuff like that till this year, either."

"I know," Harry said unhappily. "Maybe he should have. When Snape woke up out there in the Forbidden Forest, he still brought us back to the infirmary."

"But he's a teacher," Ron said. "He's supposed to do stuff like that."

"That didn't stop us from attacking him," Harry said. "And he wasn't Padfoot's teacher. Sure, the Dementors were gone then, but they could have come back once he'd taken us away. All he would have had to do would be to tie Sirius up and leave him there for bait. Lupin was out there as a wolf, too, even though he was supposed to take his potion. _He_ was a teacher, too, and is again this year. Umbridge was a teacher, and so was Lockhart, and look what they did."

"Hey, slow down there! You're usually the first one to wish out loud the greasy git would get eaten by a lethifold and improve the world with his absence."

"I know. But you were there, too. Nobody bumped _your_ head on the ceiling when you were moved out of the Shack or even knocked your leg around."

Ron nodded slowly. "I do remember it. Lupin bent over to make sure Snape was still alive, though, you have to give him that."

"But he didn't say anything when Sirius played his little game with the Mobilicorpus. Imagine what Hermione would have done to one of us if we'd pulled that."

"Maybe that's why she rammed all the first aid stuff down our throats," Ron said. His face was sober now. "But why are you getting so upset over it, Harry? You don't do anything like that."

"Because everyone told me how great Dad was. Because I still love Sirius anyway. I don't _want_ to hate what they did or feel sorry for Snape, but…but Ron, I know what it's like to be by myself like that. Nobody stopped Duds or his friends when they played Harry-hunting. What if I never met you or Hermione here, and everyone hated me? I might be like Snape, too."

His friend snorted with laughter. "Not hardly! Besides, the Headmaster looks after you, so even if we didn't care, you'd be all right."

_The Headmaster sure didn't look after Snape,_ Harry thought. _Not if what McGonagall says is true. If I wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived, maybe he'd pay as little attention to me as he does to Longbottom._ "I just don't want us to act like Slytherins, even if the Headmaster doesn't care. _We_ have to care, or it doesn't count." He looked down at the pensieve with growing dismay. Harry had a horrible idea who had given it to him now. "But this still doesn't make sense. I know Snape hates my guts. He always has. Why is he different now?"

"Maybe he got in trouble for yelling at you?"

"But why now? Why not years ago when I first started here?" Harry was frustrated when he didn't understand things. Of course, that was nothing new. People hid stuff from him all the time and he was sick of it.

"Well, if you think he'll tell you, go ask him. Snape, I mean. Even I know better than to ask Dumbledore too many questions!" Ron said with a smile.

"Easy for you to say! I don't fancy another jar of cockroaches chucked my way."

"How else are you going to find out? I don't have any Extendible Ears, but Fred and George will give me a couple the next time we go into Hogsmeade."

"I dunno. He'd probably chop them up for potions ingredients."

His friend laughed. "You're probably right."

"I'll do Hermione's test on the memories tonight," Harry said. "I think I know who gave this to me now."

Ron bit his lip. Then his eyes went wide. "You have to be joking. Those things cost the earth. On top of that, I didn't think the git _had_ any happy memories."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said glumly. "Sorry I yelled at you. But sometimes I wish I had a family like yours, even with the fights some of the time."

"You know you're part of it," Ron said. "Mum says so, and that's good enough for us."

"Yeah." Harry liked that. Even so, the Weasleys weren't really _his_. Some days he felt like nothing was, that everything he had was only borrowed. A lifetime of Dudley's rejects…

Ron went to bed and fell asleep quickly, judging by the snoring. Seamus and Dean were still out, probably getting into trouble. Harry pulled the curtains around his bed, in case they came in, and started examining the memories. He carried a mental list from the wedding. Snape was in that one, of course.

And Snape was also in the library where Lily Evans studied. In the Potions classroom. At the Quidditch game. Back against the trees by Hagrid's hut. In the hallway between classes. In Transfiguration, turning a needle into a hedgehog and back again.

No matter how hard Harry looked, he couldn't find a memory inside the pensieve that didn't have Snape in it.

At last he gave up. Hermione had been right. He'd seen different combinations of one to four Marauders, and his mum, but no matter who else was there, Snape was always somehow there as well, usually trying hard not to be seen. _How can I blame him?_ Harry thought. He remembered his favorite hiding spots on the playground at the other school, spots that Duds and his friends usually found anyway.

He couldn't come up with any reason that made sense why he'd received the pensieve and the memories in it, either. _I can't blame the attack for changing Snape. My birthday was before it happened. Yeah, I was upset when I saw Ron snooping, and maybe the git wanted me to know what it felt like, but…that only explains the pensieve. It doesn't explain the memories in it._

Harry put the pensieve away. _I don't have to do anything about this. Snape's saved my life several times already and no one's gone after me for not thanking him, not even the Headmaster. It's not like anyone here cares about him that much either. Dumbledore says he trusts him, but never stops anyone from doing anything to him. _

_But maybe that's wrong._ He was upset at that. The Headmaster was always right about everything, wasn't he? _McGonagall doesn't think so, or she wouldn't have talked to us the way she did about what happened when my dad and his friends were around. But why didn't she do anything about them either?_ _Hagrid didn't look happy about what happened to Snape, but he never says anything against Dumbledore. In fact, nobody does._

Then he remembered last summer. _Aunt Petunia never says anything against Uncle Vernon either, but she put me and Dudley in the boxing class. She watched the Olympics with us and chatted him up whenever he looked funny at me, and made him drink that weird herb tea instead of the whiskey. _

Harry was frightened. If he couldn't trust the Headmaster, he couldn't trust anybody. But if he and his friends didn't change, pretty soon people would talk about Gryffindor the same way they did about Slytherin now. Dumbledore couldn't be here forever, either—maybe people would say how they really felt only when he was gone. He could be wrong about the old wizard, too. There was probably a lot of stuff nobody told him about Snape. Maybe the git deserved being treated the way he was.

He put away the pensieve and lay down, his thoughts whirling. _I can't go into the Occlumency lesson tomorrow feeling like this. _He wouldn't be able to stand it if the old wizard got angry with him the way Uncle Vernon or Snape did.

_Then again, he still needs me to kill Voldemort for him. Maybe he needs me enough to help me find the truth._


	38. Chapter 38: Toxins

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Author's note: The book that Snape refers to later in this chapter in re whinging by the yard is Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way.

Chapter 38: Toxins

Harry Potter

Harry awoke the next morning. He didn't remember his dreams, but they left a foul taste in his mouth. _No wonder Snape hated owing a Wizarding Debt to Dad,_ he thought as he dressed and went down to breakfast. He felt a little better after he ate. Ron was babbling a mile a minute about the first game of the season, and just calming his friend down was good for him, too. He still dragged his feet as he went to the Headmaster's office. As he gave the password to the gargoyle, he cheered up. Dumbledore wasn't like his Uncle Vernon. Even after trashing the office last spring, the old wizard was still the same gentle authority figure he'd always been. Ok, he wasn't quite as kind as last year, but Harry knew he'd brought that on himself. He wished he didn't have the same tightness in his shoulders here that he did at home, though.

Dumbledore offered him a lemon drop and had him sit down. "You've discovered who gave you the pensieve, haven't you?"

"Yes," said Harry. "But you knew all along. Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Would you have believed me?"

He thought about that. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know what to do! It feels weird to be grateful to Snape for anything. Did you make him do it?"

"I asked him to help you, in part to make up for his behavior last year. However, I left the details up to him. I wish he hadn't given up so many memories. I hope you realize what a great gift they were, Harry. He doesn't have as many happy ones as he should, and tolose any of them was a great sacrifice." The Headmaster looked sad.

"I…I kept thinking…" Harry said hesitantly. "He keeps saving my life, too. Almost as many times as you have, even if he doesn't like me. Maybe it counts more because he doesn't."

Dumbledore broke out in a pleased smile. "I am proud of you, boy. It's hard to get past years of grudges and see so clearly."

"Well, it helps that he's different this year. Why is that?"_ Maybe I'm different because my summer was so much better than before, as well as having the pensieve._ Maybe that weird herb tea for Uncle Vernon had made a difference, too. There was something about it he almost remembered, too, and he wished he could figure it out.

The old wizard turned his face away. "I can't tell you most of it, not even when I'm certain Tom won't be listening in. But he was stuck in old patterns even more than you were. What happened to him this summer helped break, or at least bend them. Much of it was my fault. I assumed he would tell me when I asked too much of him, and he wouldn't."

Harry remembered too many times when Snape had spouted off, either to be ignored or worse yet, completely overruled, usually for his sake. He thought of the way Dumbledore and Fudge had talked when the Potions Master had been so angry about Sirius Black's escape, and how he thought it'd been funny at the time. He could think of a dozen or more other times when he'd received special treatment, or at least gotten off lightly when he and his friends had done something against the rules. _But then I'm sent home to the Dursleys where everything is just the opposite! Does Snape ever have any time when he's the favorite?_ He knew better than to ask that question, though.

The Headmaster looked down at his cup of tea. "I'm trying to break some of my old patterns, too. Plus, all those fumes down in the dungeon are bad for anyone, especially over the long term. As inconvenient as we've found the Ministry's new health regulations, they do have a point."

"Hermione said something about it. And Uncle Vernon is forever going on about how much it costs to keep the inspectors happy," Harry said, glad to change topic himself. "I remember that Madam Pomfrey said I had to have a guardian sign my papers so I could take Potions. You're probably going to keep me in there anyway, but who is it going to be?"

"We haven't decided yet."

"Why not you, sir?"

Dumbledore looked tired. "I am so old, Harry. I could easily go to sleep and not wake up. So far I have held off death, but there's no guarantee. And, to be honest, since I left you with the Dursleys, someone at the Ministry could make that an issue. One pureblood family has already filed a suit for your guardianship."

Harry's heart leaped. "The Weasleys?"

The old wizard shook his head. "Narcissa Malfoy, on the grounds of her relationship to Sirius Black."

"No!" Even the Dursleys looked good compared to _them_. "What about Remus Lupin?"

"Perhaps. But as a werewolf, the Ministry would have trouble accepting him. I have given some thought to this, Harry. The longer we delay answering the suit, the sooner it will be till your birthday when you will reach your majority in the Wizarding World. That's one of the reasons your godfather's will is still in probate. If we can manage to drag it out long enough, the more likely it will be you'll inherit what he left without the guardianship issue causing trouble."

"Better not let Uncle Vernon know, then," Harry said. "If he knew there was a way to make money out me, he'd be in the middle of it." _I could sell tickets to Aunt Petunia going up against that horrible portrait,_ he thought.

"We would rather avoid the Muggle court system," Dumbledore said with a grimace. "And we've avoided your lesson long enough."

Harry learned more about finding memories, removing them, and putting them back. "Whenever I take a memory out to put into the pensieve, I end up going through it," he said. "What actually happened is gone, but sometimes there's a sore spot left over if it was a bad one."

"I know," said the Headmaster. "That is one of the disadvantages, I fear."

Then Harry remembered something. Every time Snape gave him a lesson, the pensieve had been out or close by. "He had to do that whenever he gave me a lesson, then."

"Very likely." The old wizard found his tea quite interesting again.

_No wonder Snape hates me. Dumbledore keeps making him do things that hurt so I can get something, and then it doesn't matter if he complains about it. Uncle Vernon always yells at me more when something bad happens at work and it's because of his boss. He was _really_ ticked when the Headmaster yelled at him and Aunt Petunia, too. I hate being the Quaffle!_ _Of course, if Snape is really spying for the Order, he has a right to feel like one, too. Maybe we both ought to find a Beater club or look for another game!_ "No wonder he chucked a jar of cockroaches at me when I went snooping," Harry said.

"I wish you had thought about this back then," Dumbledore said, who raised his wand. "_Legilimens!_"

Harry was overwhelmed at first. It wasn't like being pounded into the dirt the way Snape did it, but being drowned in a rush of water pouring into him wasn't much better. He heard himself shouting "Protego!" only to have nothing happen.

Then he remembered what he'd done last summer in the car. He put himself into his parents' wedding, starting from the very beginning. He counted off the people in the pews, heard the music, and watched Mum and Dad standing at the altar. It felt as if he were riding in a broom above a river, instead of floundering in it and trying not to drown.

Suddenly he was back in the office. The Headmaster smiled at him. "Very good, Harry. Taking refuge in a harmless memory is one good way of defending your mind. However, you'll have to choose others as well. A single memory gets worn out if used too often, and loses its effectiveness. I will help you with memory training as well, so you can organize the ones you prefer properly. That will be better for you than building deceptive walls the way Snape must."

Harry nodded. "I have other happy ones of my own. I wish I had more of them."

"I do, too. Perhaps this year you _will_ have more. I think you've made progress so far."

"Well, it helps not to have Umbridge here," he said. _I have to remember that. She'd probably think the Dursleys were too nice to me, and give them extra tips on how to make the cupboard under the stairs even more special._ "And…well, Snape isn't as bad this year. We're kind of…oh, I dunno…circling around each other." The Potions Master hadn't yelled at anybody yet, though there was already betting on who would make him snap first.

"I must admit, I am pleased with both of you. I don't expect the two of you to be friends, but I do hope you can work together."

"I wish…I wish Sirius could have seen it. I felt stuck between them sometimes last year."

"I imagine you were. I was disappointed when I heard that your godfather did not encourage you to return to the Occlumency lessons after you'd left them. Oh, and Professor Lupin is pleased by your behavior in his class. It would be quite easy for you to use your popularity against Mr. Malfoy, and I'm glad you haven't given into the temptation."

"Well, I still wouldn't mind seeing him turned into a ferret or a slug again," Harry admitted. "And the first time he flaps his mouth, I'm going to remind him where his father is. But I don't want to be like my dad that way, or like the Slytherins last year when they did dirty work for Umbridge. I don't like the way they watch me all the time, but I can tell Remus is watching them, too."

Dumbledore nodded. "In a couple of weeks, or perhaps after that, I want you to go out with Professor Lupin to the Forbidden Forest to watch him in action with Shacklebolt to see how a team works together. Individual dueling proficiency is important, but learning how to work together in a coordinated way is even more so. I suspect you found that out last spring."

"If we had known what we were doing, all of us would have stayed away from the veil, or distracted Lestrange to let Sirius move away from it," Harry said. "We were just flailing away one on one most of the time. When I told Hermione about my ideas about flying and dueling, she talked about some old history shows she saw this summer. If we had a group of us trained to fly and swoop down with our wands out all at once, that would be better than a bunch of dogfights. She said to let her know in advance, though, so she could owl home for the Dramamine."

The Headmaster picked up a sweet and began sucking on it. He looked thoughtful. "That's an interesting idea, Harry. After the war with Grindelwald, there was talk of training new Aurors to work together in that way, but nothing came of it. Against Wizarding traditions, and all that. Perhaps times have changed enough for people to be more willing to listen."

"Well, I'm not that great a duelist, but I can fly. That's how I managed the first task a couple of years ago. Not everybody has to be great, just able to follow along. Hermione goes out to the practice pitch more than she wants to, and Ron and I try to help. It'd be almost like putting together an all-Hogwarts team if we ever played Quidditch against other schools."

"That would have to include Slytherin as well," Dumbledore said gently.

Harry made a face. "Why the big change this year? Nobody's ever worried about them before now."

"Professor Snape has always been worried about them."

"But I remember when you were so proud of me about the Basilisk, and how happy you were that I'd Sorted Gryffindor when the Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. I mean, up till the Welcoming Feast this year…"

"I told you _I_ have some old patterns to break. Isolating one house and condemning them as evil, with my active encouragement, undoubtedly contributed to so many of them taking the Mark in the past. The Head of Slytherin has always taken a deeper interest in the families of his students. I suspect he would have dealt with your family years ago."

That started Harry thinking. The weird herb tea Aunt Petunia made for Uncle Vernon had helped a lot, too. He hadn't noticed any owls, though. "What…what else did he do this summer?" he asked, hoping he wouldn't have to make the rounds again before someone finally _told_ him something.

"I think you already know, Harry," the old wizard said. "Your aunt, though you may not believe it, was concerned about the situation. I didn't know myself till the summer was almost over how Professor Snape managed it. I believed he trained Winky to prepare the ingredients for the Harmonia Potion by herself, and used the Muggle post to deliver them."

"Oh." Harry was amazed. _I'm not even in his House. Why would he care? He could have gone through the motions and then pretended he'd done all he could._

"If you really wish to repay a debt you feel you owe, then try to see the Slytherins as people, too. The Potions Master cares deeply for them."

"It'll help if you do, too," Harry blurted out, then wished he'd kept silent. He was always making that mistake here.

"I know. And I hope you do feel that you can trust me enough to be angry."

"It doesn't matter. You keeping sending me back to the Dursleys anyway." Harry didn't know what was wrong with him. Usually he knew better than to say how he really felt. "And I'm supposed to kill Voldemort when nobody else can, but I still have to have a guardian."

"That is why I can't be your guardian, Harry. I've made terrible mistakes, not only with you, but with others in my care. Professor Snape nearly died because of me, not just from what Tom did to him."

Harry felt uneasy. _It's like Snape is the older brother and I'm the younger one, but here I'm the favorite instead of Dudley at home. But the war comes first before anything. I know my friends like me, and not just the Boy-Who-Lived, but sometimes I wonder about the Headmaster. At least I do have friends._ Then he uneasily wondered if Snape did. None of the Order members except Dumbledore or Mrs. Weasley had been nice at 12 Grimmauld Place. Well, Remus hadn't been nasty or anything, but he hadn't stopped his godfather from being rotten, either.

The Headmaster interrupted the uneasy silence. "Well, I've kept you here long enough. Keep practicing removing and putting memories into your pensieve. That will become more important as I increase the pressure. You'll find taking refuge in a particular memory less helpful in other circumstances and with other practitioners of Legilimency, so you'll need more than one that you keep close enough to use."

"Your spell felt different than his last year," Harry said. "He just smashed me flat, but with you it was more like being in front of a big wave, or pushed under by a flood."

"Most people learn Occlumency from only one person," the old wizard said, obviously glad to talk about something else. "Professor Snape's first experience with Legilimency was with Riddle, while mine was much earlier with another expert. Students rarely have the opportunity to feel different methods at your age."

"I ended up in some of his memories when I tried to fight back," Harry said.

"Then you are talented indeed, though they may have been ones he wanted you to see."

"Um, I don't think so." It wouldn't be fair to talk about those. He couldn't help seeing the time when a small child had cried in a corner while a man had menaced a tired-looking woman.

"That's interesting." Dumbledore drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Usually only wizards who are destined to work together will see so deeply, especially when one is an Occlumens as skilled as the Potions Master is. This may explain some of the trouble you had keeping him out of your mind last year."

"But Voldemort could get to me, too, and once I saw through Nagini's eyes. It was a good thing I did that time."

"Tom already has a connection to you through the scar, Harry. It's possible your teacher's Dark Mark creates one as well."

"That would explain some of the dreams I had. In one of them, the two of us were boxing and Snape let me knock him down. But then he stood up and put his hand on my scar, and took the pain away. And I had those two visions along with that."

"Yes, I should have remembered." The Headmaster stood up. "Now, you need to leave or you'll miss eating. At your age, you should be starving after all this work."

Harry was, and barely made it to lunch in time. He was happy to leave his pensieve in his room and happier to go to Quidditch practice. The game with Ravenclaw was tomorrow, and he needed to be prepared.

Severus Snape

The next two weeks weren't much better than the first one, though he was almost too tired to teach the morning after starting Lupin's potion. If only there was a way to preserve it better, so he could make more than one batch and have it keep. Once he'd taught his students how to make it, he'd work on that.

He didn't understand why he felt so odd even after finishing the two batches and bottling them in preparation for the full moon. Severus caught himself snapping at the other teachers at meal times, though he wasn't really that angry with them, or even with his idiot students.

Snape finally consulted Madam Pomfrey one evening when the infirmary was deserted. He'd actually yelled at Winky, poor thing, and for something not her fault. "I thought the additional potions were supposed to help with my bad temper," he said as he sat at her desk. "For a while they worked much better than I expected. Have I become habituated to them the way I have to the sedative?"

"You shouldn't be like that with any of them," Poppy said as she poured a cup of tea for him. "Wait. When was the last time you had an expulsion phase?"

"In Switzerland, just before the beginning of school. But I don't feel the same way as I did then. Everything was, um, _gray_ and I had no strength. Now I'm just out of sorts." He was wasting his time and hers whinging about it, no doubt.

"How have you been eating?"

"Not as well as a couple of weeks ago. That Muggle muck Trelawney inflicted on me is sitting better, but for the last few days nothing has been tasting good." He'd been trying a number of different things, especially in the evenings, to remove the horrible taste of his potions fromhis mouth. Even a small dish of ice cream or sherbet hadn't appealed to him much the last few days.

"You may be ready for another expulsion phase and not know it," she said. "Perhaps you feel different this time because of the potions your students are making, or not making as the case may be. Also, you've been working on Lupin's Wolfsbane."

"Two different batches," he said. "I wanted to make sure one of them would be right."

"Ah." She fetched a notepad and scribbled a few notes. "I'll need an ingredient list. And a list of what you're using in class."

"I thought I gave you that one already," Snape said. "But I can find another copy."

"Your daybook also shows you're not sleeping well."

"I know. Ever since I found out Winky has been intercepting some of my night callers. I've been worried she won't wake me for something important." It wasn't the elf's fault. She was only trying to help.

"And you haven't been summoned for a while, either. Have any of your students been called since school started?" Poppy looked worried. Severus was glad someone besides him fretted over the dunderheads.

"None I've been told about. I think I would know anyway."

The mediwitch nodded. "I'll Floo the clinic and have them send me the right potions for the next expulsion phase. Or would you rather do it there? I'm sure the Headmaster will let you have a few days for it."

"I'd rather do it here. I know someone will make Lupin drink his potion…"

"I've been managing Remus for a lot longer than you have," she said gently. "If you can wait till the full moon, you would be away from here for it. What if you show the effects in class?"

Severus grimaced. "I'll assign an essay on potions overload. Expect a know-it-all Gryffindor to haunt your steps the moment she can't find anything in the library on it."

"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were looking forward to it." Then light dawned in the witch's eyes. "You want them to learn about it, don't you?"

"They won't take it seriously unless they see what happens," Snape said. "Especially the Weasley boy. I want him to carry tales to the twins, since they work with some strange things in their own business, and test all their new concoctions on each other first. They may contact you as well for more information." He stood up and felt like pacing around the infirmary. How odd. The first two times he'd been affected by the toxins to such a degree he hadn't had any energy at all, while now he had too much.

"I really think you should go to the clinic this time," Poppy said. "But I suppose I need to learn how to cope with the procedure when there isn't…isn't some other emergency."

For a moment he almost changed his mind. He was adding to her workload, wasn't he? "It won't be much bother besides gathering samples of the sweat and…anything else to send to Switzerland. I'm not as weak as I was the first time. The large tub here should work to take the residue off my skin. Dobby helped a great deal the last time, and should be able to again if I become ill otherwise. The laundry elves are used to coping with my robes by now, and I've warned them to be more careful this year. It shouldn't be so bad this time, especially since I haven't waited quite so long."

She smiled wanly. "I hope you're right, Severus."

He shifted position, still restless. "Perhaps you could offer points to volunteers. I am giving points for those who come in on Saturday for extra cleaning. Frankly, they've done a better job so far than the ones working off detention."

"I really need someone with more skill for an assistant," she said, though she appeared to consider the matter seriously.

"Then choose one of the house elves who has helped you before. Winky is learning much faster than I expected. Of course, most of the Slytherins come from families with elves, so they're using to seeing one around. The younger students are often watched by them anyway."

"I must admit, I certainly never thought she was dependable enough for the work she's been doing so far," Poppy said. "Oh, Severus, sit down! I hate it when you're so twitchy."

He complied. _First rule for spies: always listen to the people who patch you together,_ he thought.

"That's better," she said, and continued. "The elves usually tell me most of what's going on when they come to me with their own ailments, or just to gossip, but I really haven't used them as much as I could here. I suppose one could keep watch on students with minor problems while I deal with more severe injuries or illnesses, or to help with night watch. Neither Winky nor Dobby had trouble telling me when they were worried about you last summer."

"At least they would ease the load while you look for someone more qualified," Snape said. "I wish I weren't such a burden sometimes." He wanted to snatch the words back. He must be more affected by being close to threshold than he thought to let his real feelings out so openly, even to Poppy.

"Well, let's try this. When you take the potions for the expulsion phase, I'll have Dobby help you at first and see how well that works. He'll be the first to come to me if you have more problems than he can cope with. He can take turns with Winky, so neither becomes overtired. They're almost as bad as you are about that."

Severus grimaced. "Fair enough. Oh, Poppy, I know I'm being horrible to everyone this week. I almost wanted to strangle Potter again, and he hasn't been that bad, at least not for him. I shouldn't try to push you away. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"It probably is the potions reacting to your classes," she said soothingly, and put a hand on his shoulder. He tried not to flinch. She withdrew it, and looked sad. "At least you're telling me about it instead of just having tantrums. I just wish you could talk about this to Albus, too. I've noticed you haven't popped off at him."

"I…I can't. I know I should trust him, but I…just can't." He bowed his head and let his hair come down on his face in the old habit he wished he could break. "I know what he thinks of my ill temper, no matter how kindly he speaks to me about anything these days."

"I know it still hurts, dear. But allow him to be human too. He is trying. He knows how badly he behaved last summer and is doing his best to make up for it. You have both done well since then." She sighed. "We're watching out for you, too. That's why Minerva was in his office last Sunday, and Flitwick will be there the next. I will likely take a shift, but not till Quidditch season is over. That reminds me—have you been outside in the mornings and lying down in the afternoons the way you're supposed to?"

"The mornings, yes," Severus said. He lifted his head and brushed the hair out of his face. "In fact, just going around is boring now instead of terrifying. In a week or so I'm supposed to start dueling practice with Lupin and Shacklebolt. I wonder how surprised they would be to have me attack from above…"

Pomfrey rolled her eyes. "It's not enough that three quarters of the schooltry to kill each other out on the field every week, you have to join them up there too. I still remember the time you acted as referee out there. I suppose Rolanda is behind this."

He grinned. "I'm afraid so. But the broom she lent me is an old Cleansweep, so I'm not likely to get into much trouble with it. And…I like not being so afraid of something that used to bother me so much." Severus still wasn't totally comfortable higher than a couple of feet in the air, but he certainly wasn't as terrified as he had been at first.

The mediwitch muttered something about men and their toys that Snape was careful not to hear too clearly. "I suppose being outdoors is better for you, at least till the weather changes," she said in a grudging manner. "But what about afternoons? You should be tired by then."

Those hadn't gone so well. "I have been lying down, but I can't sleep," he said. "The first week I was so tired I dropped right off. For last couple of days, I've been grading, though with my feet up in the new chair. Lying down seems like such a waste of time when the papers begin piling up the way they do."

"You still need to relax, Severus." Poppy looked concerned. "Trelawney told me the Muggles have ways of doing so without potions. She said she had some books on the subject. You aren't the only teacher who overstrains himself, you know."

"I've been looking at them," he admitted. "I should send a copy of anything that works on me to Minerva." Judging by the way the mediwitch looked when he mentioned the Transfiguration teacher's name, he should brew McGonagall a new set of potions.

"Now, that would be telling," Poppy said. "But you could do worse than to consult with Sybil about this."

"I know," he said ruefully. "I'm not used to talking to her about anything except teasing her about her Inner Eye and offering to make cleansing drops for it."

A little explosion of laughter escaped the mediwitch. "Now we both know better than that, Severus. You were the only one who really confronted her about her drinking last year, and she appreciates it. She could use a lift herself every once in a while."

He wondered if Poppy knew about the prophecy Sybil had made for him. "I won't tease her…much," he said. "I am reading some of her books, and having a good time sneering at most of them. A few have made sense."

"Oh, Severus," she said, shaking her head. "I could talk like this all evening. Right now, though, I should Floo the clinic before it's too late for them, and have them send the next set of potions. If you have too much trouble, you're going back to them. You should have been a mediwizard yourself, and that's the patient we all fear."

"I did have to take the short course to qualify to teach in Potions," Snape pointed out. "A good thing, too, I might add, given the way my students try to poison themselves and others. You should see the problems I fix in class."

"I daresay I'm better off not doing so," Pomfrey said with a wry smile. "Well, you've been good company this time, but…"

"You have things to do. I'll manage to avoid murdering anyone for the new few days, Poppy. Or I'll go out to the Forest with Flitwick and hunt some more Acromantulas." He left the infirmary and decided some dueling wasn't a bad idea, if Lupin was up to it tonight. He'd been told not to wander off the grounds of the castle till he was in better health, unfortunately. Severus wished Dumbledore wasn't right. He wasn't as strong as he would like, despite his agitation.

He passed by the troll and decided to find out if the Room of Requirement had anything special to serve him. Snape had found out earlier the snakes he'd killed at the beginning of summer had been plaguing one part of the Forest, and their disappearance a boon to the centaurs. He wasn't terribly fond of them after their treatment of Firenze, but given they had also helped dispose of Umbridge, didn't worry about it much.

The Potions Master opened the door, only the find the room full of furious Cornish pixies. _Ah,_ he thought. _No doubt these little gems of the fairy world have been hiding somewhere since Lockhart lost control of them._ He stepped forward with a grin and a wand held high.

After a brisk half-hour, the floor was full of the little blue monsters now looking peaceful and innocent. Snape wrapped them all in strong twine and levitated the bundle to the kitchen, where the elves cheered him as he flung the pixies through the vermin trap to the new cage under Hagrid's cottage. The groundskeeper was welcome to make friends with them if he liked, though pixie toenails, and other parts, were useful in many potions. Apparently one or two of them had made forays into the pantries to the dismay of the elf in charge, and had a not so charming habit of fouling any food they weren't able to haul away. Snape didn't want to think how they would have treated Filch if the caretaker had ever come across them.

He went back to the dungeons feeling much more pleasant, despite one or two bites he'd slap a plaster on later. He did his rounds through Slytherin Tower, made sure the wards that warned him of anyone straying were reinforced, and rested for a half or hour instead of going to bed immediately. Severus was pleased to add an image of one small pixie hanging by an ankle and tied the ceiling of his 'office' where he kept his happy thoughts. He also looked through the book that recommended whinging by the yard, though it was odd the author kept insisting such papers should be handwritten. He knew several students, and not just young Mr. Weasley, whose essays would be far more readable with a Dicta-Quill, while some of the Muggle-born had many things to say about ordinary quills, none of which were complimentary.

Snape shuddered to think how long some essays would be if writing itself did not force the author to think first and scribble later, though he knew many who didn't bother with the first step. Miss Granger was not the only student who attempted to overwhelm any question with sheer mass of words.

Yet…the idea of venting his feelings with buckets of ink actually sounded attractive at this point. It would certainly be easier on everyone around him, and more convenient than relying on the Room of Requirement to give him something to blast whenever he felt peevish.Of course, he'd have to burn whatever he wrote. If he understood the book rightly, the procedure offered a dangerous freedom. If anyone else read how he truly felt, he could be killed or sent to Azkaban. Despite what Poppy said, Severus knew it would be a long time, if ever, before he truly trusted Dumbledore again.

He took some of the paper from the cubby beneath his new chair, then decided perhaps he would be more coherent in the morning. Just knowing there was a way to express the churning emotions inside that was relatively risk-free calmed him. Snape lay down then, and decided not to worry how well he was going to sleep. He'd managed on less before. No doubt the approach of the full moon as well as the devil's brews some of his students had already experimented with had much to do with his current state.

The next day he noticed a marked increase in the vileness of the potions Dobby and Winky brought him, along with the obligatory snack. He'd been too ill at the clinic to fully appreciate how foul they had been the last time he'd gone through an expulsion phase, no doubt.

Of course it was that Friday, the very day of the full moon, and in the sixth years' class when the black sweat erupted on his skin. He lectured them on safety, assigned an essay on potions overload to the little know-it-all and two Ravenclaws, and left for the infirmary. The horrible stuff burned his skin, and he was barely able to make it to the lavatory in time to vomit up his guts. Fortunately Dobby was soon there to assist him. Even with the elf helping him, Poppy still had time to hover over him and order him to bed. Severus felt so wrung out he didn't argue. Then he remembered. "Lupin," he croaked. "The potion for tonight." He shook with fear, though with any luck she would think it was from his illness.

"Where did you leave it?" Her voice was gentle as she guided him to a bed after Dobby had helped him put on a gown.

"On my desk."

"I'll take care of it. You stay right where you are. I do appreciate this, Severus. It's easier on all of us when I don't have to take him to the Shack. He's much more comfortable in his rooms, and I've already heard from someone at St. Mungo's who is extremely grateful to have the extra batch this time, so that went well, too." She left before he could stop her.

"Don't worry, Master Severus," Dobby said. "Everyone is safe."

Snape nodded. "Except for the poor elf who has to handle my clothes." As he feared, the sweat had ruined his shirt and trousers. He'd have to purchase more to replace them.

The old elf grimaced. "Should be burned, not fixed."

"The robe is spelled to make it easy for poisons to come out," Severus said, leaning back on the pillow. I'm afraid you're right about the rest." He began sweating again. The dark substance caused pain to his already blistered skin. His stomach warned him that another cycle of purging was on his schedule, too.

The other two occupants of the infirmary, younger students from Hufflepuff he thought, studiously looked the other way as he bolted for the lav. Dobby quickly drew another bath and threw his current gown onto the pile of his discarded clothing.

Once clean and empty again, he needed the elf to help him back into bed. Dobby put a screen around the space to give him some privacy, though Snape feared he'd made enough noise to make it clear how ill he was. His eyes watered and stung, and the cloth he used to wipe them left brown smears. The elf fetched him some plain eyedrops. _Do wizards who undergo this treatment ever have vision problems after?_ That was something he hadn't considered.

_Perhaps it's just as well I have so short a time. I would hate to spend the next century half-blind because of this regimen._ Snape used the drops Dobby brought him. He was glad of the screen, as he found himself weeping. Fortunately he had long practice in crying quietly. _It's just the potions,_ Severus told himself. _Of course I feel rotten and weak._ Once again his belly signaled potential disaster. This time it was much more difficult, even with help, to get to the toilet in time, and he had to rest for a while before attempting his way back to the bed. In fact, he fell on top of the pallet and Dobby levered him the rest of the way in, fortunately before Madam Pomfrey returned from giving Lupin his potion. She brought him another blanket, since he was shaking with the chills that presaged another surge of heat and black sweat.

"Drink this," she told him after putting on the blanket. "It's not quite the same as the enchanted sleep charm they used in Switzerland, but it will help. Good," she said, once she'd helped him choke the new stuff down. "Now turn to your side and sleep that way, so if you have trouble while you're asleep you won't gag too badly."

He knew exactly what she meant. He'd learned by the time he was eight to make sure his mother slept that way after finishing a bottle. "I should have gone to the clinic," he whispered.

"If you have to be placed on a stretcher and put through the Floo, you do, but don't worry about it now. You've already expelled quite a bit, and that can only help."

Snape closed his eyes.

The next thing he knew, it was morning judging by the angle of sunlight through the window, while Dumbledore sat by his bed."

"Better?" asked the older wizard, who looked concerned. There was a shimmering glow around the bed, which meant Dumbledore had put a muffling spell around, and the two of them could speak freely.

"Just tired. It wasn't as bad this time as the first." Severus noticed he was lying on his back, which was a good sign under the circumstances.

The Headmaster nodded. "Poppy thinks you're affected by the fumes from teaching even with the venting. She said you noticed you felt differently as well. I'm glad you're finally paying attention and not just shoving it away."

"Doesn't work anyway…" Snape said.

"Interesting that the reaction is following the full moon this time."

"Coincidence…unless something's in the Wolfsbane Potion…" He reached for the glass of water on his side-table, but his hand shook terribly.

Albus picked it up instead and helped him drink. Washing the foul taste out of his mouth was definitely an improvement. Severus nodded his thanks. Oh, Merlin, it was a small gesture but it spoke volumes to him. Perhaps he shouldn't be moved by so little, but he couldn't help it. "It's…it's hard to, to _feel_ things," he said, trying to explain. "And I'll have to shut it off again the next time I'm summoned to do what the Order needs."

"Maybe the Order is asking too much."

"The Order is asking a sixteen year old boy to kill one of the most powerful wizards in existence," Snape said, more harshly than he meant to. He softened his tone. "The Order doesn't have a choice there. Neither do I. We both know it. Even the oldest possible replacement is too young."

"You weren't."

Severus remembered those dreadful years when a Dementor's Kiss had seemed like mercy. "None of them have learned the lessons they need to, not yet. They certainly won't be trusted if I go missing. One can only imagine what Bella would do to them." _Mr. Potter now is barely the age I was when I became a Death Eater in the first place. He and his friends were only eleven when they went after that wretched Stone. One could think all their perils have been training exercises. I thought I was the only one thrown to the wolves like that.. _

The Headmaster glanced down at the floor. Snape knew the argument was over, then, at least for now. "We both know I don't have much time," he added dully. "Prophecies like Sybil's don't change. I could be rushing towards my doom by trying to avoid it. I'll manage, Albus. I found out this summer…" His voice shook. "I never expected everyone here to rally around the way they did." Severus sat up carefully and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, though he became dizzy anyway. After a moment or so, he didn't feel quite so faint.

"Lie down, professor," Poppy's voice rang from the other side of the screen as the shimmering air around the area blinked out. "You are not going anywhere today. Your darlings will just have to play Quidditch without you. They've already been told, if they didn't know already, that your regimen has put you to bed till I say you can leave. I believe they plan to march in here with the Snitch on a silver platter. Don't ruin their little scheme."

He obeyed. Then she came around the side and glared at him. "I've put Professor Lupin to bed as well. He took his potion like a gentleman and slept through the moon last night, but he's still weak from the transformation."

"A pity they cannot convalesce in the same room and amuse each other then," Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "At least you wouldn't have to trot back and forth so much."

The Potions Master bit back a wave of fear. He shouldn't be like this. He knew the potion worked. A few years ago he had put a spell on one of the portraits in Lupin's quarters to see through the figure's eyes to reassure himself the Wolfsbane really worked. All he'd seen was a wolf, curled up and sleeping through the night.

"That's not an option, Albus," Poppy said with a tired smile. "Don't worry, Severus, I won't let that happen."

He was ashamed to have shown so much weakness, but in a way it was just as well. The Headmaster sometimes acted on such impulses, usually the dismay of everyone else involved. Then the mediwitch began examining him and ordered him a tray, as Dumbledore made his escape. No doubt the older wizard worried about what Poppy would find if she looked him over, too. Snape objected to the tray. "It's not like I'm going to keep it down," he said.

"It's better to have something to heave up, and it's very light," she said. "Well, I'd best make ready for the weekly collisions. You have been less trouble than I thought you would be. Try to get as much food down as you can. I'll wait a few hours before giving you any more potions, and allow you a chance to digest some of it. This part of the treatment doesn't need to be quite as intensive as your first experience, I don't think. You will likely be better off, even if it lasts a trifle longer." She left.

Soon Winky arrived with the tray. "Dobby says you sick again," she said. "Says I stay to help little Snakes. But they all fine. Please eat, Master."

He should have found it annoying how she stood there and fussed at him while he ate. He should have found it really annoying when she went on her tiptoes to feed him the last few bits of thin, sweet gruel when his hands lost all strength altogether. In fact, he felt drowsy as soon as the tray was empty and barely noticed her going away with it.

Then it was afternoon. Clearly, he'd fallen asleep again. Snape would not put it past Poppy to have slipped him a sedative in his food, though he normally could taste the flavor of it. For once it didn't matter. He heard vague sounds from the other side of the screen, but nothing terribly loud. For now he'd pretend obedience, wait till she was busy with some idiot fallen off his broom, and then make his escape.

He couldn't decide if he'd had any potions or episodes of vomiting while he'd been asleep, and decided he didn't care. Snape closed his eyes for a moment after drinking some water from the glass on his table. How trusting he was up here! But the infirmary had always been safe.

Snape awoke again, though not long afterwards judging by the shadows, and heard the sound of footsteps. "Where is he?" said Crabbe.

"Behind that, probably. Be quiet, or Madam Pomfrey will throw us out." That was Draco. His godson peeked around the screen. "Professor?"

"Come around quickly, or you'll all be caught," Snape said. "I was thinking about leaving anyway."

Four proud Slytherins shuffled into the small space. Draco didn't have a silver platter, but did have the Snitch in his hand. "I wish you could have seen it, sir. We rolled Ravenclaw up like a carpet. You wouldn't believe how I fooled Chang. Of course, Crabbe and Bulstrode kept her so busy dodging Bludgers she was too distracted to see where I was really going, while Zabini kept the goal clear of their Quaffles." He continued describing the game.

Severus noticed how his godson was careful to praise everyone on the team for their contribution, instead of dwelling endlessly on his own glorious maneuvers. _You've grown up, Draco,_ he thought.

"I wish I could have seen it, too," he said, meaning it. "What were the penalties this time? You know Hooch will tell me, so you might as well come clean now."

Crabbe hung his head. "I got one, sir. Boot's over in one of the other beds waiting for Madam Pomfrey. I was really aiming for Rosemead. But they missed their penalty shot." That clearly cheered the large young man.

Snape shook his head. "Always hit what you're aiming for, Mr. Crabbe. I think you may owe Mr. Boot an apology. Well? Any others?"

Everyone denied drawing the wrath of the experienced coach, and Miss Bulstrode mentioned three penalties pinned on Ravenclaw. "Good," said the Potions Master. "I am proud of all of you. It is harder to win with less ah, aggressiveness, but I think you appreciate it more." He was more than a little surprised to hear Madam Hooch had called fouls on the other team. No doubt she was still in shock herself. "There will be weeks when you will wonder why we bother following the rules so strictly, but we'll get through that. I will speak to the whole team later, but I suspect if you stay too long our esteemed mediwitch will throw you out. Mr. Crabbe, if you could stay behind?" He nodded at the rest of the players as they left.

"Sir…I'm sorry about the penalty," Vincent said hesitantly.

"This isn't about that," Snape said quietly. "Bring a chair and have a seat." This wasn't the best place for this sort of thing, but he shouldn't miss this opportunity or he might forget. Crabbe had been under Draco's shadow for so long it was hard to remember he was an individual in his own right.

The young Slytherin did as he was told. Snape put a Silencio around the area.

"I just wanted to find out how you are doing," Severus said gently. "I know how you must grieve for your friend."

Crabbe's face crumpled. He lowered his head, but said nothing.

"It's all right to miss him, you know."

"B-but he was against the Dark Lord," Vincent whispered hoarsely.

"Let's talk about this in my office," Snape said. "Go look in the tall closet near the office door and fetch me a long robe. We should go back to the dungeons for the rest of this." He wanted an excuse to leave anyway. He was still tired, but his stomach was reasonably settled. If he happened to miss a dose that would disturb that balance, it would not break his heart.

Crabbe came back with a long white robe with 'Infirmary' printed on it, and turned his back as Snape put it on over the patient gown. They both walked out, though the Potions Master noticed Mr. Boot was likely going to have a nasty time with some Skele-Gro judging by the angle of his left leg. "You should take him some sweets later tonight if you can. The potion he's probably going to take won't let him sleep."

"Yes, sir." The sturdy Slytherin looked as if he struggled with thought. _What a horrifying sensation _that _must be,_ Snape mused.

Soon they were in the dungeons through a shortcut. Severus ducked into his quarters and changed, with only minimal help from Winky, into something more suitable. As he and Crabbe sat down in his office, the little elf disappeared and then returned with a flask and a small plate of food. "Mistress Nurse say if you leave, you take this," she squeaked.

Snape ate first, then drank the foul stuff in the flask. "What are all the potions for, professor?" Crabbe asked.

"I really do have a problem with what's called potions overload," the Head of Slytherin said. "Over the years I've inhaled too much poison and it will make me quite ill if I don't rid myself of it."

Crabbe looked relieved. "I thought it was because you were still bad off from um, last summer." His face looked pale.

"That didn't help, but I have recovered from it. I'm still worried about you, though. I miss Mr. Goyle as well."

His student glanced around, then seemed reassured by the blankness of the office walls. "You…you won't tell anyone, will you? Mum said I had to be careful what I said."

"I think you know how well I keep secrets by now," Snape said softly.

Crabbe looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "Drake told me it would be all right," he said. "He said you wouldn't give me away either. I never thought about things till Greg died." He rubbed his eyes. "You tried to stop it, too. Drake said he talked to both of us that night, not just me, to see if we were all right. He told me Greg felt the Mark hurting, but he didn't feel bad inside the way he had before, because of what you did. How did you know it was happening? Everyone knows how loyal you are."

"I am linked to all of you through the Mark because you are my apprentices," Snape said, knowing he was on dangerous ground. "Also, I've been in Azkaban, and the spell was fueled by a Dementor. Anything to do with them still bothers me."

"Oh." Crabbe appeared to accept that. "Third year must have been awful for you, then. No wonder you were so mad when the three of us pretended to be some ofthem. I really hated it when we had to stand by a real one for a while."

"So did I." Despite the necessity for the three boys to be punished for their nasty prank, Snape couldn't leave any of them, even that idiot Draco, to stand before a real Dementor alone. Combined with the continuing presence of the werewolf, it had not been a pleasant year. In fact, he hadn't what he would call a good one since Mr. Potter's arrival. He sighed. "It is all right to grieve for your friend, Mr. Crabbe. Just be careful who is around first."

"Millie—I mean, Miss Bulstrode's a good sort. I'm glad she's not…not one of us, you know? And Winky's always up for a bit of sympathy and a biscuit if she's not busy. That was a good idea to have her help, sir. Everyone sees how sick you are. So far nobody's made it past her at night."

_Except for Miss Walsh,_ Snape thought, but said nothing about that. "I hope I'm not missing anything important," he commented, knowing he had to keep his hand on the pulse of House gossip.

"Dunno, sir. Firsties with nightmares, mostly," Crabbe said. "Pansy and Libby are supposed to help with the girls, and me and the others with the boys. That's what Drake said, anyway. There's one little brat I made shadow puppets for till he laughed, and he was all right after that. Now he's coming to me with his homework!"

Snape nearly laughed at the look of terror on the large Slytherin. "After all the time Mr. Malfoy has helped you with yours, it's only fair," he said.

"Well, it's better to let you sleep, sir. You aren't yelling near as much as last year."

"That's true," the Potions Master reluctantly admitted. "Last year wasn't pleasant for any of us."

"It was great running around with our wands out, even if we did have to suck up to the Toad. Why should Gryffindors have all the fun?"

"Madam Umbridge to you, Mr. Crabbe," he said in his most reproving tone.

"Sorry, sir. We joked how she was sweet on you, though never around someone from another House. But this year, it's not a game any more."

"No, Mr. Crabbe. It never was." As if to lend emphasis to the point, his arm began hurting. The student on the other side of the table winced, too. "I suggest you find the others. You may wish to let others assume you have a flask or bottle you'd like to share to celebrate our victory. Mr. Malfoy will naturally want to include Miss Parkinson, and she will fetch Miss Rosier. We'll meet by the Whomping Willow, and then proceed into the Forbidden Forest past the wards. Once outside of them we'll let the Mark take us where the Dark Lord wishes."

"Yes, sir," Crabbe said, rising.

"Don't forget your robes and mask. Don't put them on, though, till we're out of sight of the castle."

"Oh, right! Thank you, sir!"

Snape felt wretched at being thanked for leading the idiot into danger, but had to get ready anyway. He left a note for the Headmaster and had Dobby take it to him. "I will be out, and may miss my evening dose. You'll know more when I return," he said to the elf. If he did. Then he remembered that Miss Edgecombe had no idea of where they were supposed to rendezvous. He wrote another note and told Winky to take it over to Ravenclaw Tower.

As he gathered his own robes and an extra Portkey just in case, he tried to stop shaking. Despite Sybil's prophecy, he was well aware he risked his life every time he answered a summons.

Vincent Crabbe

Vincent went up to his room and fetched his robes and mask. Draco was already gone. He wasn't used to being by himself. Drake felt like that this year, too. Both of them kept turning their heads for someone who wasn't there any more.

Who was going to tell the others where to meet? Then he saw him. There was a rumor his friend had become a ghost, but nobody he knew had seen Goyle anywhere.

But there Greg was, standing by where his bed would have been this year. "Damn!" Crabbe said. "I can't stay to talk. We've been called again, and we're supposed to meet by the Whomping Willow. I'm probably going to make everyone else late if I stay."

Goyle nodded. As a ghost, he was almost transparent. Maybe new ones were always like that. "I'll tell anyone who hasn't left yet. I still can't go to the girls' side, but I can stand at the door and say Drake wants to talk to Pansy, and tell her to find Libby."

"Thanks. Are you all right?"

"I still get lost yet. Everything is really different this way. Be careful, Vince."

"Have to be. Some days I wonder…" Then Vince rashly decided he could always trust his friend. "I wish I hadn't done it, Greg, even to be with Drake."

"I wish I hadn't, either."

Vince knew it was hard for either one of them to do anything besides what Draco told them. "I think…I think Drake wonders the same thing. We're all worried about the Professor."

Goyle nodded glumly. "Snape almost died. All the ghosts, including me, had to be part of some funny rite so he wouldn't. But you better go."

Crabbe ran off. He knew Draco would always wait for him.


	39. Chapter 39: Rewards and Punishment

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Author's note: My Britpicker is on vacation, so instead of making you wait till she gets back, I'm posting it tonight. All errors are mine alone. Warning for graphic violence. I rated this story M for a reason.

Chapter 39: Rewards and Punishment

Severus Snape

Snape was furious and terrified at the same time as he waited for the apprentices to join him at the Whomping Willow. Even Miss Edgecombe had managed to show up before all the Slytherins were together. At last that idiot Crabbe arrived. Shortly after, they walked far enough out of the wards surrounding Hogwarts to touch their Marks and Apparate.

They arrived in a wide, empty plain as the stars glittered overhead. The Potions Master could almost smell the ancient evil of the place. Old terror had been overlaid with new grief in the recent past. Even the Muggle newspapers were full of the horrors committed here, though they had yet to intervene. _The Dark Lord will be strong here,_ he thought, fueled by the mass graves he could sense, even if he could not see them. He hoped none of the students with him were as sensitive to death as he was.

_The Muggles call this place Bosnia now, but it has had many names over the centuries._ He stepped forward with the apprentices following along behind. Young Weasley had arrived separately and already stood near a shorter man in a mask and cloak near the inevitable small fire, while Miss Edgecombe left the protection of the others and knelt before someone with long, black hair spilling out behind her.

Snape went to his knees before the Dark Lord, his Slytherins following him like a flock of black-feathered birds. Fortunately he'd had the wisdom to spell himself with a quick _Ennervate_ while waiting for the students to meet him. He dare not be weak here. He'd pay for it tomorrow, but he'd just increased the likelihood of seeing it.

"My lord," he murmured submissively.

"Rise," said Voldemort, whose red eyes glittered. No doubt he fed from the pain even a Muggle could sense in this place. "Tonight we gather together as we have not since my return in the body. Tonight all of us are here, save those imprisoned in Azkaban." He made a sweeping gesture with one arm, as if to bring everyone together.

Snape noticed nearly fifty others as he stepped back to join the students. Obviously the meetings he had attended last summer had not been full ones. Yet…surely the most effective members were behind prison walls.

Or were they? Had the raid on the Ministry been a diversion or a trial run, rather than a desperation move? Riddle was a superb game-player. _I must not assume anything. I must only observe and remember what I see._ His inner walls were strong again, though Snape hoped they wouldn't be tested tonight. Even Dumbledore's gentle prying had been painful.

Voldemort spoke again. "It has been a long time since a new member joined the Inner Circle, a long time indeed. Yet our new Brother has proven himself over and over this summer. His only reward for his diligence thus far has been pain and suffering. He was once an apprentice himself, and now leads nine more towards my service. Severus Snape, step forward."

He did as he was told, glad of the _Ennervate._ He would need all his strength in this evil place. "My lord," he said again as he ventured closer again, and bowed.

"Tonight you shall have the privilege of performing the sacrifice to sanctify our meeting," Riddle said, delight gleaming in his eyes. "It has been too long since I saw you kill. You did it so well earlier this year, I hunger to see it again."

Snape's heart beat faster as two Death Eaters unknown to him brought a struggling Muggle woman forward. How carefully his Master had planned this! For with only a slight distortion of her features, no doubt from Slavic ancestry, she was the living image of Lily Potter the night she had died. _What a cruel test,_ he thought.

"How do you wish me to proceed, my lord?" he asked.

"Both first and last blood," Voldemort said loudly enough for all to hear, a gloating look on his face. "Yes, she still has both to take. Your old life ends tonight, while a new one begins."

It was just as well he hadn't eaten much today. Severus was close to losing the little he had. "My lord, I obey," he said, and bowed again. He must act quickly to make both acts as merciful as he could. His students would still see what their Potions Master was capable of. It was their right and duty to witness this carnage in the name of the Dark Lord.

Now the Muggle woman stood in front of him as the others watched. She trembled. Snape stripped her naked with a spell, while she vainly tried to cover herself with her hands. He remembered when he had enjoyed such helplessness. He remembered what he'd done in the past.

But this time his body granted him a reprieve and refused to respond to the unwilling flesh in front of him. This would be ugly, but not as ugly as it could be. Snape immobilized her with one wave of his wand, and before horror overtook him, bent down and thrust the piece of wood up inside her, muttering a quick _Stupefy_ as he did so. She would be wounded and die, but at least she would know little of it. The woman nearly fell, but one of the other Death Eaters caught her and held her up.

Snape showed everyone his wand, gleaming with the crimson fluid of life. "First blood," he said, trying to ignore the red rivulets trickling down the woman's thighs to her ankles.

Then another, Pettigrew he thought, handed him the curved blade that Bella had used to murder a child. Snape put his wand away, then pulled the woman to him so her back was against him and she faced the crowd. "Shall it be done?" he asked.

Voldemort nodded.

Snape yanked her by the hair with one hand so her throat was exposed, then sliced her neck open nearly to the spine with one blow. Most of the blood spurted away from him, which was the idea. Those who were members of the Inner Circle or merely wanted to be crowded forward to bathe in gore.

Her body sagged. He gently lay her down in the center of the circle near the fire. As with the initiation meeting, everyone, including his apprentices, filed forward and dipped their hands in the blood

His head swam. For a moment the flickering light of the bonfire began to fade.

"_Ennervate,_", Voldemort said softly. Snape felt strength flow into him. "You seem so strong, I forget how ill you have been. You will receive your reward tonight."

"Your regard is the only one I want," the Potions Master smoothly replied.

"You deserve more. I remember meetings when you wouldn't have used your wooden wand for the first part." The Dark Lord smiled.

"I am lucky this meeting was today and not yesterday," Snape said. "I was still throwing up poison from my latest expulsion phase. Besides, it's easier to salvage a woman's virgin blood this way. There are several uses for it."

Voldemort blinked. "Always the Potions Master, aren't you?"

"That is how I best serve you, my lord." Snape hoped the walking lizard believed it.

"I could force you to enjoy her, my Shadow, even now."

"Then I would obey, my lord. Since you allowed me the choice, I took it. I hope I have not offended you." Severus looked at the woman's corpse. From what he had heard, finding a virgin in this part of the world must have been difficult. He forced himself to become detached, his real self hiding once more in the cold, dark place where only Dumbledore could find him. If the Dark Lord willed, he would find himself ready to rape a dead woman in front of all. He would have to endure it somehow.

"No," Voldemort said decisively. "That would be punishment for you, and you have been disciplined too much already. That old fool and I nearly destroyed you last summer. But I think you'll like what I offer now."

The Dark Lord faced the crowd as Nagini slithered up behind him. "Severus Snape is now bound by blood to the Inner Circle, as well as to his apprentices. He will renew his fealty to me now. Kneel."

Snape did so, and bared his arm so the Dark Mark showed. Voldemort touched his wand to it, as he had the night of the initiation. It burned furiously, and Severus could not stop his face from showing the impact of the pain.

"Severus Snape, do you pledge yourself anew to my service, now and forever?"

"Yes, my lord," he whispered.

"Do you swear to accept the consequences of treachery, the punishments of failure, and the rewards of success?"

"Yes, my lord." The vow rang through his head, as the Dark Lord's red eyes attempted to bore through his mind.

"Do you realize this commitment is for eternity? Do you understand you are pledging yourself after death as well?"

"Yes, my lord," Severus said dully. He tried to show more enthusiasm.

_Death will not release you, even if you die_, the Dark Lord's thought rang. "Then I accept you as one of the Inner Circle, equal with those who suffered in Azkaban and with those who are in there now. Continue to serve me at Hogwarts as my eyes and ears. Continue to serve me with wand, cauldron, and blade. Continue to serve as you have all these years, though you believed me gone, and you will become a prince in this land set above all others save the rest of the Inner Circle and myself. Fail, and you shall receive the fruits of that as well."

Snape felt a different sort of binding on the Dark Mark now, stronger than before. Perhaps Voldemort was right and his soul was forfeit. He bowed his head as he knelt.

"Now rise. Your mask now bears the sign of your new status. When you remove it, you will see a rim of gold around the edge along with the silver. Thus we know our own. The mask will show that sign only when you are touching or wearing it. If any one else tries to handle it, they will suffer accordingly."

Snape stood up, wondering what would happen next. The darkness in his heart was heavier now. Was there any light that could lift it?

"And now comes your reward," continued Voldemort. "When I had you punished when last we met, you were to be chastised physically, but not beyond your strength. Instead, my instruments exceeded their orders. You came so close to death I almost stopped feeling you in my own Mark. Fortunately your apprentices were strong and wise enough to see your plight and sent forth their own essence so you might live. Only a true master could engender such loyalty. Out of ten, one of your students failed a test that killed others across this land. However, many of my so-called followers also died at their own hands for their treachery to me, and they were old enough to know better. Once I realized how loyal the rest of your apprentices were, I knew I had punished you unjustly. This is one reason you are being honored here tonight.

"However, those who disobeyed me will be in your hands. Strike them as will, save death alone. I shall give you a few moments to think of something appropriate for the agony you endured at their wands."

"I have already considered the matter, my lord," Snape said.

The Dark Lord smiled. "Somehow, I am not surprised. Bellatrix Lestrange and Peter Pettigrew, come forth!"

Both of them stepped closer to the fire away from their position closer to Voldemort. Pettigrew was the shorter one, and was already shaking.

Snape held out his wand, sticky with the drying blood of his victim. "I won't add much to the entertainment tonight unless I must," he said. "Instead, some time in the future I will ask a favor, which both of you will have to grant me. You must pledge me wand to wand to fulfill what I request of you as a Wizarding Debt. If you refuse, then I'll have to demonstrate just how well I can perform the Cruciatus."

Wormtail hastily agreed and touched the end of his wand to Snape's. Severus wondered for a moment what would happen if he asked for something that would violate Pettigrew's Life Debt to Potter, and the consequences of such conflict.

Lestrange took her time, though she too had seen the tramp die. "What kind of favor?"

"That is not for you to decide," Snape said harshly.

Her eyes glittered behind her mask. It had a rim of gold around the edge. Odd he'd never noticed it before. However, it was probable that only members of the Inner Circle and Voldemort could recognize each other this way.

"Damn you!" she said, and briefly grazed the tip of her wand against the blood soaked wood of his. A fiery spark flared anyway, showing the pledge had been made. "You'll pay for this!" she said. It was obvious she'd rather undergo any kind of humiliation instead of making this promise. No doubt she prided herself on her ability to endure pain, but apparently his execution of the old man earlier in the year had made an impression.

"I accept your oath as well," he said, his voice silky. Both wand oaths were sealed with a virgin's blood and death. Any failure to carry through would likely prove fatal.

Pettigrew and Lestrange withdrew to their normal places at the Dark Lord's side. Nagini hissed and wound herself around her master. The crowd murmured, clearly impressed.

"How extraordinarily wise of you, Shadow," Voldemort said as the serpent flowed away and he stepped forward closer to the fire.

"Just think how long they will wonder what the favor is to be," Snape said with a smirk, though the mask hid it.

"That is…exquisite. Even Malfoy would not have thought of that."

"You flatter me, my lord. Lucius has thought of a lot of things."

"Ah." The Dark Lord waved for silence. "Entertainment has been provided for the rest of you tonight, while the Inner Circle meets to consider the future. Enjoy yourselves. Remember, this is only a taste of the fruits of victory to come."

"May I ask a boon, my lord?" Snape said as he watched the crowd walking towards a second bonfire that had just flared into existence.

"Of course," Voldemort replied.

"May I see my apprentices off? They are young and inexperienced, and have yet to earn the pleasures you offer the others. I would not have their training marred by receiving rewards they do not deserve."

"You are quite right, Shadow. I shall send them back for you as soon as you explain what is happening. They will wish to serve you, and me, all the more for having to wait. Return as quickly as you can, though. We have much to discuss tonight."

Snape hastened over to the small knot of students, made sure they were all there, and took them aside from everyone else. "Our Lord will send you back to the Forbidden Forest," he said, glad he wasn't going to have to show anyone he had a portkey set for the Slytherin Common Room. He glanced around. The Weasley boy was already gone, while Lestrange was giving poor Miss Edgecombe a wallop along the right ear. He'd have to make sure the girl went to see Madam Pomfrey with the proper story as soon as possible.

"Sir, I don't need help," Draco said in a whisper. "I can Apparate, though I'm not licensed."

"You'll probably end up in a different section of the Forbidden Forest than the rest if you do," Snape said.

"I'll manage, sir." He didn't sound happy about it.

"Good. Find Hagrid and tell him I was detained. Also tell him I have to see a man about a dog. He'll know that means I'm all right, but have an errand to run before I can return."

Young Malfoy nodded, then disappeared just a moment before the others were sent back as a group. How much power it must take to move so many and not scatter them to the four winds. Even Dumbledore would have difficulty, though keying such things through the Mark undoubtedly helped. Snape was frightened by the display of so much raw magic, as no doubt he was supposed to be.

He breathed a sigh of relief knowing his students were out of the way. What he truly feared was that they would be mistaken for part of the entertainment. He didn't mind the Dark Lord reading it from his mind, either.

Bella had finally turned from ranting at Miss Edgecombe. Snape quickly brushed by the Ravenclaw girl, dropped the worn glove into her robe pocket, and murmured "Portkey". He hoped Voldemort would remember this last apprentice and send her back as well, but he couldn't depend on it. Severus knew better than to think Lestrange would worry about the girl.

He turned around, only to struggle with nausea at the sight of Nagini devouring the corpse of the woman he'd killed. Snape tried to remember he was a Death Eater of the Inner Circle, and thus inured to such things.

He managed to hold completely still as the huge serpent turned her attention to him. He held his breath as she twined herself around him and licked him gently on the ear, which the mask didn't cover. Her breath reeked of blood, the blood that he'd shed. It didn't matter if she bit him or not. There was too much poison inside him after tonight for hers to affect him.

She hissed at him again, then fell away and returned to feeding.

"You are honored indeed," the Dark Lord said, who had clearly been watching. "She was thanking you for being the provider of her feast."

"Why didn't she do that with Madam Lestrange after she killed the Muggle boy?" He knew better than to ask questions and wanted to kick himself.

"That is interesting. Perhaps it's because they're both female. Nagini has never cared much for my dear Bella."

Snape had a horrid vision of the two as rivals for the Dark Lord's favor.

Riddle smiled, showing pointed teeth. "You could be right, my Shadow. I must admit, I am flattered if it's true. It hasn't happened since I took on this new body, but it's certainly amused me in the past."

Snape bowed. "It pleases me to see you happy, my lord."

"It should. Now let us join the others. We have plans to make."

They gathered together in a dilapidated building near the plain. Snape and others removed their masks, as the Inner Circle was supposed to trust each other. He found the concept blackly humorous. There was only one chair intact inside the place. That, of course, went to the Dark Lord., while the rest of them tried to remember their Transfiguration lessons. Severus was quite aware he was the junior member and was the last to be seated, though he'd settled for a footstool with a rudimentary back.

Just as the discussion began, Snape realized he'd pushed himself too hard as stabbing pain shot up from his loins, and a wave of nausea left him covered in sweat. Fortunately the problem faded, as if it belonged to someone else, and then disappeared.In the past, he would have used a potion to restore his strength or at least add to his endurance, rather than openly using another Ennervate. He didn't have that option any more.

He sat up straight, pretended nothing had been wrong, and listened.

"I want them to know they owe their freedom to _me_, not their own efforts," Voldemort said. "Human guards will be easier to overpower than it was to negotiate with the Dementors, especially now we have the Dementors helping us."

"I have a suggestion, my lord," Snape said. "I heard a rumor some of the normal guards have been replaced by nonhuman ones. Apparently the Ministry is not as trusting as it may seem." As far as he knew, it was only a rumor. He needed to discuss it with the Order, and hope they could find out the truth—and if necessary, _make_ it the truth. Other races were not as affected by Dementors.

"Our usual source says that's not the case," Pettigrew said.

"If the source is who I think she is, _she_ is not always told everything," Snape hastily improvised. It was easy to guess Madam Umbridge told her assistant a great deal, and Percy Weasley passed it on to Wormtail. "She would object to nonhuman guards on personal grounds, due to some recent unpleasant experiences. It would not surprise me if her superiors wanted to avoid confrontations with her on the subject."

It was easy to tell which members of the group had actually met Madam Umbridge, as some pursed their lips, rolled their eyes, and otherwise showed their disdain.

"Then we'd better find allies besides the Dementors," said Lestrange, who apparently had some intellect left when she decided to use it.

"If the attack is on a night with a full moon, any carnage can be blamed on werewolves if we conduct ourselves in a similar manner," Snape said, trying to stay calm. Tonight was also a full moon, and he was not at Hogwarts where the only wolf was calmly asleep. Damn! His phobia was becoming worse, not better. He added, "Then our source can go forward with her plan to register all nonhumans in the Wizarding World. This will irritate a large number of them, and possibly turn some still wavering against the Ministry. She may also gain enough influence to remove any inhuman guards from Azkaban, since they clearly did not work, thus making the place more vulnerable to Dementor attack in the future, should we need access yet again."

Bella's eyes flashed with irritation as the other members of the Inner Circle, agreed. Snape recognized them all as members of pureblood society, including Goyle's mother. A good thing she had been masked at the meeting. Mr. Crabbe might not have reacted well if he had known of her presence.

The plan was adopted. Voldemort said. "We may be able to use real werewolves in this attack," he said. "I shall inform you soon whether I think we can put together the strike in one month or two, or need to abandon the whole idea. We know too little yet besides rumor, and must not make the attempt too early." He motioned for Snape to stay on while dismissing the others.

"How do you know about the guards at Azkaban, my Shadow?" the Dark Lord asked.

"As part of my probation, Moody has the right to interrogate me whenever he wishes, my lord," Snape smoothly lied, though it wasn't far from the truth. "When I attend an Order meeting, he often takes advantage of the privilege. He is frustrated since he may no longer use his standard techniques, and it is easy to goad him into fury. He is usually interrupted by another member when he loses his temper and uses a spell or something else to cause me pain. The others speak more freely around me after that, at least for a while." He allowed his face to go blank, as if he did not wish to remember such things any more. Moody would dearly enjoy having him back in a cell again, and had threatened a great deal, but Snape had been careful not to be alone with the retired Auror. _I must admit, not even Sirius Black thought Moody's jokes about Azkaban were funny. _

Voldemort nodded approvingly. "If you are ever sent there again, I shall make sure you are rescued quickly. For now I think it best if some of my followers think over their real position, and become somewhat more grateful than they have been in the past. Dear Lucius especially needs to learn his proper place."

"Thank you, my lord," Severus said, then stood and bowed. The second Ennervate was beginning to wear off.

"Think nothing of it. Return to Hogwarts and rest. Your students will become far more important than they are today, and need your guidance. Would you like assistance to return to the Hogsmeade? Drawing a new person into the Inner Circle strengthens me rather than the reverse."

Snape was afraid Voldemort was right about that. "I will manage, my lord, and rest when I return. I hate to admit, but those wretched Swiss might be right about my need to rid myself of the poisons inside me. Not that I'll ever admit it, of course." He Apparated away.

When he landed on the pavement just outside 12 Grimmauld Place, he sat down on the curb from exhaustion. The second Ennervate had clearly run its course, and he still had to make his report. Well, he could manage one more. And a cleansing spell.

Even after it he still stank of blood.

Draco Malfoy

The young man appeared in the Forbidden Forest, though fortunately near its edge. After what he'd seen tonight, the place was familiar and almost friendly in comparison. He didn't know whether to be proud of his godfather. or terrified, or both. What the professor had done was horrible, and the way so many had surged forth to bathe in blood was nauseating. It still filled him with pride how Snape had been honored. Draco was lost in admiration at the way the Potions Master had turned everything to his own advantage. Both his aunt and Pettigrew now had lots of time to wonder exactly what sort of favor would be asked of them, and how much it would cost them to give it. Only a Slytherin would have thought ahead beyond the need for immediate gratification.

_I have to learn it for myself,_ Draco thought. He kept his wand out as he walked through the woods towards Hagrid's hut, and wished he knew where the Dark Lord had sent the rest. He'd hope to hear the noise of their passage back towards the school, as most of his friends were even less woods-wise than he was.

At first he'd been angry to be dismissed, as though he and the others were children. Now he thought about it, there were some forms of entertainment he was glad to be spared. Draco shook, remembering the gush of blood spurting from the woman's throat. _The blood on Snape's wand…_ That was even worse. Pansy had almost thrown up when she'd seen it displayed, while Libby Rosier actually had. Fortunately Vince had stepped in front of her when she'd had to bend over and let go. All of them would have to talk tomorrow, including the Ravenclaw girl.

"Who's there?" called the half-giant.

Draco felt like running to him for protection. But he knew better. _After everything I've done, he has a right to call me a coward._ "It's me, Draco Malfoy," he said. "Professor Snape asked me to give a message to you." He hated how high his voice sounded.

"Now, what are you doing here after the sun's gone down?" Hagrid suddenly loomed in front of him.

"The professor is all right," the young Slytherin said. "He said he would be detained, but had to see a man about a dog. He said you would know what he meant." They began walking together towards the hut. At least Draco hoped they were going there.

"And I suppose you went off by yourself?"

"I…I thought they were ahead of me. Have you seen or heard them?" How much did the groundskeeper know? And for how long?

"Aw, they went through here a bit ago. Thought you were with them, and doubled back for some reason."

"No…"

"Come along with me, and I'll see you back. Y'need to see Dumbledore?"

"Maybe…could I just tell you?" Draco was suddenly frightened of how much the old wizard would see, and what he might ask. "He's all right, the way I said. It's just…there was so much blood. Not his," he added hastily. He felt light-headed for a moment and stopped walking by Hagrid's side. "My father…" _Oh, Merlin. Father probably had to do the same thing when he became part of the Inner Circle, too._ He stopped and leaned to throw up as he imagined Lucius Malfoy destroying a girl the way Snape had tonight.

"There, there," Hagrid said, sounding uncertain. "Mebbe you need to talk to Dumbledore anyway."

"No, I'll be all right," Draco said as he wiped his mouth.

"We'll stop at the hut and have a cuppa first." The half-giant's eyes looked hard, and he appeared far more intelligent than usual.

_Maybe Snape isn't the only one to play a role,_ the young man thought, and felt like an idiot. "Thank you," he said, suddenly afraid of Hagrid, too.

Soon they went inside the hut, which stank of animals. That didn't bother Draco at all right now. The huge man sat him down in a deep chair, shoved a cup of hot tea into his hands and put a blanket on when the blond Slytherin couldn't stop shivering. "That bad, eh?"

"I don't know. I think when the professor was hurt so badly and we couldn't do anything about it, that was worse." Draco bit his lip to keep from crying. "Thank you, Hagrid. I need to go back now. I want to make sure everyone else is all right."

"That's a good lad, wanting to look after the others like that. Poppy told me how you children did what you could for old Snape when he was so bad off." Hagrid fiddled with the hearth to spark up a warmer flame.

"I'm, I'm trying hard not to be a coward," Draco said, as he stood up and folded the blanket before putting it back down.

"Well, now, I spoke too hasty that time. You were one of the smallest firsties in your class, I think. Old Snape wanted you cured of wandering about at night, he could see nuthin' but trouble there…but you should've stuck by Harry, you really should've."

"Maybe he should have run," Draco ventured. He hadn't thought about the dead unicorn in years. "And Fang didn't give me much choice!"

"Hmm." Hagrid sighed. "I din't think of that. The dog probably had a stone on you back then, I bet. Could be Fang would have dragged Harry back to the school, and left you standing if it'd been the other way around. But it wasn't right you trying to have Buckbeak killed."

Draco bowed his head. "I know. The professor laid into me for being stupid that time. It didn't take me long after that to realize I should have treated the hippogriff the way I do him."

Hagrid guffawed then, a huge roll of laughter that filled the hut. "Isn't _that_ right! And both of them with the same beak, too! No wonder they never got along, two male griffs in the same territory always fight!" The half-giant quickly sobered. "If you don't see the Headmaster, I have to, lad."

"Yes, sir." Draco thanked the groundskeeper again, and went back to Slytherin Tower, barely dodging Mrs. Norris along the way. He'd never thought to respect Hagrid so much, but this year he'd had to change his mind about a lot of things.

All the boys were back, and a quick note passed to the girls' side by way of Winky assured him Pansy and Libby were all right, too. Draco supposed he'd better find a way to check on the Edgecombe girl as well tomorrow. Anyone who was apprenticed to his Aunt Bella had his deepest sympathy, if nothing else. He tried to think of a good reason to owl Percy Weasley, but couldn't come up with one. Maybe he could have Mother invite Madam Umbridge to tea, or something?

Then he was distracted when he noticed Winky crying softly on her pallet by the professor's door after making prefects' rounds with Zabini. All Slytherin prefects did theirs in pairs this year, no matter what, after what had happened to Montague.

After Zabini went back to the room he shared with Jake Macnair, Draco went back to the door to his godfather's private quarters. "He'll be all right," he told the distraught elf. _I hope so, anyway,_ he thought.

"Master Potions Master so sick yesterday," she whimpered. He finally just sat down and let her clamber into his lap. Nobody was around to see how silly he looked anyway.

"He was a lot better tonight," Draco said. "He'll be tired tomorrow and probably should stay in bed and take his potions. But you know Madam Pomfrey, she'll keep him up there if she thinks he's too sick to be here. I can do my homework down here and keep an eye on things so you can be with him if he has to stay in the infirmary."

That brought a lessening of tears and some hiccups. "Oh, Master Shi—Master Malfoy, you is good, too!"

He smiled. He was well aware by now of the nickname the elves here had for him. Given some of the rougher ones they had for others that he'd overheard, "Shiny Head" wasn't too bad. "Now, you had better sleep," he said. "When the professor comes back, he'll probably need your help. He wasn't hurt tonight, not as far as I know, but…" He decided not to mention anything else that happened at the meeting. "He'll need you," he finished.

Winky nodded. "All right, Master Malfoy," she said in her tiny voice, then reached up and patted his cheek the way Marta did when he was home. Then she laughed. "You smell like Big Furry."

"Yes, I was in his cottage tonight. He helps the professor, too, I think." He carefully put her back on the pallet as he stood up. The little elf's presence had steadied him a bit.

"Sleep well, young master."

He smiled back at her, then went up to his room and made ready for bed. A quick shower took care of the Eau de Hagrid problem, not to mention the lingering scent of blood still in his nostrils.

Once behind the safety of the curtains of his bed, though, he began to shake. He quickly cast a Silencio around his bed, and cursed his father and the Dark Lord as loudly as he could. He'd have to wash that out of his mind before he went back, of course, but just now he had to say what he really thought.

Draco grimaced at the stack of homework piled on the back of his bed. Then he changed his mind, and sighed. He wasn't going to sleep with the images of this night's meeting in his head. Even a history essay for Binns was better than thinking about the blood gushing out of the woman's throat…or running down her thighs.

He opened the book and read the assigned pages till he began drowsing over them. Thank Merlin for Binns!


	40. Chapter 40: A Meeting at Grimmauld Place

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 40: A Report at Grimmauld Place

Alastor Moody

_He's still an arrogant bastard,_ Moody thought as he listened to Snape give his report to the hastily assembled members of the Order. The dark-haired Potions Master looked as if he'd been out for a Sunday stroll by the way he spoke and moved. Unfortunately, the Slytherin was right about Azkaban. It would be relatively easy to replace some of the human guards with centaurs and the like and even easier to backdate their arrival. As far as the Ministry was concerned, paper was everything.

Mad-Eye twitched to leave and hear Percy Weasley's report. He _knew_ the greasy git was leaving out part of what happened with the Death Eaters. After all these years he had an instinct for it. Snape was good at revealing partial truths to avoid deeper questioning.

_I'm not the only one watching him_, Moody thought. The Headmaster seemed deeply concerned, though as far as the retired Auror could tell, the bastard hadn't been beaten or Crucio'd any time recently. His normal eye could spot that. His magical one noticed some interesting shadows in Snape's aura. _What did you do, Snape, to have the darkness in you increase tonight?_ He supposed something could have been done to the man that left no physical marks, though becoming part of the Inner Circle naturally meant a reinforcement of the Mark.

Dumbledore was clearly worried. And if the old man wasn't happy, nobody else should be, either. Alastor grudgingly accepted that Snape had done much for the Order. As far as he could tell, though, that didn't stop someone from doing a lot for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, either. Or for himself.

The Potions Master had done well passing the message for the meeting, though. The Malfoy brat undoubtedly had no idea that 'to meet a man about a dog' referred to Sirius Black, or to the house he'd owned before his death. Hagrid was good about repeating things exactly.

"We'll have to make sure Professor Lupin has witnesses to his location during the next full moon," Dumbledore said. "It wouldn't do for him to be blamed for anything happening during the attack."

"I will have to participate," Snape said in a flat voice. "Missing the Ministry Raid almost put me on the execution list."

"Take care, then. It would be a shame if you were hit by friendly fire while trying to make sure the raid fails." The Headmaster looked sorrowful.

"None of it will be friendly." It was said as fact, with no bid for pity.

One thing Moody appreciated about Snape was his willingness to face the bleakness of his situation. "I'll give the usual orders," he said, "but you'll have to look out for yourself. We can't play favorites without giving you away."

Snape nodded curtly. His shoulders drooped. "At least I can return to Hogwarts using the Floo now."

Moody grimaced. Black had gone too far last year, though only Molly Weasley had had the courage to say so. Oh, Lupin had tut-tutted over the situation, but had been as ineffective as ever. _Talk about someone who chases with the hares and hunts with the hounds,_ Moody thought. _I suppose my own jokes about Azkaban were in poor taste. Both Snape_ and _Black glared at me, while I nearly felt the edge of Molly's frying pan over that last one._

Dumbledore rose. "You need more rest than you will get at the school tonight, Severus. I'll have your evening potion sent, but you should skip the others till tomorrow when you return. Your students have returned and are safe. Even I can feel the house itself doesn't hate you any more. Lupin's offering of full house-rights did the trick."

"I wish I could have seen Miss Edgecombe get away," Snape said. "If Professor Flitwick could keep an eye out for her..."

"I'll let him know," the Headmaster said. "Eat if you can, please, then get some sleep."

Moody was tired himself. It had been a long day trying to find anyone from the Ministry in their office on a Saturday to begin with, considering the Mudlarks had a home match, and then convincing people he hadn't gone off his nut _again_ when arguing for greater precautions at the prison—and at Quidditch games, too. Snape had only confirmed his suspicions. Apparently the two of them were thinking alike, which ought to be scary. You'd believe everyone would still remember the World Cup, but you would, of course, be wrong. Learning Weasley had been summoned still worried him. He couldn't even ask Snape about the boy, not with Percy's mother bustling in the kitchen making a late-night meal.

Dumbledore and the others left. Mrs. Weasley commanded the two of them to sit at the table. Even Mad-Eye knew better than to disobey. Besides, she made a nice picture in her nightgown, robe, and nightcap. She was a fine figure of a woman and Arthur was a lucky man.

Moody cheerfully thanked her for his plate and dug in. A nice bit of rare steak was just the right belly-timber when he was this hungry.

Then he glanced up. Snape was deathly white, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead as the Death Eater stared down at the bloody juice from his own meat. Then Moody figured it out. "How many Ennervates?"

"Three."

"You're getting old. You used to be able to manage five before looking like this." He freshened up Snape's tea and loaded it with sugar. "Drink up, then take a few bites. When was the last time you ate?"

"Tray in the morning?" The Potions Master looked vague. "No, I think Winky brought me something in the late afternoon, just before I was summoned."

Moody sighed. The man really did need a keeper. "The tea first."

Snape slowly sipped his cup and became slightly less pale as the stimulant and sugar kicked in. Then he picked at his food, totally avoiding the steak.

Mrs. Weasley came in, and clearly saw something wrong. "Now, Professor Snape, you'd best lie down and try to eat in the morning."

Snape's eyes weren't vague then, but blank, as if withdrawn into some private nightmare. Moody knew _that_ look well enough. He briskly thumped his wooden leg into the man's left shin. A little pain would help Snape focus long enough to get him to a bedroom.

The professor blinked. "I…I am sorry to see this go to waste, Mrs. Weasley." He put his hands on the table and pushed himself to a standing position. Moody bolted down the last few bites of his dinner and rose just in time to keep the tall wizard from swaying. "Three Ennervates on an empty stomach," the retired Auror said, shaking his head. "Thought you knew better."

Snape was silent as Mad-Eye and Mrs. Weasley between them guided him to a bedroom on the ground floor. Molly had insisted on it once Snape had gained full house right, on the sensible grounds that the Potions Master might not be able to manage stairs at times. Moody wasn't going to argue with her, as he had a ground floor chamber as well because of his wooden leg.

"I'll take it from here," he said as the three of them reached the door. Snape had an empty look in his eyes again, and Moody wanted to find out what was hiding behind it.

Molly withdrew, but said, "Don't be too proud to ask for help."

Mad-Eye wasn't sure which of them she was addressing, but nodded. "We've managed before, ma'am," he replied.

Once Mrs. Weasley was gone, Moody hectored Snape into removing his boots and outer clothes. He noticed the slight rim of brown underneath the fingernails. Cleansing spells didn't get everything.

"Three truthful answers tonight," the Potions Master abruptly announced once he lay on the bed. Without the frock coat, vest, and trousers the man looked more skeletal than ever.

Mad-Eye had him sit up so he could pull the covers down and put the younger wizard under them. "Why?" he barked.

"Because of the gorse from Azkaban,. And because I feel like it," Snape said. Then he smirked. "That doesn't count as one of them. You're slipping, Moody."

"I'm getting older, too." They'd played this game before. Mad-Eye knew he'd get the truth, too. but would have to limit his questioning. Some days that was a fair trade. "So, what happened at the meeting that you left out in your report?" He cast a quick spell to ensure privacy. "You know the Weasley boy will tell me."

Snape stared up at the ceiling. "I had to offer the sacrifice. Muggle. First and last blood. Wand…not, not me. He…I think he wanted it to be me…he could have forced me and I think he almost did. She died as quickly as I could manage. She looked like Lily."

Moody blinked as he thought. _This didn't use to bother him, or least he never showed it. I wonder why he trusts _me_ to know?_ "Why not tell the Headmaster, then? He's forgiven you other things before. And yes, I know this is a second question."

"He found out how I obtained the information for the Order last year. He…he was sick of me after that. Probably still is. Just covering it better."

Mad-Eye noticed the self-loathing in the younger wizard's eyes. _Dumbledore taught him that,_ he thought. _He certainly didn't learn it from me. All's fair in love and war, they say, and Lucius Malfoy is both in a horrible kind of way._ "He does have a squeamish streak," he said slowly. "How he's kept it so long after what he had to do in the Grindelwald War I have no idea. It was Lucius, wasn't it?"

Snape nodded. In the game, guesses related to the same question had to be confirmed or denied, but only one was allowed each time. He spoke in a dead voice. "Black was right. His jokes. It was the only way. You have to listen to me about Azkaban. I don't want Lucius out of there. I'd sabotage the rescue attempt just for that. Go ahead and laugh. You did before."

The retired Auror shook his head. "I've never hurt you for anything you've said, Snape. Never. It's only when you didn't talk that things…well, they got out of hand. I wish I'd had your old records from St. Mungo's back then. I would have known you weren't just being a loyal Death Eater when you really stopped talking." He had been appalled at himself once his fit of rage had passed over, one reason he'd made sure to send off that last owl to Dumbledore personally when Snape had been scheduled to be Kissed. For one thing, by that point any Dementor would have had to dig pretty far to find Snape at all.

He'd gone home and thrown up a few times after some of their little sessions almost two decades ago, but had never shown anything to his prisoner, he hoped, after hearing what Snape had to say. Frankly, finding out tonight about Malfoy really came as no surprise. "You did what you had to do." He didn't understand why Dumbledore was shocked. He knew the elderly wizard preferred to close his eyes to the seamier methods of gathering knowledge, but making anyone feel worse because of doing it for the Order seemed a bit much even for the Headmaster.

"At least I made sure those dunderheads of mine were out of there before the entertainment started," the Potions Master muttered. "The Weasley boy was already gone, but I wish I'd seen the Edgecombe girl leave before I went to the Inner Circle meeting. I gave her a portkey, but didn't see her use it."

"She's not your apprentice, but Mad Bella's," Moody said. Albus ought to be the one doing this. But he supposed he had as much experience bucking up disoriented spies as anyone else. "I don't suppose there's much you can do about that, either. Too bad you couldn't eat your supper, but I give you points for trying."

"It seemed the right thing after having to refuse her hospitality all last year," Snape said in a softer voice, though his face still looked haunted. "She brought me sandwiches from her kitchen I could eat outside when she found out what Black had done…"

Moody agreed that Black's giving only door-right had been stupid as well as petty. If the dark wizard had been severely injured, it would have been difficult to take him to a healer in time without being able to use the Floo. The Potion Master's information was too helpful, even now with other eyes to watch, to let him die unnecessarily. Keeping Molly Weasley from fussing over someone who looked hungry was actively suicidal, and he'd told the mutt so himself. "Well, she doesn't think you're rude now. No doubt as soon as you wake up in the morning she'll cosset you more than Poppy does."

"Don't mind it from her…" The deep voice was barely a whisper now.

Mad-Eye snorted. His magical eye must be on the fritz. Now Snape's aura showed a brief glow, as if some gentler emotion was overpowering its basic darkness. "Don't tell me you're in love with her or something soppy like that."

"Yes. And that's my third answer." The Potions Master stared up at the ceiling, his face white and tense. "If…if you could help me sleep now…"

The old wizard nodded. "I have a potion that will knock you out, or barring that, an inch or two of firewhiskey from my flask. Your pick." Information for sleep was a bargain they'd made before. He'd have to think that third answer over a bit.

"Can't. No potions or strong drink. Stupid Swiss. Can't have a lot of things…"

"Right. You're on that regimen for potions overload. Well, let's see if this old thing still sends you to sleep without too many bad dreams. I swear, before you came along I never knew anyone the spell worked on like this." Moody had developed a Soothing Charm that helped people talk sometimes when even Veritaserum didn't work, usually because they were nearly mad with fear. It _had_ worked that way on Snape a few times, but after that only put the younger wizard into a deep sleep. He began chanting it. After all, he had his three answers and a bit extra with his guess about Lucius Malfoy.

Soon the Potions Master was breathing deeply. His aura showed him to be truly slumbering, and not shamming. The retired Auror turned to leave, then cast a quick set of wards that would raise an alarm if the younger man woke and tried to harm himself, or removed the wards. Constant vigilance was the only thing keeping some people alive.

As he left the room and went down the hall to his own bed, careful not to wake the portrait, Mrs. Weasley drew him aside. "He's all right, isn't he?" she asked with a hard look in her eyes.

"I didn't lay my hand or wand on him, ma'am. I only talked to him a little. It was a bad evening for him, but I think he'll sleep now without waking everyone with his nightmares." He didn't count the thump to Snape's shin. That was only to bring the man out of his faint.

"Good. I won't have to tell you on to Madam Pomfrey. He wasn't injured, or anything, was he? He tries to hide it, but I can usually spot that."

"No, but it wasn't pleasant either. A young Muggle woman was killed tonight as the sacrifice for this night's meeting. She looked like someone he used to know." It was funny how Snape was getting soft like this. Normally spies in his situation turned to stone.

She pursed her lips. "He's had to see things like that before, I suppose. I heard some of the reports last year." Then her eyes widened. "Oh! He didn't have to kill her, did he?"

"I'm afraid so, ma'am." He'd better watch himself. She was far more intelligent than most people thought.

"And you keep telling everyone he's really on the other side. Would he feel it so much if he were?" She pulled the robe more tightly around her. "I was talking through the Floo with Poppy. She'd asked me earlier to tell her if I saw the professor. According to her, he spent most of Friday and Saturday being ill, and shouldn't have left the infirmary till Sunday, if then."

"He did what he needed to do, ma'am." _Snape really has changed,_ Moody thought. Last year the Potions Master would have given the report and hidden away at Hogwarts, no matter how badly hurt or tired he was. Of course, Black had been here then.

Snape acted like a man who had little to lose. Maybe there was a reason for that.

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Well, I'm done for the night. I hope both of you sleep well."

Alastor finally reached his own bed, after deciding he couldn't use the Floo here to talk to young Weasley without his mother finding out. He shook his head over the third answer Snape had given him. Molly Weasley was perfectly capable of hexing any wizard she didn't like into next week. And, as much as he loathed admitting it, Snape was a gentleman in his private life. Ministry files held a lot, and Snape's showed a taste for plump but willing women who made no complaints, even when they thought they were gossiping privately. Besides, the greasy Slytherin could have chosen a lot worse. _Can't blame the man for good taste,_ Moody thought as he awkwardly rolled over to his favorite side to sleep on. Well, the only side he could sleep on.

The next morning Mad-Eye noticed Snape was still asleep and probably would be for a while. He told Mrs. Weasley about the wards while she fixed him breakfast. He had a good appetite and finished quickly, then left for the Ministry. The Weasley boy wasn't in, but Arthur was. "You see more of my wife than I do," Molly's husband said.

"Probably," Moody said, who couldn't believe the man was talking like this when anybody could listen. Maybe it was just as well Arthur knew about his son now. Both of them were less fretful and easier to work with after that horrible Sunday morning. _I owe Snape for that, too,_ he thought. _Percy could have died even with me there._

He went as quickly as he could to his own office, which he'd moved from the basement to an upper floor, set up his Floo, and warded it. Percy was at his own little flat this morning. The young man answered quickly, though, and had obviously not slept well. "I'm glad to see you," he said. "I wish I could contact you at the safe house and report, but I can't when Mum is there."

"I know. But we can't tell her yet. Her face shows everything. Now, tell me what you saw at the meeting you were summoned to last night."

Weasley went so pale his few freckles stood out. "Professor Snape was inducted into the Inner Circle. There was, was a sacrifice…a sacrifice, like the one when I was initiated, only a woman this time."

"I know about her," Moody said gruffly. "And the first and last blood."

"He used his wand for that," Percy said as he turned red.

"There were meetings where they did it the old-fashioned way. Last night could have been one of them." He remembered the horrified look in Snape's eyes when he said the Dark Lord had almost forced him to. _If something's too nasty for that greasy bastard to handle, nobody ought to be faced with it. Except this lad might have to anyway._

"What…what happens if they ask me to…to do something like that? Pettigrew said I should stay around and enjoy myself, but I couldn't, not after seeing that."

Mad-Eye chewed his lip. "You practiced a Crucio on the old man Wormtail found on the streets of Berlin," he said. "You do what you have to do." He hated to think of this boy showing the same hardness Snape had last year.

"I still have nightmares about it. What if Pettigrew lied to me about what the man was like? What if he was some harmless old bum?"

"He wasn't. But the next one will probably be just a Muggle. Now, your report."

Weasley told him exactly what had happened, at least the part he'd seen. "I really think Snape must have stunned her. As soon as his wand touched her, she looked out of it. It was quick. I've never seen so much blood before. One of the Slytherins threw up, though the tallest one stood in front so most people probably didn't see it. _I_ almost threw up. It was frightening to see the professor like that, like a real Death Eater."

"He _is_ a real Death Eater. You would be wise not to forget it."

"But he saved our lives, Moody. He almost died making sure _he_ thought only one of us was a traitor. From what I've heard, he saved Harry, too."

"He always looks out for those brats from Slytherin," Moody grumbled. "You and Potter just happened to get the benefit of it as well. Didn't you tell me he Floo'd you once about keeping on eye on those others if he couldn't? Don't be foolish enough to trust him the way the Headmaster does. Always check his information whenever possible. Why, even Dumbledore does that."

"Last summer…he did have those clouds of purple around him. Snape said the Headmaster had put the Imperius Spell on him. But that doesn't make any sense if Dumbledore really does trust him." Percy looked unhappy.

That bothered Mad-Eye as well. He'd heard the old wizard had used _Legilimens_ on Snape several times last summer as well. Something was wrong. "I wish he'd use it on some of those apprentices of his," the old Auror said. "If the Potions Master wanted to, in a few years he could have quite a little power center of his own."

"He's been teaching for a long time, sir. Shouldn't he already have one by now?"

The boy did have a knack for pointing out the obvious. "Not as long as he was Malfoy's lapdog," Moody grumbled.

"But wouldn't that make him want power of his own more rather than less?"

The older wizard grinned, though he didn't like what he heard. Percy Weasley was thinking for himself instead of merely taking orders. "Well, true. But even the Ministry sucks up to the purebloods. We should have rid ourselves of them the way the Muggles in France did in their lot a couple of centuries ago."

"But my family is pureblood too," Percy said. "Who chooses? Mum is even on that stupid tapestry at Grimmauld Place, or so Fred told me. Snape wasn't rich, and if the Ministry has their way, won't ever be no matter what he does. Why shouldn't he make up to Malfoy? Nobody else but the Headmaster ever gave him a chance. Not even us."

That was quite perceptive. "I was stupid last year, too," Moody said. "It was so much fun watching Black bait him I didn't put a stop to it." Or refrain from joining in at times.

"You must have trusted him enough to think he'd stay on our side anyway."

"He's on his own side," growled Mad-Eye. "But I have to admit I enjoyed the show too much to think about the results. I'd start wondering myself if I were treated the way he is." So much for constant vigilance. He'd thought of Snape as a prisoner on probation for so long that he'd forgotten the Potions Master still had choices he could make.

If all the answers Snape had given him last night were true, absolutely nobody deserved the greasy git's loyalty _but_ Molly Weasley. He sighed. "What happened after the sacrifice?"

"The professor was offered vengeance against Pettigrew and Lestrange because they exceeded orders by nearly killing him. Instead of making them dance at the end of his wand, he made them take oath for a favor later. Pettigrew was glad, but I think she wanted to take the Crucio and move on. But she gave in, after thinking a bit. She probably remembers last summer, too."

Moody nodded. He'd never seen anyone torn apart physically by the Cruciatus, but if anyone were able to do it, it would be Snape. He smiled to himself as he contemplated the possibilities, then sobered. The favors were owed to the Potions Master personally, not to the Order. He hadn't mentioned them at the meeting or late last night, either. "That's good news," he said. "You realize, of course, that there are limits to what he can ask. Poor Wormtail! Now he has two Wizarding Debts out. I hope they don't cancel each other. Anything afterwards?" He wished he could have seen the faces of the two Death Eaters as they contemplated their fates in Snape's hands.

"No. We were dismissed to the entertainment, while the Inner Circle met in a ruined building not far away. Snape rounded up his apprentices and sent them off, and Lestrange kept ragging on that poor Ravenclaw girl. Pettigrew allowed me to leave right away. I had to tell him I'm the most junior in my office, and I still had to go in and make sure everything was locked up even though it was the weekend. I whined a bit." Percy's face went pink. "He assured me the time would come when I would have my own office and not just a cubby off someone else's. I don't think he's a good example of what the Dark Lord does for people, but I didn't say anything. I came back here and tried to sleep." He looked pale, as if he hadn't.

Moody offered the only comfort he could. "At least the woman died quickly. I've seen worse."

"So have I," Weasley said flatly. "I was _glad_ to help Malfoy put together the healing spell. I know you don't like me mingling with the other apprentices, but I had to that time."

"That whiny brat? I'm surprised he bothered to risk his own skin for anything!"

"You're wrong, Moody. He found the spell, rehearsed us in it, and stood in the center. I will never regret being part of it."

Mad-Eye could tell Percy was a lot more like Arthur than people believed him to be, especially when he had that stubborn set to his jaw. _I was part of the Kerridwen Charm the next day, so I have no right to fuss, I suppose. _"Well, just be careful. To hear you talk, you're more of an apprentice to Snape than to Rat-Boy. How is Wormtail these days?"

"He likes having someone to look down on," the young man said wryly. "He's been in the office a few times when I've been working late. He…he and I _play_, you know, the way we did when he was Scabbers all the time. I try to remember what you told me about not breaking his neck, but it's hard sometimes. I have to laugh at his plans for Fred and George, and then, and then, sometimes he talks about Ginny, and I can't stand it, but I have to…"

Moody could imagine how difficult it was. He had family, too, family Grindelwald had threatened in his time. "Lupin gets first chance at him, lad. But if the wolf misses, we'll leave Pettigrew's fate up to you." _Unless Snape strikes first for Lily's sake,_ he thought, remembering the younger wizard's face when he'd described whom the sacrifice had looked like.

"The really horrible part is I still like him better than I do Umbridge."

"Who wouldn't? Talk about sucking up to Malfoys!" Moody often had the impulse to slap the woman silly, and was fervently glad his courtship of her so long ago had gone sour. She and Fudge were still thick as thieves, though so far the Minister for Magic knew better than to let the petition for Lucius Malfoy's release go forward.

"I'll never forgive her for what she did at Hogwarts," Percy said softly. "I tried to warn Ron, but he wouldn't listen. Neither would Harry—I mean, I knew Ron would share _that_ letter out. I tried to say what I meant carefully, in case she intercepted the owl, but it wasn't any good. When everyone in the office heard what Miss Granger did, one fellow wanted to send her flowers. I put a stop to that. I knew Umbridge would be back, and she'd find out. It's…it's not a good idea to be on her bad side." He bit his lip. "Sometimes it's worse being on her good one."

"She's a very lonesome woman, Mr. Weasley," the old Auror said. He could guess what the boy was going through. Now, Snape had been on to her right away, but he'd been raised in Knockturn Alley. Alastor still wanted a Time-Turner to go back and eliminate the evil little bastard in the gin shop. Or turn that drunken mother into the authorities. Merlin, he'd been sick the day Snape had droned on in a monotone about _that_ part of his childhood!

But Percy had grown up in a decent family, and was still naïve in many ways. "A few late night teas can't harm either one of you," Mad-Eye said in a persuasive voice, hoping that would be the extent of it. If it went further, though, he certainly wouldn't blame Weasley for doing what he needed to. What the hell was Albus _thinking_ doing that to Snape?

Weasley's face went quite red again. "She keeps wanting to buy me things. So far I've put her off by saying it'll cause trouble with the others if she makes a pet of me. She pretends to be like Mum and straighten my collar even if doesn't need it, but it's not the same."

"No. It isn't." Moody remembered the deadness in Snape's voice last night when he'd talked about Lucius Malfoy. Even someone who ought to be used to the game could be pushed too far. Was the boy strong enough to manage this little flirtation? Well, they were all going to find out. "She was married once, but it didn't work out, and I think I remember why. She probably won't ask for more than a kiss and a cudddle, lad, and the occasional bunch of flowers. Let her pretend for a bit she isn't as old as your mother, and not much to show for it but that office of hers." In fact, now he thought about, Madam Umbridge had been Molly's roommate there at Hogwarts. A pity the boy couldn't talk with his mother about her. Of course, _that_ would probably result in a knockdown the length of Diagon Alley with pictures on the front page of the Prophet _and_ the Quibbler. Not to mention color commentary on the wireless…

Percy sighed. "When you put it that way, it doesn't sound so bad. After what I saw last night my worries do seem rather trivial."

_No, they aren't,_ Moody thought. _They're not trivial at all. But I have to make you think they are because we need the information._ "That's the ticket, lad. A few flowers and a box of chocolates won't hurt and they'll go a long way. I have to make another call now. Turn in early today if you can, and don't go into the office. Late hours don't suit you."

Weasley nodded, and left the fireplace. Moody then reached the Headmaster.

"How is Professor Snape?" Dumbledore asked, an anxious look on his face.

"Sleeping like a rock when I left 12 Grimmauld Place less than an hour ago. Mrs. Weasley and I assisted him to bed when his Ennervates caught up to him, and he's been there ever since. He should have quite an appetite when he wakes up."

"Good. Madam Pomfrey has been worried since he made his escape from the infirmary yesterday afternoon. I neglected him badly last summer, and she hasn't quite forgiven me."

"Percy Weasley said Snape had the remains of the Imperius spell on him last summer right before old Tom handed him over to his lackeys for punishment," Moody said. "He could be mistaken, and I hope he is." _That_ curse gave him the shivers. He still remembered how that blasted Barty Boy had used it on _him_ to make him climb into his own traveling chest. Oh, yes, he'd been rough on people at times, but the only Unforgivable he'd ever used was the killing spell. To his mind, there was little difference in battle between knocking someone off with a knife or with _Avada Kedavra._ He couldn't imagine _Dumbledore_ using any of them.

Yet the Headmaster was staring down, as if he'd rather answer any other question but this one. "That's…that's a complicated story, Alastor," he began. "One night I performed a _Legilimens_ on him the same night Tom did, and he began building his mental walls more strongly afterwards, and moving a massive amount of memories into a box inside a special set of them. After what he did to save his apprentices after the loyalty spell, apparently the pain was so great he retreated totally. I had to break those walls. I didn't realize what the consequences would be, but he was dying in there. The Imperio I put on him was the only thing I could think of to let his mind rest before his sanity was completely gone. He had only a couple of hours relief from it when he was summoned. I have wondered ever since if Voldemort became more suspicious of him because of what I did, and that's why he was hurt so badly."

"And you have the gall to tell me I should trust him more!" Moody shouted. "All right, I went too far when I was his interrogator in Azkaban. But after all the times you've leaned on me for doubting him, you go and do it yourself! I left some broken bones behind, but once I realized he wasn't coming out of his funk till he was good and ready, I gave it up as a bad job and let people better qualified than me to manage him. In fact, I spent a lot of last summer thinking about where I'd screwed up when you told the rest of us he wasn't going to be at Order meetings for a while. Now I find out you were roasting him over a spit whenever You-Know-Who was tired of it. How are we supposed to decide how to treat him when you can't either?"

Albus bowed his head. "I know. As usual, Severus is the one to suffer by it."

"Well, last night wasn't too bad for him," Moody said. "After he was in bed, he and I played our old game of three truthful answers. He forgot to mention at the meeting he was the one to perform the sacrifice, both first and last blood. Some young Muggle woman, who looked like Lily Evans that was."

"And with the students there, too."

"He managed the first with a wand and the second with a knife, so their education _was_ broadened, but not as much as it could have been. They'll have interesting nightmares, but it could have been worse. Weasley left as soon as he could, and Snape rounded his darlings up and saw them away before the entertainment started, as least as far as Percy could tell." It felt odd to defend the Potions Master. But truth was truth. "Snape said he slipped a portkey to the Ravenclaw girl, but didn't see her use it. You might want to have a talk with him when he returns, that's all I'm saying, and have him explain why his report wasn't as detailed as it could have been. I still think he's playing both sides against the middle trying to survive, but now I'm beginning to wonder why he shouldn't. He is right about keeping Azkaban better guarded."

Dumbledore smiled wanly. "And I _know_ beyond any doubt he's loyal, even after all we've done to him. Do you really think he'd give you any answers at all if he didn't think _you_ could be trusted?"

That made Mad-Eye's head spin. But after that whole balls-up with Barty boy, that was fair. "Good point," he said grudgingly. "Snape must have spent most of the year wondering what I was up to with the Death Eater in my place."

"As did I. I'm certain he believed at the time I was ignoring his suspicions, and at first I thought he was wrong, but so many things added up I began devising little tests of my own which Mr. Crouch did not pass. Severus showed up in your Foe-Glass as well. I wasn't surprised, really, given your history together. As things turned out, he was right to be suspicious." The old wizard looked directly into Moody's eyes. "How are you doing? I hope you still aren't having nightmares about the chest, but if you are, Madam Pomfrey would be happy to see what she can do to help. Mrs. Weasley is also a very kind woman, and knows her way around various potions. Even though I feel Severus would not give into temptation, I should not strain what little goodwill he has left by forcing him to brew anything for you."

The former Auror protested he was fine, though the bit about the nightmares struck too near the mark. He glumly noticed he'd automatically left a window and the office door open, though he'd never done so as a habit before his captivity. He hated feeling trapped and helpless. In fact, for months afterwards he'd slept with the wooden leg strapped on despite the discomfort. He had even tried sleeping with his magical eye in, though it proved impossible since it could see through what was left of his eyelid on that side.

"None of us are invulnerable," Albus said gently. "I know we've made a fuss over Severus in the last month or so. But I haven't forgotten how much the Order owes you, or what you endured for it when Crouch taught here. Your health is important, too."

Alastor felt himself falling under the sway of that immense benevolence despite himself. "Well, I'm no worse than the last time you dragged me into the infirmary for a checkup, and most days I'm better. To be honest, I don't like what I'm asking young Weasley to do. I feel I'm sending him down the same road you sent Snape, and without the background that would make him strong enough to manage it."

"I do wish you'd asked me before you sent him to be Marked."

"I know. From what the boy's told me so far, Pettigrew likes having another Gryff around. With Percy being the one member of the family who took proper care of him when he was Scabbers, I can see it."

Dumbledore nodded. "So can I. But there's something else going you haven't told me, Alastor. You didn't express any regrets the last time we talked about him. What has changed?"

Moody grinned. Just when he thought the old man was losing it, Dumbledore proved he could still see through almost anybody. "Madam Umbridge appears to like young Mr. Weasley, and not just as the son of her old roommate. I asked him to encourage those feelings. She does seem to be on the lonely side."

"Why, Mad-Eye, I'm surprised you haven't offered for her yourself."

"I did, about ten years back. It was a shower from the beginning and we both backed out pretty quickly. She knew I'd been married before and would expect more than some slap and tickle. 'Old goat' was the nicest thing she said to me. But Percy's better looking and less of a threat, at least on appearances. I don't think he'll push her any further than she wants to go."

"Minerva said the woman made eyes at Severus last year. Snape told McGonagall he was willing to do what he could for the Order, but even he had limits."

Moody thought it over. He'd hang it up and go live in a monastery if Umbridge or Malfoy were his only two choices. He couldn't blame Snape for balking at _both_ of them. "Well, if I had to pick, Lucius does have prettier hair."

Dumbledore's mouth hung open. Then they both whooped with laughter. "I shouldn't," the Headmaster said, after wiping his eyes and regaining his composure. "It's not funny. It was hellish for him, especially when I nearly threw up once I found out. Lucius can't be allowed to leave Azkaban."

Alastor turned sober. "I agree. Not to mention any of the other prizes we picked up from the Ministry raid." Snape was being pushed hard as it was, and adding Malfoy into the mix might precipitate a suicide, either through an overt attempt or throwing himself at You-Know-Who ahead of time.

He decided not to tell the Headmaster the rest of what he'd learned. The Potions Master had bloody well earned those favors from Wormtail and the Black Bitch. And if he had enough sanity left to idolize Molly Weasley, well, good for him. He knew how Dumbledore would fuss and meddle if the old wizard knew about _that_. Besides, the woman never looked at any man besides her Arthur. There was no chance of trouble there.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Albus asked.

"Just thinking of Percy," Moody said. "I think he'll manage all right. Well, as long as his mother doesn't find out. Imagine the hullabaloo with those two going at it!"

The old wizard briefly shuddered. "Yes, but if he's having trouble, I want to talk to him. I want you to do the same. I know you think you're hard all the way through, but I know better. You'd be on the other side if that were really true."

"Thanks, Guv'nor. But who's looking after _you_?"

Dumbledore bowed his head. "Hogwarts does, Moody. Hogwarts always does."

Mad-Eye sighed as the call ended. _This war had better not last too much longer,_ he thought, _or Albus won't be up to it any more. He told us off last year for doubting Snape, then goes and does it himself. Why it took mind-reading to figure things out about Lucius Malfoy, _I'll _never know—and then to make Snape feel like dirt for it was really, really stupid. Almost as stupid as Black and I were last year. What's worse, Harry Potter picked it up and bailed out of those lessons because he thought he didn't need them and didn't have to listen to Snape because none of us did, either. That meant, of course, we couldn't tell him anything, he snooped like the very devil because we _weren't_ telling him anything, and people died._ He hated realizing the Ministry Raid disaster was in part due to his own idiocy.

He tested the wards around his Floo to make sure no one had tried to pry past the Silencio on it, and was pleased to find nothing.

Moody went back to his desk and cursed the paperwork on it. _Tom Riddle, damn your scaly hide, if you do win you'll rue the day once you see this crap pile up!_

That reminded him. He made up a packet to prove Percy Weasley was loyal to both the Order and the Ministry should anything happen to him, and set a spell on it so copies would go to the Archives, the Weasley household, and to Dumbledore on the moment of his death. He wasn't going to let anyone hang the boy for trying to save them. He could tell Snape expected nothing but a cell in Azkaban or a Dementor's Kiss for all his service, and wished he could think of a reason why it wouldn't happen, but couldn't. For all his protests, Albus had done little last year to improve the Potion Master's situation. But it was in _his_ power to protect Percy Weasley.

Then he smiled, and made up one last copy of the paperwork, to be sent to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. If those twins were convinced their Percy was innocent, they'd move heaven and earth to make sure they were the only ones allowed to torment the young man. If that meant dismantling the Ministry stone by stone, he wouldn't put it past the two to manage it. Moody only wished if it happened, that he'd be allowed to watch.

Albus Dumbledore

He nodded to himself. Yes. It would work. Moody had changed after his stay in Crouch's chest. He was less apt to leap to conclusions and hex everyone in sight now, which was odd—one would think the experience would make him more so. Perhaps it was time to bring the younger wizard in on things he'd told only Minerva about.

Both were right, of course, as was Malachite. It _was_ insane to run Hogwarts and the Order at the same time. He would not be able to do it for many more years. If the war lasted longer than his own life, he could pass on the responsibilities safely now, he believed.

McGonagall, of course, with the assistance of Professor Flitwick, would be able to keep Hogwarts running. But he had long worried about the Order. Moody was his only likely successor, but was so widely viewed as a lunatic, occasionally with good reason, that Albus had doubted the Auror's ability to keep everyone in hand.

Albus could tell Mad-Eye had kept some things back about what Snape had told him. He supposed he should be angry about that, but in some ways it was a good sign. Severus would never trust anyone who went running to the Headmaster about everything he said. It was a healthy, in fact, that the Potions Master would tell his former tormentor anything at all. He remembered what the younger wizard had told him—"I will simply answer his questions truthfully and in a civil tone. It will drive him mad."

Dumbledore smiled to himself. The process had clearly begun, and Moody was actually _thinking_ about Snape's position rather than simply assuming him a traitor.

He summoned Winky. The small elf appeared worried. "Your master's all right, little one," Albus said. "He's at a different house now, resting, but he'll be back later today. I want Madam Pomfrey to take care of him first, but perhaps by tonight he'll be in his own quarters again. In fact, I'll have you come up to the infirmary when he arrives. You helped him yesterday, I understand."

"Oh, yes, Master Potions Master not eat well, too tired, I help. Too tired to yell or anything," the tiny elf squeaked.

Clearly, she already understood that a quiet Snape was a sick one. "Good. How are you?"

"Oh, Winky fine. Little Snakes wonder where Master is, but I say he sleeping, be quiet. Strange girl was in dungeons this morning, but Missy Pansy say it all right, just a friend to sleep over and have fun." She frowned. "Not look happy, though, both look sad, sad."

Ah. He needed to ask Flitwick about his stray Ravenclaw. Moody had said something about Snape and a portkey. _I keep forgetting about her,_ Dumbledore thought. _That's not right._ "I'll check on her, Winky. Now go back to Slytherin and get some rest. Your master will need you when he returns. He'll probably be very sad as well."

"Yes, Master Headmaster," she said, and disappeared.

He glanced at the clock. Soon it would be time for another Occlumency lesson with Harry Potter. He had best put up his own shields; the boy would someday be a very strong Legilimens, and the tie between the two of them would grow as the lessons proceeded.

The taste of the lemon drop comforted him for a moment, as did the knowledge that Moody might be the successor he was looking for after all.


	41. Chapter 41: Rosebuds and Ravenclaws

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 41: Rosebuds and Ravenclaws

Severus Snape

Severus Snape opened his eyes. He could barely move, but wasn't frightened even though he sensed wards on the room. Last night…last night he'd really expected to wake up screaming at least once. He was still surprised he hadn't.

Talking to Moody had been bizarre. Playing the old game of three truthful answers had seemed like the best way to start with the older wizard. No need to shock Mad-Eye too much at first. Besides, his old interrogator would never believe what he said unless some kind of bargain was involved. Information for sleep was an old one.

He couldn't believe he'd told Moody about Lucius, though it should have come as no surprise. He _really_ couldn't believe he'd admitted his true feelings about Molly Weasley. But a place inside him felt lighter now, the same place that enjoyed vomiting his maunderings onto paper. Snape examined his mental walls. They were as strong as ever, as far as he could tell. In fact, the Dark Lord had probed his mind lightly, and appeared to hear only his surface thoughts about Nagini and Bellatrix Lestrange.

Snape knew he was a different person at Death Eater gatherings. He had to be. At least he'd been allowed to look after his apprentices, and that had helped. Focusing on the proposed raid on Azkaban afterwards had kept him from thinking about what he'd done, especially with the intellectual dance required to suggest a good strategy and deciding how to sabotage it at the same time.

He couldn't stop seeing the Muggle woman now. Her image was before his mind, instead of staying decently buried along with his other atrocities. Severus felt tears streaming down his face as he thought of the innocence and the life he'd taken. His eyes and cheeks stung, but that was nothing compared to the pain his own wand and hands had caused. _I am a murderer,_ he thought. _I could have been a rapist, too. _By now her blood would have been absorbed by his wand. Every spell he cast from now on would be tainted by her death.

He must have made some noise. The door opened and Mrs. Weasley looked in. "Are you all right, Professor?"

"This potions regime tires me out," he said. "If…if you have an extra handkerchief…"

She left, then returned. "I brought a kitchen rag instead, if you don't mind. I've never seen tears that color before." Molly gently wiped his face, though he held up his hand to take the cloth instead. "Of course, three Ennervates on an empty stomach had nothing to do with it! I'm sure you thought you knew what you were doing, but Poppy wants to see you as soon as you get back."

Snape noticed the cloth she used was turning brown. "I'd rather not face her just yet. I…I didn't really have a choice, you know."

"Of course not. I set aside some breakfast for you. Need any help, or can you make it out there by yourself?"

"I'll be fine," he said, and took the cloth from her to blow his nose as well. He hated admitting how weak he felt. "It may take me a few minutes, but I'll make it." Severus was glad he knew a few spells for getting dressed when he wasn't well.

She looked down at him with narrowed eyes. "I'll take down the wards that Moody left, but I'll hear it if you fall. Sure you don't need help?"

"Yes, I am," he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. He'd crawled to the bathroom before and he'd do it again.

"All right, then. I've managed one husband and six grown boys through being sick. You'd have to have something special to surprise _me_."

"I like to think it is," he heard himself saying. He had to stop that. He had to remember she'd make him dream of the Dark Lord's kindness if he overstepped his bounds.

"Men! You're all alike!" she said with a smile, then left the room with the door closed behind her.

Snape carefully slid towards the edge of the bed, now uncomfortably aware of used tea from the night before. He noiselessly let himself down on the floor and wished Dobby or even that foul Kreacher was here. He sat upright with the bed at his back and considered his next move. He should try to stand, as only a few steps would take him to the bathroom attached to the room, but he really didn't want to fall and have Molly laugh at him. He was lucky to be in this room, or he'd face the ordeal of making it to the loo down the hall.

Wait. His outer robe was on the floor. A good thing Moody hadn't hung it up. His wand was in the right hand pocket, and still stank slightly of blood. Severus cast a Mobilicorpus spell on himself, and pushed himself along by one toe. He braced himself by the toilet, then cancelled the charm. He knew from unfortunate experience that being out of tune with gravity caused his aim to be off, and didn't want to cause splatters.

Snape almost fell anyway, but caught himself. He transfigured a towel into a cane, then let go. His urine was dark, but not pathologically so considering he was still expelling poisons, and had nothing else in it. It felt good to wash up with hot water and soap, though he didn't like the idea of wearing clothing from the night before. As soon as he returned to Hogwarts, he'd bathe fully and change into fresher gear. Even one of those horrible infirmary gowns would be an improvement.

He returned to the bedroom feeling a bit stronger, and struggled back into his outer robes and trousers after making a bundle of his shirt and vest. The Death Eater cloak and mask were shrunk and put away in an inner pocket.

Severus leaned on the cane and sat down at the table. A plate was already waiting for him. His arms felt like lead, but eating slowly was probably a good idea anyway. Molly watched him, while pretending to fuss around the kitchen and chattering. His participation did not appear necessary, so he let the talk wash over him. The breakfast meat was well done this time.

He was amazed at how much he'd put away, and hoped he'd keep it. "I thank you," he said, and barely stifled a burp. "I should return to Hogwarts now."

"You look like you could sleep for the rest of the day," she said. "You'll find more rest here than you will there, with students in and out."

"I am tempted," he said. "The Headmaster said my students had returned safely, but I still need to talk to them. I'm surprised Dobby or Winky haven't shown up here to check on me yet."

"Actually, Poppy passed these flasks over to me through the Floo this morning," she said, setting them on the table. "But I didn't want to wake you, and neither did she."

"I should probably be in the infirmary when I take them," he said regretfully. "Besides, I shouldn't deprive her of the opportunity to scold me for running away."

"We all have our crosses to bear," Molly said. "Do you need any help going through the Floo? You didn't look very steady walking into the kitchen."

'If I rest for a few more minutes, I should be all right," he said. "I'd rather Apparate and walk in on my own two feet, but even I have more sense than that today."

He lingered over one last cup of tea, and allowed himself to just look at the woman as she bustled about the kitchen. People like her were the reason he risked himself. People like the Muggle woman who had died at his hands. This time he hadn't even learned her name, unlike the bum he'd murdered earlier this summer. _This can't be right,_ he thought. _There must be a better way to win this war._ For a moment he closed his eyes and pretended he was in a kitchen of his own, and the humming woman his wife. A red-haired woman, plump and soft, with living eyes and not the dead ones he'd seen last night. The children were out back, no doubt attempting to dismember each other, but as long as they made no noise at it, the two adults could pretend that all was well…

He tore himself away from his fantasy and opened his eyes before he needed another rag to wipe the moisture from them. Snape pushed himself upright with the cane and staggered towards the fireplace, his potions in one outer pocket and the shrunken bundle of his clothes in the other. He flung the Floo powder into the flames and said "Hogwarts" out loud as he stepped through.

Severus discovered the outlet was in Madam Pomfrey's office. He walked into the infirmary, with a grim looking mediwitch waiting for him. "I didn't have a choice about leaving, Poppy," he said softly. His legs began to fold under him, even as he held onto the cane.

She briskly levitated him to a bed, set up a screen, and had him into a fresh gown before he could utter a word of protest. "You won't have a choice about staying, either," the older witch said. "Not this time."

He suddenly felt chilled and began to shiver. "A bath?" he asked.

Pomfrey nodded. "After you take those potions. Have you eaten anything?"

"That's a silly question with Molly Weasley standing over me. Yes, I did."

The mediwitch laughed. She had him sit up and helped him drink the potions. "Wait a half hour for them to work, and then you'll begin sweating again. Till then this Warming Charm should work." She covered him with an enchanted blanket.

He almost fell asleep again once he stopped shaking. Then he felt too hot as the potions began to work. Dobby appeared and helped him to the large tub again. "Master Severus, you should stay and get well."

"I wish I could," Snape said as he sat in the hot water and rinsed off the latest round of unnatural sweat. It didn't look as bad as it had yesterday, and he wasn't nauseated this time. The only difference he could think of was that he had eaten a great deal more than usual before taking this set. Well, and he'd slept a lot more too, but that part was harder to control with his normal schedule. He didn't believe the Headmaster would allow him to eat at Mrs. Weasley's table every day, though. _That would be extremely difficult to put into my contract,_ he thought. Then he coughed up a few unpleasant blobs of goo as the steam loosened his chest. "I need to talk to the students," he reminded himself. He was probably going to miss hot chocolate with the first year children, but he had to speak with his apprentices.

"They is all back, Master Severus," Dobby said. "Winky counted them. Seven boys, two girls. But Master Malfoy was later than the others. Wait, Winky told me strange girl, with different square on her robe stayed with Missy Pansy and left this morning."

"Oh, good," Snape said. So Miss Edgecombe _had_ made it back safely. "I should probably talk with her, too. Is Draco all right?"

"He say he talk with Master Hagrid, but Big Furry nice to him and not to worry." The elf sighed. "So many secrets at the Manor! And now here, too."

"I need to speak with Professor Flitwick, too," Severus said. Something still bothered him, though. "Miss Edgecombe should come here and be examined," he told Dobby. "She may have been hurt last night. I saw Bel—someone hit her a couple of times."

"Dobby will go to Ravenclaw Tower," said the house elf. "You hear Mistress Nurse. Master Severus must stay here."

Snape nodded, but didn't commit himself out loud to anything. Then he was done with his bath, into a clean gown and back to bed. A couple of other students, including Terry Boot, were still there from yesterday's Quidditch game. A girl, a Hufflepuff he thought, slept in a bed over to one corner. He felt their eyes on him as the screen had been put away.

He closed his eyes and pretended to drift off. Even with the reassurance he'd received about that idiot Edgecombe, he couldn't help feeling something was wrong. But Dobby would return soon. He should wait for the elf's report before he became too anxious.

Dobby reappeared. "She was at breakfast, but nobody knows where after. Her roommates think she went to a boy last night. She didn't eat much. Master Flitwick worried now."

_Good,_ Snape thought, still a little angry at the way the Head of Ravenclaw had washed his hands of the girl. "Check the bathrooms and talk with the ghosts and portraits. Ask Winky to help."

"Have to," Dobby said. "Miss Myrtle won't let boy elves into hers." He disappeared.

It was horribly frustrating to be bound to this bed when he had so much to do. He had no strength, yet his mind raced like a Firebolt. Now he saw Madam Pomfrey stalking through the beds his way, and probably wondering why he wasn't asleep.

"What's wrong?" she said, clearly reading his face, and put up a quick Silencing spell.

"Miss Edgecombe," he said. "I was able to see the others off before anything could happen to them. She's not my apprentice, though, but Bella's. Dobby says she was seen at breakfast, but not since. At the very least she'll have a bruise over the right ear, probably hidden by her hair." He had a horrible thought. "Madam Lestrange had to make me a promise she didn't like. It would be typical for her to take her anger out on the girl."

"Oh, dear," Poppy said.

"Her Head of House may think everything is all right, since she did return. But someone needs to talk to her." His voice broke. "She had to see me _do_ things."

Pomfrey nodded briskly. "I'll ask the portraits around here to help look. In about an hour I'll take you down to your quarters. The Headmaster wants to talk to you and it probably shouldn't be here. I know Molly probably stuffed you like a Christmas goose, but if you could manage to eat a little before then it will probably help."

"Something light, please," he said.

"And don't even _think_ about using another Ennervate behind my back and joining the search. You overstrained yourself badly last night."

"I didn't have a choice."

"True. But you do now. I know you, if you're not the one right out there you don't really believe anything is getting done, but the ghosts and portraits are keeping an eye out. Flitwick is checking all of Ravenclaw through his wards, which are just as good as yours. I know how little you're going to rest once you're in your own room, even with Winky to help. I…I can imagine what you're really afraid of, Severus. She won't be the first or last it's happened to."

How had she guessed he was terribly afraid Edgecombe had stayed on for the 'entertainment'? He felt his face grow hot. "I hope they find her soon." It was just probably his imagination, rather than feeling the girl's own despair through the Mark. He hoped.

"If the worst has happened—"

"Oh, Poppy, that's not even close to the worst," he said quietly.

"All right, then. If she's been raped, she probably won't want to talk to a man anyway," Pomfrey said bluntly, "not you or Professor Flitwick. If she says differently, you'll be the first to know. But for now, _lie back and rest._ Show me you can get some soup down and I'll be happier about letting you go out of here." She cancelled the muffling spell.

Snape nodded glumly. His hand shook a little once the bowl was placed in front of him on a tray, but as long as he went slowly it was all right. He used the old trick of putting his bread in with the broth to make it easier to spoon everything up with fewer spills.

He was nearly finished when Dobby and Winky brought the girl in on a stretcher. The infirmary filled with the stench of blood. Edgecombe was limp and pale. Pomfrey put her on a bed and put up a screen. _I should have made sure she was gone before I went to the Inner Circle meeting,_ Snape thought. _I could have used the favor Lestrange owes me to make sure of the girl's safety. Why didn't I think of that?_ In fact, he could have forced the woman to give up her apprentice entirely. Merlin only knew what, if anything, Bella was teaching her.

_All right. I'd hoped to save the favor for something else, but at the next meeting Edgecombe becomes my apprentice, not hers,_ he thought. _If the girl lives._

Severus watched the screen anxiously, as did the few other inhabitants of the infirmary. Terry Boot and a few friends who were visiting him were obviously upset. Fortunately no one made comments or Snape would have felt forced to take notice of them. Given his foul mood, Ravenclaw was likely to suffer the loss of many points if anything inappropriate was said.

Winky came out from behind the screen and whispered, "She in the crying room with Myrtle. When she cuts, Myrtle flushes all the toilets at once so somebody comes, then goes out to the hall to tell me 'Help, quick!' But nobody find the girl in time if nobody looking. You so good, Master Potions Master." She patted his hand, then kissed it.

He was embarrassed, and glared at the other students before they could say anything. Snape immediately thought of how to set up the cover story to explain his unusual concern over a student not in Slytherin. The most common reason for a girl to behave idiotically was a boy. If people thought they knew the truth, most of the time they looked no further. Besides, if her reason for being out of her Tower was not made clear, it might come out that some of his students had been missing last night as well.

"Where were you last night, Winky?" he asked, realizing _he_ might need an alibi as well, though Poppy would undoubtedly tell everyone how ill he'd been.

"Where's I's suppose to be!" she said indignantly. "Everyone knows you so sick, can't come to door. I say so for my Barty when he busy on the Master's business."

Did he have another Kreacher on his hands? He wished he wasn't in the infirmary where people—oh. He fumbled for his wand and cast another privacy spell. Even that minor effort drained him. "Winky, _my_ master is Dumbledore. I do what I do to serve _him_, not the other one. I have to pretend to serve the other one, and I also need to protect those dunderhead students who want to serve the Dark Lord. I have to know which one _you_ prefer to serve." He was already composing a cover story if this got out. 'House elves gossip my lord, and it has always been best if the old fool believes I am really spying for him rather than the other way around.' Riddle had never been raised with an elf, and would not understand how important it was to have their true loyalty, or would believe it mattered.

"Oh, Master, I's serves _you_!" she said with tears in her eyes. "Thought you worked for the Dark One the way Barty did. Winky was worried, Dark One so cruel. Winky glad now."

"You are a good elf, Winky," he said, suddenly weary. Snape slumped back against the pillows. He wondered when Pomfrey would come out behind the screen. He'd have to Floo Narcissa tonight and have her pass on a message about what happened to Miss Edgecombe.

"You rest now, Master." Winky slipped away.

Severus barely had enough strength to cancel the muffling spell. Nobody was talking anyway, which was just the way he liked it. He closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep.

The next thing he knew, Poppy was talking to Boot and his friends. "Miss Edgecombe will be all right after she spends the night," she said. "Mr. Boot, you won't need any more Skele-Gro, but you should take it easy. I'm sure you'd rather spend the evening in your own Common Room. Take this potion just before going to bed and you'll be right as rain. No Quidditch for a week, no matter what your captain says."

Snape heard the Ravenclaw boy say something indistinct. "No, she wasn't attacked," Madam Pomfrey said dismissively. "I can't discuss it. I know about the troubles of previous years, but this wasn't connected to any of them."

"They've all gone, Severus." She was suddenly by his bed. "I hate to wake you, but I think you should speak to her now." Poppy lowered her voice as she helped him into a robe. "She…she was hurt last night, I think, and clearly had no one to turn to. I don't know where she found the knife, but Moaning Myrtle called out just in time, given we were already looking for her. She'll be all right, now, but…"

_I shouldn't have stayed at the safe house last night,_ Snape thought miserably as he slowly walked towards the screen. _I should have come back here and spent this morning talking to the students who were there. _

The girl was still deathly pale, with smudges like bruises underneath her blank eyes. The wounds on her wrists were almost healed. "Miss Edgecombe?" he asked gently, to let her know he was there.

Her eyes focused on him and she gasped. "I saw…I saw what you did," she said. "I wanted to run away. _She_ wouldn't let me, and clouted me a couple of times. When the rest of you went off, I tried to find a clear spot where I could use the Portkey you gave me. I had to take off my mask, though, because I didn't know where I was going to land."

"That was quite reasonable, Miss Edgecombe," Snape said. He hadn't thought of that.

"Someone grabbed me…he said he didn't need a wand to take a woman…" Her eyes went wide and she took a deep breath. "I couldn't stop him, not till he was done…then he wasn't watching me and I gave him some of what I learned last summer." A gleam of satisfaction glowed briefly, only to be replaced by despair. "I used the portkey. I ended up in the Slytherin Common Room. I guess it was. I've never seen it before. Miss Parkinson put me in her bed for a little while. You didn't come back. I…I didn't tell her what happened. I went to breakfast…when I went to my own room, they joked about me and asked if he was any good. I couldn't tell them…I couldn't tell them…I had to get away. I can't go back! I can't!" She cringed.

"I am sorry, Miss Edgecombe," he said softly. "You have no choice. When you are summoned, you must go. But I will see you are better protected. I have a favor now with Madam Lestrange, which I will use to ensure your safety if I must. I will also do what I can to repair your reputation here at the school." He thought of something. "Have you already been contracted?"

"I don't know…" The girl looked terrified.

"Then your mother needs to know you have been raped," he said bluntly. "I will put it as delicately as possible to her, but she will understand who failed to keep you safe. As an apprentice you have few rights, but you should not have been treated this way. Your mistress was neglectful. Has she taught you anything about your duties?"

"She yells and hits me, just like Mum," she said. "She doesn't tell me what I should do, even when I ask questions, but gets angry when I'm wrong! Says if I want to be a know-it-all I should have sorted Gryffindor."

"Would you recognize your attacker if you saw him again? If he kept his mask on, there are magical ways of finding him." He fought the sickness in his stomach and forced it away from his face. At least…at least he was angry for this girl, and not at her.

"It fell off when I hexed him," Edgecombe said. Her face grew calmer. "I didn't stay long enough for much of a look, but I think I would recognize him."

"I am sorry you were not able to speak to me this morning, Miss Edgecombe," he said. "But you can always trust Madam Pomfrey. About _everything_," he said with emphasis.

"I didn't think…I thought she'd tell the Headmaster about…about my arm, and the next thing I'd see would be Azkaban." Tears ran down her eyes.

"No, dear," Poppy said from the other side of the bed.

Severus was glad to see she didn't pat the girl on the shoulder or anything like. _No doubt she's learned a few things from me._ It sickened him every time he had to help someone who was injured this way, but this time it was worse than ever. "What potions will she need?" he asked, turning to the mediwitch.

"The usual," Poppy said softly. "Something to calm her down and let her sleep, something to heal the tissue, and…and a cleanser, just in case."

The Potions Master knew exactly what she meant. "If you'll allow me to dress, I'll fetch them. I suggest a day or two off classes."

"Wait! You mean I have to go back and pretend nothing happened?" Miss Edgecombe began crying.

"No. That's too hard," Snape said. He knew this lecture by heart now, distilled from his own experiences. He was used to caring for those in Slytherin, but had at times been asked to speak to girls, and the occasional boy from other Houses with the same problem. It hurt every time, but better that than for them to be left defenseless the way he'd been. "Your roommates don't have to know, as long as they think they do. If they believe a boy has been cruel to you, they'll understand you don't want to talk about it. Cast a muffling spell around your bed each night for the next week, possibly the next month. You'll probably have nightmares. They fade after a while, but if you talk in your sleep, your friends will ask more questions than you want to answer. I will ask Miss Parkinson to make herself available if you need to talk to someone you can be frank with. You know the way to the dungeons already if you wish to speak with me. I understand you're frightened of me now. I don't blame you."

Poppy glanced at him oddly. He would explain what he had done later. He continued. "You won't forget what happened. But there will be times when you won't think of it as much. There will also be some bad times when you won't want anyone to touch or talk to you. Hot baths and extra blankets on the bed sometimes help with that. You may also find your schoolwork a refuge. Your NEWTS are next year, but you can begin work towards them now if you like. They'll understand that in Ravenclaw."

He took a deep breath. "As I said before, you can trust Madam Pomfrey. Has she treated you any differently because of what's on your arm?"

The puffy-eyed girl shook her head.

"She won't. She'll be glad to have a cup of tea with you when she has an extra moment. Professor Sprout is also very sympathetic, and you don't have to be a Hufflepuff to seek her."

"Does…does Professor Flitwick have to know? He'll think I deserved it."

"How much do you remember of last year?" He'd heard Albus had used a memory spell on her, but not on her friends.

"Just…just boils, and not knowing why I had them," she said. "But that didn't last long. Padma was more than happy to tell me what a horrible person I'd been once Umbridge was gone. Mum filled in the rest after I went home for the year, since she helped that woman to make me tell about the DA. I was told I should be grateful they bothered healing my hand after they made me use the quill."

Snape gritted his teeth in fury. And of course no one had ever bothered to ask _why_ the silly girl told! There was no use in _him_ making a complaint. As usual, it was up to him to patch up the damage others had created.

Pomfrey looked upset. "I shall speak with your Head of House, dear. I'll sign the note for your being away from classes, and give you a pass to see me whenever you need to."

Severus would have hugged the woman in gratitude if he could manage to touch anyone just now. Yet he could not forget that part of the girl's trauma undoubtedly came from watching him murder someone. "If you will forgive me, I need to find the potions." He didn't think he'd have to brew anything. He kept a combined supply of such things in a locked cabinet in his office, but hadn't had to use any so far this term.

He went into the private room to change into some extra robes, which Dobby or someone had brought up earlier. Once he put the gown in the bag for the used ones, Poppy beckoned at him to come into her office. She had him close the door once he was inside. "Please sit down," she said from behind her desk. "Are you all right?"

"Just a bit tired yet," he said, hoping she wasn't going to ask any more questions.

"I hate having to ask this, but I know by now some of the things that happen at these meetings." Pomfrey took a deep breath. "Were you forced to do anything to the girl?"

"No!" he shouted. He should be grateful for that much.

"I didn't think so. She didn't seem afraid of you that way, and she's always been a terrible liar. But if anything happened at the meeting that might affect her, I really do need to know."

Snape closed his eyes. He couldn't bear seeing what would be in Poppy's eyes once she knew. "I was asked to offer the sacrifice," he whispered. "A Muggle woman. First and last blood. I did…I did the first with my wand, not—not the other way, and then I took a knife and sliced her throat. All the students had to watch it. I suppose they'll have nightmares about it. I know I will." He opened his eyes, but carefully avoided looking at the mediwitch as he stood up. "I should find the potions," he said.

"Wait."

He looked back, dreading what she would say to him. He saw tears on her wrinkled face. "Poppy, I already know I am a monster. No matter what I do, I can't change that. Innocent girls like Miss Edgecombe torn for _his_ amusement…at least she's alive. But for the rest of her life she'll look at me and remember what I did. They all will. Please, Poppy, let me go."

"Oh, Severus," the older witch said gently. She rose and walked over to him, and lay one hand on his shoulder. Even that made him long to run away. "We all ask too much of you. You didn't choose to be where you were last night. If you hadn't fussed so much over where she was, Miss Edgecombe might be dead by now. I know how much it hurts you to help those who've been injured the same way you were, and you still do it. I never thought much of your bluntness till I saw how well it worked. You tell them what's real, and what to do about it, while the best I can do is a cup of tea and a handkerchief." She let her hand slide down over his arm.

He could tell that she'd discovered that his Mark was still warm, though not as much as it had been last summer after the initiation. Pomfrey picked up her wand and asked, "May I examine it? Are you in any pain?"

"It doesn't hurt, not now, but it feels more, more solid than it was before," he said, glad of this distraction.

She waved her wand over the black sleeve of his robe and frowned. "It does feel different. It's hard to explain, but it's more solid now, and a bit bigger. I wonder what means?"

"I don't know." He was afraid to guess.

"I wish I could rip it out of your arm," she said harshly.

"I wish you could too. But who would spy on the Dark Lord then? Or watch over those idiots of mine?" he asked bitterly.

She turned away from him. "Damn!" she cried. "I hate this war! It doesn't seem to matter what I do." Then Madam Pomfrey faced him again. "Sybil told me about the prophecy she made for you, Severus. I called her a fraud to her face and shrieked like a harpy doing it. She's right, isn't she?"

"I, I've never had much hope, Poppy. I would like to live long enough to see _him_ gone, or know he'll be beaten, but none of us know if we will, really." He was frightened to see the calm mediwitch so upset. "I'd rather die in battle than in a Ministry cell anyway…"

The older witch fetched a handkerchief from the pocket of her infirmary smock and wiped her eyes. "A fine help I am, putting this on you on top of everything else," she muttered. "What's even worse--you remember the part of Sybil's prophecy that ran 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may'? 'Rosebud' was once an old term for 'virgin' or 'young girl'."

Snape retched and nearly vomited at the thought. He had to sit down for a moment, though he found a basin in his hand with astonishing speed. As it turned out he didn't need to use it, though it was a near thing. He set the basin back on the desk, then forced himself to sit straight. "I used to be able to manage this kind of thing better," he said.

"Yes, how dare you become more human instead of less," Pomfrey said. "For two Knuts I'd send Dobby down for the potions and put you to bed in the private room."

"He can't open the cabinet they're in," Snape said. "I will rest as much as I can, but I really must speak to at least a couple of the students before I do, Poppy."

"You're not teaching tomorrow," she said, as she sat down at the desk and pulled out a file folder. "I'll enforce it magically if I must, Severus, but in your current condition you'd only endanger the others in the class."

"I hate to say this, but I'm not going to argue this time. Be sure to notify the Quibbler that I didn't," he added with a smirk.

"I'm tempted to do just that. Should be a banner headline," she said. "Also, I want you to send Winky up with the potions, or I might just put you to bed here anyway."

That would make it easier for him to speak to the students if the little elf were up here. He stood up again and left the office. Snape made sure to make a little noise as he approached the screen so Miss Edgecombe would not be frightened by his sudden approach. He'd forgotten one last thing to say to her.

Her eyes flew open wide at the sight of him. "I wanted to say one more thing, Miss Edgecombe. You are not the only one to endure such pain and shame. It is not your fault. I want you to remember that. I also want you to know you will eventually recover."

"It won't ever be the same," she whispered.

"No. It won't. But think of it this way. In every crowd of people, there will be some who have been raped and have gone on to lead their lives. Most of the time you won't be able to tell them from anybody else."

"Too bad we…people like me…can't find a way to talk to each other," she said. "It's going to be hard to hide so much…"

'You're quite right, Miss Edgecombe," he said. It had been a comfort to him every time one of the students who had endured such a terrible assault had gone on to a better life. There was no way such a group could help him, of course, but it would certainly be good for others. Then he thought of something. "Professor Lupin used to meet with a newly created werewolf when he volunteered at St. Mungo's. Of course, they can't help but be identified. Most people who have been raped don't care to be reminded of it once over their first agony." He had long ago decided that mincing about with euphemisms did no good at all. He saw how the girl flinched at the term, yet settled down shortly afterward.

He also saw how her eyes were filled with thought. Perhaps something might come of this after all. "I will send up some Dreamless Sleep. You will have a full dose tonight and the night after, and decreasing doses for the rest of the week. After that I suggest using the muffling spell around your bed." Snape left abruptly, before he could see fear at the sight of him in her eyes again.

He walked down to his rooms slowly. Despite the extra sleep, he was still exhausted, and he sighed with longing for his bed. There was too much to do, though. He found the potions, gave them to Winky, and said, "Stay with Miss Edgecombe if she will let you. She has been badly hurt and may not want anyone to touch her. However, she might not mind an elf."

She nodded. "Yes, Master. Then I come down, help _you._ You not well yet."

"No. But I must speak with some of the students first. Stay with the girl till she falls asleep. If you can help her eat, the potions will work better and she'll be able to rest."

"Yes, Master." Then Winky hugged him around the leg and left.

He took a deep breath. Even the little house elf might think differently of him if she knew what he'd done. But first things first. The situation with Miss Edgecombe must be managed. Perhaps he could talk to all of his apprentices later. However, damage control to the Ravenclaw's reputation must begin now, before gossip had too great a hold. He summoned Dobby and had him take a message to Miss Parkinson, then settled in his office chair. It was made of soft leather and was long enough for him to lean back into it properly.

Draco's betrothed arrived promptly, and looked anxious.

"Please sit down, Miss Parkinson. I want to thank you for helping Miss Edgecombe this morning."

"I heard they found her in Moaning Myrtle's just a little while ago. You'd think a Ravenclaw would look up where to cut before giving it a try."

"It is just as well she did not," Snape said. Indeed, the fading slices on the girl's wrists had been horizontal, rather than vertical. "When exactly did she arrive in the common room?"

"About an hour after we returned, or a half-hour after Draco did," she said. "She just fell in a heap on the floor, crying. Nobody knew what to do. But she helped when you were sick, so Bulstrode and I carried her to my room. None of us could sleep anyway, and Millie knows better than to ask stupid questions."

"I gave her a portkey, but apparently she was unable to use it right away. Unfortunately, she's Madam Lestrange's apprentice and not mine. There are reasons I did not want any of you to stay for the entertainment."

Parkinson swallowed. "A couple of the boys complained, but Libby and I…well, we're glad, sir. Anyway, Edgecombe stayed wrapped up till dawn, though I don't know if she really slept or not. If her prefect started looking for her, we'd all be in trouble if anyone found her here. She seemed a little better after she took a shower and Winky fetched her clean clothes and um, stuff." She colored.

_For the blood,_ Snape mentally added. If the girl was still bleeding hours after, the assault must have been severe indeed, or badly timed, or both. "What happened to her other clothing?" He could use whatever traces lingered to find the attacker.

"She wanted it burned, but I said I would and put everything in a bag. Including the _other_ robe and the um, mask."

"You were quite right," the Potions Master said. "She would be severely punished if she destroyed those items. I will take care of the ruined things, and make sure the apprentice gear is returned to her when she is a bit calmer and less likely to do something impulsive. She is in the infirmary right now, but she will recover. It was still kind of you to assist her. I would give you points, but it would be difficult to explain why. However, it will be remembered to your credit. There are more important things than points."

"I know," Pansy said in a small voice. "Last night—that's what a real meeting is like."

"Yes. I wish you had known more before taking the Mark." _I wish I had, too._ "If you have doubts, you must bring them to me. This is the only way I can protect you. I didn't know about Mr. Goyle till it was too late."

She almost said something, then clearly thought better of it. "No, sir. May I go, please?"

"Yes, Miss Parkinson. Please ask Mr. Zabini if he will come see me."

"Of course," she said, and scurried off.

Severus was pleased. Last night had frightened some of his idiot apprentices into wondering just what they'd managed to do to themselves. If only he could keep their even stupider parents from reassuring them all was well! _If only more of them think for themselves,_ he thought, _they might find a way out of the Pit after all._

Mr. Zabini came in. He was pale, as if he hadn't slept well. "Professor," he said.

"Please sit down, Mr. Zabini. I am going to ask a favor of you. I won't be able to give points because I won't be able to explain why, but I will be able to find some sort of reward."

Zabini looked suspicious. Smart boy. He said nothing as he lowered himself into the chair. Even smarter.

"Are you currently attached or seeing someone?" Snape asked.

"No, sir." The boy shifted uneasily.

"Has your family already planned your marriage?" The Potions Master had a good idea who wielded the real power in the Zabini family, and that woman calculated alliances for children in utero.

"No, sir."

Snape had his doubts, then realized the boy was probably being held open as a wild card. He was, after all, the fourth son and thus could be held back in the Great Game. "I believe you knew Miss Edgecombe before last summer."

"Yes. We used to chat to keep each other awake in History of Magic," Zabini admitted. "She told me about the DA, or hinted at it, anyway, once she saw what had happened to my hand. She said I ought to be in it, too. Then she found out no Slytherins need apply. That was rotten what they did to her! All right, she shouldn't had told the Headmistress, but we all know what she was like. That horrible quill of hers! She didn't normally use it on girls, but maybe she made an exception for Miss Edgecombe. I…I suppose it was one of the reasons I was stupid last summer. After all, if one side is going to act just like the other, you might as well choose the one you think is going to win."

The Head of Slytherin nodded. Fortunately he knew the boy had thought better of it almost as soon as he'd received the Mark. "You probably know Miss Edgecombe has been badly hurt. Her mistress—her current mistress—didn't warn her to stay away from the entertainment. She will recover, but there are questions already being asked. I would rather not see her reputation ruined from the assumptions likely to be made. Would you be willing to take some of the gossip on your own shoulders? If people believe she was distraught over a rendezvous gone wrong, the rest can be minimized."

"But if she…she was really hurt, won't they look for someone to punish?"

Good question. "Madam Pomfrey knows a great deal more than most people think. As I said at the beginning of the year, she can be trusted. You know I don't say that lightly. The Headmaster will also know what really happened. As for punishment, Mr. Zabini, kindly leave that in _my_ hands. Trust me, there will be justice."

Zabini digested that, then his eyes went wide. "You mean all along you've been—"

"The Headmaster firmly believes I am spying for him, yes. The Dark Lord believes the same thing. It would not be wise to speak out on the subject to either one of them."

"But the Sunday group…"

"Is simply a strategy meeting for Quidditch, and possibly the core of a self-defense club that will be somewhat more accepting than the Drooling Amateurs. That is all _I _need to know."

The young man's eyes went blank for a moment, clearly processing a great deal of information at once. Then he smiled, obviously coming to the correct conclusion. "I see you chose the group carefully, sir."

"Yes. But we were speaking of Miss Edgecombe. Her public reputation is in danger. Would you be willing to allow people to assume she was upset with you?"

"I see what you're getting at," Zabini said. "It'd have to be up to her."

"It certainly would not work without her cooperation. I trust I have yours?"

"Yes. It won't hurt me. In fact, it'll probably help." The boy grimaced.

Snape understood. Mr. Zabini was not already contracted himself, yet did not chase after girls with as much enthusiasm as some of his contemporaries, no doubt fearing an entanglement that would draw down the wrath of his family. That naturally lead to the usual odious rumors. "What a cynical view you have of mankind, Mr. Zabini. I quite agree it is an accurate one."

"Why did you ask me, anyway?"

"Mr. Malfoy and Miss Parkinson have been contracted for years. I believe Mr. Crabbe ought to be able to play Quidditch without worrying about Bludgers from Miss Bulstrode. Since you come from a family who normally sorts Ravenclaw, I thought of you first before asking Mr. Rosier, especially since you and she share certain views regarding…Sundays. I believe it safer if she associates with someone like that, since she has spoken out of turn before."

Zabini cocked his head. "That makes sense, sir. At least in our House we don't talk about some things, and aren't expected to. Even the Malfoy Mouth has been quieter than usual."

"He is worried about his father, Mr. Zabini. He has a great deal to think about. As for now, consider what public touches would make the scene play out best in front of the school. I will discuss the matter with Miss Edgecombe when she is more recovered. You have earned yourself a favor, Mr. Zabini, in addition to the one all of you gained when…" _When I was dying,_ he thought. _When the golden vine saved me from being swallowed by those dreadful waves._

"Yes, sir." The young Slytherin stood up. "Sir…if I may ask about last night…if you're the man we see here…how can you do that?"

"Because I must, Mr. Zabini. That is the last I will say about the issue. You will do yourself and the others no good if you pursue this line of inquiry."

"Nor you, sir," the younger Slytherin said. He stood and turned towards the door, his forehead wrinkled in thought.

"One last thing, Mr. Zabini. There is no power, not even the Dark Lord, strong enough to force me to abuse any student under my care, whether she is one of my apprentices or not." He was glad to see a shadow he thought lay over the boy's face disappear. Zabini nodded, then left the office.

Snape breathed a sigh of relief being out of from under the scrutiny of those calm brown eyes. Zabini was likely more intelligent than Draco, but tended to fade into the shadows around the more flamboyant student. _Which only shows just how bright he truly is,_ Snape thought.

Someone knocked timidly on the door. "Enter," he said with a sigh. Perhaps he should have let Poppy put him to bed after all.

Miss Walsh peeped around the edge of the door into the office. "Sorry to bother you, sir, but are we having hot chocolate this afternoon?"

He'd totally forgotten. He hated to neglect any of his students—he knew what happened to those who were overlooked. Even with his hands figuratively wet with blood, he still had obligations. "After dinner. Hot chocolate this close would ruin your appetite." Snape was amazed how those old saws came galloping out of his mouth. He personally doubted anything short of a gallon of ice cream would diminish the ability of children that age to eat, but it made for a good excuse. "You have some extra time now. Use to work on your homework, or at least make a start. You can ask me questions about it when I make the chocolate."

He had long concealed how much he enjoyed the ritual. Their chatter often distracted him from deeper, unwanted thoughts. Today he needed the respite more than ever. Fortunately most of the staff had fallen for his reiterations that he really did like children, over a spit with a hint of garlic. He'd nearly choked when he'd heard the Muggle song—"be they baked or stewed or fried, they are delicious in His sight, Cthulu loves the children of the world." How they'd gained such knowledge of the demon he had no idea, but for once the dunderheads had it right.

Snape sat back in his chair and considered going in to his bedroom to lie down, or at least sit in the new chair that lay back.

The quiet lasted two minutes. Then Dobby appeared with a tray and another set of potions. "Master Severus has ruined the schedule," the elf complained.

"More like totally lost track," Snape said ruefully. He was glad to see the food. He knew he didn't have the strength to either make it to the Great Hall or eat once he was there. He'd just have to make his excuses to the Headmaster, or go to his office late.

At least he wasn't stuck trying to pound Occlumency in Potter's head yet. The way he felt it was even odds whose mind would end up on the floor. Not even the Boy-Who-Lived deserved to experience the events the past day or so. Pensieves were no longer safe, if indeed they had ever been.

He ate and drank, and allowed Dobby to help him to the bathroom, and then to his parlor chair. If he lay down now, he wouldn't get up till morning, and he still had the chocolate to make. He was just getting comfortable and thinking about a short nap when he heard another knock on his door. 'Enter," he said.

"Careless of you, professor," squeaked Flitwick. "What if we'd been someone else?" The Head of Ravenclaw walked in, along with the Headmaster.

"I have wards which would sound an alarm should that happen," Snape said, failing to mention the other surprises. "Since I am obviously destined not to have any quiet this evening, please be seated."

"We've spoken with Madam Pomfrey and Miss Edgecombe," Dumbledore said. "I thought it best to have this meeting now, so you could rest for the remainder of the evening." Both he and Flitwick were on the couch.

Ah. Flitwick was no doubt the designated watchdog for this meeting, and probably wanted to know more of what had happened to the girl. Snape had noticed Minerva at the one last Sunday, one reason it had been more pleasant than usual. He suspected this one would not be.

"This saves time," he said, "presuming I may speak freely of Order activities."

"Of course," Dumbledore said. "Professor Flitwick stays in the background for now, but has not always, nor will he always do so in future."

That made sense, enough to make the Potions Master wonder if some of the small wizard's spectacular recreational activities drew attention from more important ones. "I was summoned to a meeting yesterday afternoon, as were all the apprentices. I became a member of the Inner Circle, whether as a reward or a way to cut Madam Lestrange down to size I do not know. After the ceremony was over, the Dark Lord sent back all my apprentices at my request, though Mr. Malfoy said he could Apparate back on his own. I know, he doesn't have a license yet. I gave him a message for Hagrid. Since everyone showed up at 12 Grimmauld Place, I assume he conveyed it correctly."

Albus nodded. "The boy is coming along much better than I'd hoped."

"That left me a portkey which I had brought just in case. I gave it to Miss Edgecombe, though it was difficult to do so without Bella noticing. She would have a right to be upset if she believed I was interfering with her apprentice, but I thought it unsafe for Miss Edgecombe to stay much longer."

"Why was that?" Flitwick asked.

"_He_ kindly offered entertainment to the Death Eaters not part of the Inner Circle. Those of us who were went to a small building nearby and had a strategy meeting, where plans were laid to rescue the prisoners in Azkaban. The Headmaster knows those details already." He took a deep breath. "Once it was over, I Apparated to the safe house and gave my report. I realize now I should have made sure all the students were safe, but by the time I left the strategy meeting everyone was gone save for a few stragglers, whom I recognized.

"Once the meeting at Grimmauld Place was over, I rested there. I slept longer than I thought I was going to, then returned here. Madam Pomfrey kept me in the infirmary as a precautionary measure. I asked Winky about the students when she came up to assist me. I don't know why, but I felt something was wrong. Fortunately Miss Edgecombe was found in time. Apparently, the portkey took her to the Slytherin Common Room about an hour after the students had returned. She was attacked by someone who mistook her for a Muggle and was…was badly injured." He swallowed. Snape took a deep breath, then continued. "When she appeared, Miss Parkinson assisted the girl and let her rest in her bed, but was worried about points when it became light."

"Why didn't she go to the infirmary?" the Head of Ravenclaw asked.

"She was afraid of being sent to Azkaban if someone saw what was on her arm. It takes several hours for the Mark to fade, you understand, after a summons. She probably didn't know how to explain how she was injured without telling too much. I have thought of a plan to allow people to think it was the usual boy-girl spat gone wrong. One of the young gentlemen of my house has graciously volunteered to act the part of a rejected suitor. At least her reputation may be saved. It is disgusting for a girl who has been forced that way to have to hear how she invited it, or have to fend off the advances of those who think her fair game." He let his head drop back on the chair.

"Well done, Severus," Dumbledore said.

He was surprised. At the least he'd expected a reprimand for taking so long to find out what happened, for not making sure the girl left safely in the first place. "I wish she were not Lestrange's apprentice. However, the woman owes me a favor. No doubt she'll be happy to get off so easily." He was resigned to trading it for Edgecombe's safety.

"How many apprentices does she have?" the Headmaster continued, probably for Flitwick's benefit, since Snape had already told him what the numbers were.

"Just the one, as does Pettigrew. I have nine now." He should have ten.

"She won't like giving up the girl, then," the small wizard mused. "Is it possible to make a trade? I know what favors mean to pureblood families, and this one might come in more useful later on."

"I don't hate any of them that much," the Potions Master said wearily. "Not even if one of them was Longbottom."

"Yet young Malfoy is her nephew," Dumbledore said. "I suspect he is not as defenseless as some of the others. She isn't as likely to hurt him as much as she might someone else."

That was a thought. Draco would naturally tell him anything important. Bella would speak more freely around blood kin than she would a Ravenclaw. "She might think me a fool for allowing myself to be weakened," Severus said. "I will speak to him. I won't thrust him into a situation he isn't ready for."

"By the way, who is the poor student who will be the center of gossip in regards to my student?" Flitwick asked.

"Mr. Zabini. He can be trusted, and you know him already. He was perceptive enough to see his reputation will be enhanced, and hers…less damaged. Also, there will be fewer questions about who was gone from Hogwarts last night."

The Charms professor nodded. "Yes. If I recall, he had a problem with Madam Umbridge as well. I can deal with someone like that."

Snape remembered when he'd found out about the woman's special quill. Zabini had come to Potions Class with an injured hand, which could have been deadly if one of the ingredients for that day's work had contaminated the cut. Fortunately it hadn't taken long to make up some murtlap to treat it. He saw other boys hurt the same way, once he began watching for it. Madam Umbridge had regaled him once in the staff room about how stubborn the Potter brat was, and how annoying it was to waste her time making him sit and do lines. It _was_ odd how only boys were so treated, while girls who violated rules generally lost points or were given detentions. _If the woman had to do it all over again, one wonders how many lines Miss Granger would have been given._ "I am certainly glad that year is over," he said.

"I wish the girl was a more diligent student," Flitwick said. "If she could lose herself in her studies she might have an easier time of it."

"I warned her of what she might expect," Snape said. "She will have trouble sleeping for a while, and may show signs of self-neglect."

"She isn't the first Ravenclaw to run into difficulties, professor," the smaller wizard said.

For once Severus let his anger at the situation show. "She won't talk to _you_," he spat. "One of her _dear friends_ told her how she ended up with all those boils not long after it happened. She still had traces on them on the night she was initiated. You told me yourself how you washed your hands of her once I told you she had taken the Mark. Please do not assure me of something you have no intention of doing!"

"Severus, really, is this the place…?" Albus said.

"No, Headmaster, he has the right of it," Flitwick said soberly. "Perhaps this is a bad time to be too strict about dividing House responsibilities. I did allow myself to enjoy scoring points on Madam Umbridge to the extent I neglected my obligations to one of my own. I apologize, professor. It was ill-done of me for either of those actions, never mind both. I can certainly understand why you feel the girl is your responsibility now. I shall not prove as obdurate as Madam Lestrange will likely be in allowing you to supervise her. However, please let me know how and when I can be of assistance. You have a great deal on your plate already."

Snape literally could not think of what to say. He truly expected to be ignored, or possibly reprimanded, for his position. "Th-thank you, professor," he said. Then he had an idea. Draco could turn his 'Quidditch strategy meetings' into a dueling club sooner than later. Miss Edgecombe could easily be the first non-Slytherin invited to join. He had no doubt the girl was interested in learning further hexes, since she'd had the presence of mind to use a fairly new curse, at least to her, to save herself from her attacker.

"Miss Edgecombe will be watched," Dumbledore said. "However, we need to move on to other matters. Severus, you need to talk about what happened at the meeting last night. All of it, including the ceremony, which must have been difficult for you."

"Must I?" He tried to keep his voice from shaking, but didn't succeed.

"Yes. We found out last summer what happens when you're forced to hold everything in. I'm surprised you were able to tell Moody about what really happened at the meeting."

"Then you know already!" Snape said. He turned his head away. "Moody already knows what kind of monster I am…" Then he saw Dumbledore fumbling with his wand. "Please, Albus, not _Legilimens_! It was horrible enough when it happened. Your pensieve…it's in one of the cupboards, or it was…can't we use it instead?" He wished Flitwick wasn't here now. He hated others seeing him so weak.

"That won't be necessary," the Headmaster said softly. "Just tell me. You're _not_ a monster, no matter how hard both sides have tried to make you into one."

"All right, then." His voice was flat. "I was called to the front where the Dark Lord and other members of the Inner Circle stood. As a sign of my promotion, I had to offer the sacrifice. A Muggle woman. She had red hair and green eyes. She…she looked like Lily." He took a deep breath, trying hard to keep himself here and now and not slip back to last night. "I was told to offer first and last blood. I took the first with my wand, and cast a Stupefy at the same time. I cut her throat as quickly as I could. The Dark Lord reinforced the Mark then. He said the bond was eternal now, and death would not break it." Severus trembled, knowing what Dumbledore's reaction would be. "I was lucky I was allowed to use the wand for first blood. _He_—_he_ suggested…but I couldn't. I _couldn't_!"

"What an abominably cruel thing to do to you," Flitwick said.

"Continue, please," Albus said inexorably.

"I…I was told my old life was over and a new one begun. I was offered the opportunity to punish Pettigrew and Lestrange for exceeding orders. I had them swear on wand-tip to owe me a favor instead. After that, I asked the Dark Lord to send my apprentices home. The rest you know." He bowed his head, waiting for the Headmaster's anger. After all, he _was_ a killer.

"Severus, look at me," Dumbledore said.

Snape forced himself to meet the old wizard's eyes. He saw only compassion in them, instead of the disgust he'd seen there before.

"Severus, I am appalled to know you must do these things. I can't help it. But I learned last summer I can't ask for information without knowing its price. I am sorry it must be you who pays it. I wasn't…wasn't very understanding a few months ago, and I hurt you badly. I don't want to hurt you again." Albus placed his wand in Snape's hand, as he had that night in the garden. "This is how much I trust you, Severus."

Once more it burned his fingers. In fact, it hurt more than it had last time. Snape sighed. "But I'm still afraid," he said. "I'm always so afraid." Ghostly pain traveled up his arm from the wand and to his head, like the echo of a whiplash.

"You have much to fear, and I've made it worse. You can't trust any of us, no matter which side we're on. I want to rebuild that, Severus. I know it will take a long time after everything both I and the Order have done to you." Albus sighed. "I am glad Madam Pomfrey told me you aren't teaching tomorrow. I know about the Time-Turner you had to use last year, and I am ashamed I put such a heavy burden on you."

"I…I would like that," Snape said. He ought to be strong enough, but he wasn't any more. Tomorrow's peace would come as a welcome relief.

Dumbledore stood up. "Then we'll let you rest. Winky is outside and it was all I could do to keep her from coming in here with us. I'm sure she'll be glad to help you get ready for bed."

Snape handed back the wand. The inside of his fingers were reddened, as if they had actually been burned.

Flitwick stood as well, then said, "What was it you said about the bond being eternal now?"

"Really, Filius, Tom was just indulging in hyperbole again," Albus said.

Severus felt his heart freeze. "I think he meant it. Madam Pomfrey said the Mark was stronger than usual, more solid." Oh, Merlin, the Dark Lord had even thought, _Death will not release you, even when you die._

"May I take a look at it, please?" Flitwick asked.

Snape sat upright in the chair and bared his forearm. The Mark should have faded almost completely, since it had been nearly a full day since he was summoned. Instead it was visible, though not as dark as when contact was made.

The small wizard waved his wand over it and frowned. "It does seem um, more _present_ than it was the last time I checked it."

"There's one way to find out," Dumbledore said. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. Not long afterwards, Fawkes entered the room. The phoenix fluttered his wings on the Headmaster's shoulder, instead of settling down. Snape remembered how the bird had trilled at him last summer, when he'd needed it so badly. This time Fawkes clung to his master and made sharp chirps instead.

Albus whispered to the phoenix. The bird squawked furiously, and flapped its wings. The old wizard whispered some more. The phoenix hopped off Dumbledore's shoulder onto the left arm of Snape's reclining chair. Fawkes bowed his head and allowed a few tears to fall.

Severus winced in pain as the liquid sizzled and burned, instead of cooling and healing him as they had in the past. The phoenix flapped up to his post on the Headmaster's shoulder.

All of them stared at the burn on Snape's left hand. "I knew it," Severus said. "I knew it. When I was on that beach…Black warned me of my fate then, even though Lily said he was wrong. It won't be over, not ever, not even when I die…" Sybil's prophecy brought no comfort. He knew why she had said 'darkness' rather than 'death' now.

"No!" Albus shouted. Fawkes took off and left the room. "It's not right! I'm the one who put you there, knowing what you must do. I won't let Tom have you, not if I have to storm Hell itself!"

Severus shook his head. "It won't do any good," he said dully, slumping back onto the chair. "I'm the one who killed the woman last night, not you or the Dark Lord. I'm the one who murdered the tramp last summer. You know what else I've done. Albus…don't worry. I won't do anything stupid. I know what's waiting for me now." All fight drained out of him.

"We will find a way," Flitwick said, two red spots on his tiny cheeks.

"For now you must sleep," Dumbledore said. "Can you walk?"

Severus felt as if he'd been beaten. "Not sure," he said, but tried to stand. His legs wouldn't hold him, though, and he collapsed back onto the chair.

The Headmaster levitated him to his bed. "Sleep, Severus. I'll have Dobby come in and change your clothes. But you won't notice that part. I'll be here when you wake tomorrow." Then he chanted a spell that made everything fade away.


	42. Chapter 42: Hot Chocolate

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 42: Hot Chocolate

Albus Dumbledore

Once Albus helped put Snape to bed in a nightshirt and some salve on his hand for the burn, he and Flitwick left the Potion Master's chambers. Winky was outside waiting. "Oh, masters," she said. "Is he sick again?"

"He will be asleep till nearly noon tomorrow," Dumbledore said. "I'll be back down here before he wakes."

"Thank you!" she said, and hugged the Headmaster. "He's so tired, but won't lie down."

"Is Miss Edgecombe resting now?" Flitwick asked.

"Yes, Master Ravenclaw," Winky said, her eyes wide. "She cry and cry after you talk to her, but finally stop. Master Potions Master say to help her, so I did."

"Thank you, Winky," the small wizard said. Winky did not hug the Charms professor, but bowed instead.

Albus was glad to be back in his office with his friend. Fawkes was much happier, and trilled on his perch.

"What did Professor Snape mean about a beach?" Flitwick asked once the tea came in. "He didn't make sense, and that's not like Severus."

"When he was dying, I followed him part of the way. He was on the edge of the afterlife, and was afraid to die. Apparently the ghost of Sirius Black appeared to warn him he was doomed. Then he saw Lily Potter's spirit telling him he wasn't. I would normally call that wishful thinking except…the things on that beach are more real than we are."

"That explains why Tom's Inner Circle is so loyal," Flitwick commented.

"Yes. If they believe themselves bound to Riddle after death as well as in life, they have nothing to lose and everything to gain by helping Voldemort win." Dumbledore sipped his tea. "Souls are typically given healing and then sent for another life-lesson after rest, but this could force Snape's spirit to be linked with Tom's for eternity."

"There must be a way to break that binding, Typically, certain rites such as baptism, marriage, consecration to a priesthood of some sort, and various deathbed rituals are known to restore a soul to its proper footing."

"He must come to one of them sincerely for it to have any effect. The problem with any rites now is that Riddle would sense the change in Snape's Mark. Severus would likely die."

Flitwick grimaced. "I don't think he would mind just now. However, some sort of blessing for the dying ought to avoid that problem."

"If he is given enough time to either have someone perform it or perform it himself." Albus knew how swiftly death could come in the business of a spy. Conversely, it could arrive with hideous slowness. With some forms of torture he doubted Severus could retain enough presence of mind to do anything but scream. _Every time he answers a summons he risks that,_ he thought. _Till recently we didn't even have the decency to be grateful someone is willing to do so._ "If you could look into ceremonies that can be done for a spirit after death, I would certainly appreciate it."

The Charms professor nodded. "I shall ask Trelawney, too. She found one Muggle church during her stay in the States that performs baptisms on deceased ancestors. Since I am not certain of Professor Snape's religious beliefs, if any, I doubt this one would work. He must come to whatever ritual is chosen with faith, or it won't work. And I think someone besides you should discuss it with him. He's still afraid of you."

"I know." He hated making it look as if he had threatened the young wizard with another _Legilimens._ "But he needed to talk about what happened. If he's desperate enough for a listenerto confide in _Moody_, of all people, surely we can do a better job of it." Dumbledore paused. "He spent too much of last summer hiding. Tom and I hurt him so badly, and it turned out to be part of what nearly killed him. I think…I think he spoke more candidly because you were there because he fears what I might say without someone else around."

"Doesn't he have a reason to?" Flitwick asked waspishly. "He was terrified of your reaction when he spoke about the Edgecombe girl, and was clearly surprised not to be reprimanded for some lack."

"I know. He doesn't expect praise from me, or from anyone in the Order, I think. He is wise enough to take anything he gets from the other side as a trap, but Tom is beginning to use the carrot and not just the stick. But you had to hear it, too. If I die too soon, Minerva will step into my place. If anything happens to her, it will be you. The Order must not fall because we failed to plan for the worst."

"And Severus?"

"His burdens are too great already. We have spent too much time tearing him down for our own amusement or through neglect to ask others to follow his lead now. Also, he must be allowed to protect his students."

"Including ones like Miss Edgecombe," Flitwick said, who looked sad.

"According to Madam Pomfrey, Severus has helped students who have been abused before, no matter their House." Albus had been as surprised to hear it, or that Poppy thought Snape actually helped them. "And he is the only one who can aid the ones who have taken the Mark. I didn't think you would give in so quickly, though, when he was angry with you."

"He was right. I hated Umbridge so much I wanted to strike at anyone who appeared to side with her," the small wizard said. "I was less than thorough in my evaluation, however, and did not look for all the facts before acting through inaction."

Anyone who understood Ravenclaw knew what a damning self-indictment that was. The Headmaster was silent. He had been only too glad to see the girl punished as well, and had really wanted to find a way to reward Miss Granger for her sharp thinking. _But for every action there is a consequence,_ he thought. _Those boils began a sequence of events that leave us sitting here, while Miss Edgecombe must endure agony. My blindness with Severus led to the events that now leave him damned for eternity for helping the Light. It must stop._ That led him into horrified speculation as to how Miss Granger's enthusiasm for improvisation could lead to other events, whether because of Miss Edgecombe, or Madam Umbridge. _On top of that, what the twins did to Mr. Montague could end up hurting the Order as well._

First things first. Poppy and Severus were caring for Miss Edgecombe. He'd seen the stony politeness in the girl's face when he and Flitwick had tried to talk to her. The twins and Miss Granger would have to keep. But not too long, or events would overtake him again as they had before.

"Headmaster?"

"Yes, of course," Albus said. "Forgive me. I have much to think about as well."

"You don't think Professor Snape is going to survive the war, do you?"

"No."

"You meant it about storming Hell."

"Yes. He's given too much to be thrown away. I supposed he's used to it by now, but what that says about us I do not like to think about." He sighed. "If there are stains on his soul, I helped put them there. He was afraid to die last summer, you know. We all took his information and despised him. Especially me. I won't let it happen again. I am glad you were in the dungeons with me today, Filius. I might have said horrible things to him, and he can't bear it any more. He expected me to loathe him for what he was forced to do. Where do you think he learned it? Even with the table in his bedroom reminding him we do care about him, he clearly has doubts. That's mostly my fault."

"I am worried I have done that with Miss Edgecombe," Flitwick said. "We don't even have the excuse of her being a Slytherin this time."

Dumbledore stiffened at hearing the smaller wizard say that, then realized it was deserved. He had made his favoritism quite clear by now, clear enough both Flitwick and Sprout knew better than tospeak uptill now. Only Severus had dared, and the whole school at times had seen what became of _those_ protests. "Tell Sybil you have my permission to hear her latest prophecy, Filius. You'll understand why Snape must be our first priority."

"I'll see what I can find, Albus," the Head of Ravenclaw said. "Perhaps there is a charmed object he can carry which he only needs to touch in order to invoke the proper ritual. The oldest Weasley boy is quite a curse-breaker these days. If this isn't a curse, I'd like to know what is. May I have your permission to ask him about this problem? If anyone can find something to release someone from the Dark Mark to any degree, we could find it useful for others besides the professor."

That was a happy thought. What magic could create, magic could take away. "Don't forget part of Snape's Mark is made from a virgin's death. Even though he killed her unwillingly, he still has that on his soul."

"Good point." Flitwick took out a notebook and scribbled on it in an arcane code even Moody couldn't break. "I'm sure other members of the Inner Circle have equal atrocities to deal with. I wonder if it would be proper to experiment on Malfoy, as long as he's in Azkaban? It would be interesting to see if anything worked on a Death Eater who accepted the curse willingly."

The Headmaster nearly laughed to think of the explanations Lucius would have to make if anything changed his Mark. Then he sobered. "Nothing is likely to change anything on someone who isn't sincere about wanting it. However, there are two Death Eaters in custody who attempted suicide last summer. You know, on that Sunday morning. A properly created ritual might work on them."

Flitwick scribbled some more. "Good. I'll need access to them once I have something to try. I'll need records of religious affiliation, if any, since symbols keyed to actual beliefs will work better. A pity _his_ death probably won't do the trick. Didn't Professor Snape tell you that Riddle wasn't as dead as everyone thought because he could still feel the Mark?"

"His spirit was quite alive," Albus said. His heart sank. He didn't want to lose Harry as well. What might the scar on the boy's forehead do to him once Voldemort truly perished? "When he finally gone for good, I hope those enslaved to him become free."

'Or die along with him. It would be like You-Know-Who to make sure none of his servants survive his real end."

Dumbledore looked at the tiny Head of Ravenclaw. Few looked beyond the short stature, the bright clothing, and the squeaky voice. His students were well aware of the sharp mind inside, but only a few had any idea precisely how strong Flitwick truly was. Or how practical. Filius was like Snape in his willingness to face the truth, however stark. "I hope you're wrong," he said. "But I fear you are."

"Will the professor be able to endure much more? Aren't you actually weakening him by forcing him to confront his emotions? He must do what must be done without regrets if he is going to be effective."

"The potions overload treatment removes the poisons from so many years of work. In the same way, I hope my interventions will allow him to release some of the horror in his spirit."

"Yet eliciting such confidences through fear may be counterproductive," Flitwick replied.

"I know. I wish I had enough time to allow him to truly trust me after what I've done to him," Dumbledore said. "He is less angry now, and not just because he's afraid of me the way he was this summer. He has changed, and not only from the potions taking some of the weight off of him, so to speak. Forcing him to pile on more armor will only weigh him down in the end. It is best to show him that he has less to fear, at least from us, than he thinks he does. I am glad you were there today, Filius. I fall back into old habits too easily around him. I just wish someday he won't be terrified of Lupin."

"It will do no good to force the two of them to work together," Flitwick said. "He will only feel you're doing it to make Professor Lupin feel better and less guilty about being a werewolf. Madam Pomfrey was quite right about the after effects of being a victim of an attack, and you have never resolved that. In fact, you've never resolved the whole Marauder problem at all. As far as Professor Snape is concerned, you will favor them and young Mr. Potter till either he or the last one of them dies. We have vicious cliques of our own in Ravenclaw, but I fear I would not tolerate that sort of behavior from any of my students."

The Headmaster was taken aback. This was the first time in years someone had spoken to him about those merry young gentlemen. "Those days are over, Filius. Even Severus should realize that by now."

"It is your good luck and nothing else that the Trio are not just as bad," Flitwick replied crisply. "Professor McGonagall has exerted herself to keep it that way, though given what happened to Mr. Montague last spring, perhaps not strongly enough. I am certain you would have found a way for the Weasley twins to stay if they had wished, and counted their victim as merely another casualty of a terrible accident. One can only imagine your fury if Mr. Montague had been a Gryffindor who became permanently damaged and the twins in the house of the Snake. Don't you think others have taken note of your attitudes over the years?"

Albus blinked in astonishment. Of course it had been an accident. "Even the boy's parents were satisfied at the punishments Madam Umbridge had settled on for the twins."

"But she didn't know, or care, about the boy. She wanted them whipped for other things, mostly defiance of her authority," Flitwick said.

Dumbledore was a little angry now. "I saved Severus from Azkaban, Filius, and I brought him here to teach when the Ministry wanted to dispose of him anyway, despite his services," he said. "I should think that ought to count for something!"

"Oh, yes. Right up to the moment young Mr. Potter sorted Gryffindor. None of us said anything, but we all saw the change, Headmaster. No matter how often the boy and his friends broke the rules, we were all ignored. Most of the staff decided there was no use protesting. Only Professor Snape said anything, and we saw how he was treated for doing so. But then, he's never stopped fighting for something he believes to be right. We closed our eyes and hoped for the best till last summer. Perhaps if we had spoken sooner things would not have become so…extreme. I should have said something myself when Miss Edgecombe was punished for betraying confidences, instead of going along. Perhaps McGonagall should speak to her Gryffindors about why it is wrong to nearly kill their fellow students, even if they happen to be Slytherins."

Albus was silent for a moment. Then he spoke. "That is why we must change now," he said heavily. "Do give me some credit for noticing that much." He fought once more against the flood of second-hand memories Snape had had to endure for so long.

"I do," Filius said gently. "We will be glad to help. We…we let things go too far ourselves, especially last year and this summer. Some prices are too high to pay for peace and quiet among us. I suppose Professor Snape is used to being the one sacrificed, but I agree with you that we must do all we can to prevent it. During the last war, there were so many who became virtually soulless on either side, and were tossed away like broken wands once the conflict was over. Your way is better."

Dumbledore sighed, and wondered again how Flitwick knew so much. As far as the records showed, the Charms professor had been on extended studies in Australia during most of the Grindelwald war. He had joined the staff shortly after its end, while Armando Dippet was Headmaster. The small wizard's eternal good cheer had obviously been a façade, and a fairly thin one, back then, but had become more real over the years. Since then he had become a good friend as well as an excellent teacher, devoting himself to the life of the mind. Flitwick enjoyed frivolity as much as he did. In fact, Albus admired the stamina that the small wizard showed in pursuit of recreation when school was not in session, though never causing any scandal during it.

However, during the first Voldemort War and now in the middle of second, Flitwick showed his expertise and became a different person entirely. Dumbledore was glad of it, even when faced with facts he did not care for.

He was about to say something along those lines when the chimes sounded for dinner. "Ah, saved by the bell. What a useful cliché."

Filius gravely smiled. "And now we must put on our own masks and convince the students the world has not yet come to an end. Did you know there's a wager in the Betting Book about when Professor Snape will finally start yelling at them again? The odds are 10-1 Mr. Longbottom will be the recipient, and 4-1 on Mr. Potter. A few lunatics have money on young Mr. Malfoy, but those odds are rather high."

Albus stood up and shook his head. "Having the point penalties posted was a good idea. I'm glad you came up with it."

"We still haven't forgiven the Ministry for inflicting Madam Umbridge on us yet," the Head of Ravenclaw said. "And we rather wished you had done something about her before matters became quite so chaotic."

"You will have to learn how to survive without me someday," the Headmaster said as the two of them left the office and went to the Great Hall.

"Yes." Flitwick looked thoughtful.

One thing Dumbledore was glad of was that he could put all concerns aside and enjoy his food. He observed the other members of the staff going at their dinners too, and was glad they had the ability as well. Then he glanced at the empty chair close to him. Severus was already much too thin, and this regimen only made things worse. He would urge both Dobby and Winky to make sure the Potions Master had food available at all times. According to Molly Weasley, Snape had eaten well at her table when he had been the only one there. _I'm glad he trusts someone enough to relax around her,_ he thought. _Too bad he can't go there for every meal._

Minerva looked pointedly at the empty seat and asked, "Is he all right?"

"Reacting badly to a couple of things," he said. "Tell you more later."

She nodded briskly and went back to haranguing Sybil about something.

The Headmaster began planning what should be done tomorrow. He wanted to be there when Snape woke up. Harry had finally discovered who had given him the Pensieve and didn't know what to do about it, but was progressing well in Occlumency. He needed another month or so before Severus would have to take over, but this time the boy was paying attention. Then other members of the Order would be able to tell Harry a lot more about what was really going on. Even now the boy's link to Riddle was far too strong for that to be safe. At least he was less inclined to blame others for his own mistakes. The technique of hiding in a good memory was working quite well, really.

His thoughts returned to Severus again. No doubt Flitwick would find a way to help the poor man break free of the terrible bonds he'd had to accept for the Order's sake. If the method used helped other Death Eaters who regretted their earlier decision, everyone would be pleased. _He can't be left trapped in darkness when I was the one who put him there. _

Once dinner was over, he noticed a small knot of students by the Slytherin table. Some of the first years appeared distressed, though one of the prefects was vainly trying to calm them. Dumbledore approached the group. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Winky says the Professor is sick again, sir," a small girl said. "But he was going to make our Sunday chocolate for us after supper because he forgot to earlier. And Winky says she has ingredients to chop for tomorrow's Potions class."

Oh, yes. He'd better go look at the lesson plans later tonight, and see if he or someone else could cover the classes, or simply move everything back a day.

"You'll just have to wait till next week," said the prefect, a harassed-looking seventh year boy. Ah, yes, Mr. Wilkes. "The rest of us have homework to finish."

"That's quite all right," Albus said. "I like a cup of hot chocolate myself in the evenings. Suppose you show me where to go, and where everything is?"

Mr. Wilkes blinked. "Of…of course, sir. Are you sure?" He looked nervous.

"Would I say so if I weren't?" He followed the group of wide-eyed first year Slytherins back down to the dungeons, and to a room close to Snape's personal quarters. The first thing he did was to perform a quick muffling spell. "This way you may chatter all you like and not wake your Head of House," he said. "The potions regimen he is on is dreadfully hard for him sometimes. In fact, the clinic would prefer him to be there for most of this year, but he didn't want to disappoint you by being gone."

"My sister said he sweated black stuff in a class on Friday and let everyone go early," one boy eagerly narrated. "Then I heard he had to go to the infirmary and throw up!"

"Is he ever going to be well, sir?" asked the girl who had complained to the prefect.

"Miss…Walsh, yes, he is," Dumbledore said as he started the chocolate. He thought he knew what was in the small unmarked bottle, but decided to leave that out for tonight. "Once it's over, he'll feel much better than he has in years. Making too many potions and inhaling mistakes for too long will make anybody sick."

"And that's why we can't muck about or ruin someone else's potion, so there!" said the young boy who had spoken earlier. "Even if Hilary Marcher thinks it's funny to ruin mine!"

"Well, she's a Mudblood and doesn't know any better," Miss Walsh said. "And when I told her about Professor Snape being sick from it she said she'd stop. But don't put Chocolate Frogs down her back. It scares her!"

"I never knew anybody who'd never seen them before," said the boy. "I guess she's all right. Dad told me there were Mudbloods here, but I've never seen one before either."

Dumbledore winced at the casual use of 'mudblood' but knew when to fight his battles. He changed his mind immediately and thought he'd give it a try. "I believe the proper term is Muggleborn," he said.

Miss Walsh clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oops, I forgot. Mama says it all the time, and so did Papa."

Oh dear. He remembered the name now. Mr. Walsh had been one of the Death Eaters who had died in the Ministry raid. "It's considered impolite," he said gently. "Is Miss Marcher a friend of yours?" It would be a good sign if she were.

"Oh, yes. Even if she is a Hufflepuff. I haven't told Mama about her yet. But Professor Snape said it was all right." She glared defiantly at the boy.

_Good for you, Severus._ He had always been so concerned about improving relations between Gryffindor and Slytherin, he hadn't thought about links between the House of the Snake and others. Sprout had been right to let her students help make up the numbers this year. Dumbledore handed out the chocolate to everyone, including a cup for himself. He made sure to learn everyone's names, even the sullen lad who sat in a corner. Snape had once been the same way, and no doubt knew exactly how to handle such children.

"I'm glad you're here, sir," Miss Walsh said. "Some people say you only talk to Gryffindors."

Unfortunately that was close to the truth. Save for his encounters with the DA last year, which was mostly made up of his own house, in the past few years he'd spoken only with Harry and his friends when he spoke to individual students at all. "Well, I'm Headmaster for the whole school and not just one part," he said.

The boy in the corner stared down at the floor and scuffed his feet, while everyone else merely looked uncomfortable.

Another boy, this one with curly dark hair, spoke up. "Are you going to go into the office and have us come in one at a time? The Professor did that the first couple of weeks in case we wanted to, um, tell him things." Young Mr. Rookwood looked apprehensive.

That explained the little bottle. Snape obviously had a clear idea what sort of families these children came from. For a brief instant Albus imagined a first-year Harry Potter telling Severus what the Dursleys were really like, and how quickly Vernon Dursley would have learned to regret it. "Only if you want me to," he said. "The professor will have to know if you tell me anything important. But I won't discuss it with anybody else."

The children looked at each other.

Dumbledore really wanted to just here and enjoy his chocolate. But he had a responsibility here, if only for Snape's sake. "I'll go in for a few minutes," he said. "I'll be glad to talk to anyone who wants to come in."

The small room was quiet. The Headmaster put the visitor's chair so the desk wasn't between him and a student should one wish to see him. The smaller seat looked extremely soft and comfortable. One candle was lit, making the place dim. He wished for a moment he had the Potion Master's voice, which could reassure a nervous banshee when pitched right.

Miss Walsh entered, though she seemed hesitant. She sat down in the student's chair and gazed up at him. "He usually levitates my chair so I don't have to look up, sir."

"Well, then, I had better do the same," Dumbledore said, and did so. Severus certainly took trouble to set these children at ease. "How did your past week go, Miss Walsh?"

"Not too bad, sir. My study group thinks I'm weird to like a Hufflepuff, let alone a—um, Muggleborn, but Hilary knows all kinds of neat games. She's still scared of house elves, though. I told her I'd bring her down to meet Winky. _Nobody_ could be scared of _Winky._ Do you think that will be all right?"

"I don't see any problem, dear, as long as you stay good friends with your study group." He was sad Snape felt he had to organize his Slytherins this way, but with so many memories in his head of the past, understood it better now.

"That's what the professor said. Hilary has something called a Gameboy, and says if she can make it work here she'll show all of us how to play on it. I haven't told Mama about her in my weekly owl home, though." She hung her head.

"Your mother might get upset. You're right about that," Dumbledore said. He didn't know enough about the Walsh household to say much more. Now he realized the tightrope Snape had to walk with his students. If Miss Walsh became good friends with a Muggleborn, she could easily get into trouble with her family. Depending on her mother's associations, it might be an extremely bad idea for Miss Walsh to invite the other girl to her home, though it could be quite interesting the other way around. "If your friendship is meant to last," he added, "then you will still like each other when you are both grown. Then it will be easier to make your own decisions. Your mother probably has much on her mind these days. I would continue to speak of other things in your letters."

Miss Walsh smiled, and left the room with her head held high. Merlin, how he wanted to tell the girl such things didn't matter! But in Slytherin things _were_ different. It was easy to forget that Death Eaters had children, too, with the same hearts and minds as the children of their victims.

The sullen boy with mouse-brown hair who had been sitting in the corner came in, slowly and reluctantly. Albus remembered the name now. "Mr. Andreas," he said. The boy looked too thin. "Lemon drop?" He always had a few in his pocket.

The child took the candy, examined it, and put away, no doubt for later. The way he sat looked familiar. Then Albus realized Harry sometimes sat like that in his office last spring. "You mayhave two if you like, one for now and one for some other time."

Mr. Andreas looked surprised, the way the Boy-Who-Lived still looked at times when faced with generosity. The boy said "Thank you," and popped that sweet in.

Dumbledore waited till it was gone before asking any more questions. He'd seen boys talking with food in their mouths before. Once he was certain the young Slytherin had swallowed, he asked, "How was your week, Mr. Andreas?"

"Umm…not bad. Only lost ten points."

Albus suspected this was an improvement, and nodded gravely. "I think the professor will be happy with your progress. Do you like any of your classes so far?"

"History of Magic. I catch up on sleep there."

He knew Mr. Andreas wasn't the only one, but it was refreshing to see someone who admitted it so frankly. "I'm sorry it's so boring," he said. "Professor Binns was once a dear friend of mine, but dying did not improve him. However, history itself is quite fascinating. What we do here at Hogwarts may someday be part of someone's book in the future. Why, some poor student might have to listen in class about how Mr. Andreas found a spell to win a great battle, and lay down on his textbook instead. In fact, you could become Headmaster yourself one day."

That brought a smile to the boy's face for a moment. Then he turned sullen again. "Nothing great ever comes out of Knockturn Alley."

"Perhaps your Head of House hasn't discussed his own origins with you thus far," the Headmaster said. "But that's where his letter went when he was your age. He is a great man, though few people know it." _And whose fault is that, Albus Dumbledore?_ "He's developed potions which have saved countless lives. He's also taught students who have gone on to become masters and mistresses of potions as well. Professor McGonagall came from a sheep farm here in Scotland, while I'm from Sussex. There are so many bees the air hums all day. Professor Flitwick is from France, though his name doesn't show it. It's not where you start, young man, it's how far you go."

Mr. Andreas looked startled. "I heard some of the older kids whisper the professor came from Knockturn, but not in a nice way. Then Mr. Malfoy heard them and tore them a new one. But after he left one of them said he _had_ to do it because Snapes were Malfoy clients. But my family isn't a client of anyone unless you count Mr. Bartholomew."

"I think Professor Snape was grateful to the Malfoys for their help, as his parents died at an early age. But he has long since repaid that debt." And Lucius had better realize it. "Given the current troubles of the family, it is now he that protects them. Perhaps you are lucky to be free of that sort of alliance at your age. Here you have the chance to make new ones. I think your Head of House is wise to set up your study groups the way he does. If you have questions about future alliances, ask the professor, or ask me. Your choices will be quite important in future years no matter where you come from." Dumbledore knew all about Mr. Bartholomew and his gang of little thieves. Mundungus Fletcher bragged of their skill and openly wished he'd had the good luck to be trained by the old man when he'd been younger.

"You…you really care. The professor told us you did…the older ones said he _has_ to say that…but you do." The boy turned his face away. "I have to go now," he said abruptly and left the room.

Albus took a deep breath once he was alone. How easy it would have been for Snape to poison these children's minds. Now he thought about it, it had been over a decade since he'd spoken with young Slytherins like this. Yet their Head was still telling him their Headmaster cared. Obviously they learned differently as time went on, if he judged rightly from the boy's casual comment about the older students. With his neglect of this House, and with the way he'd treated Severus over the years, how could he blame them?

How long had he sat in his office and imagined he knew everything? Dumbledore glanced about quickly. How many rooms in Hogwarts had no portraits? He suspected this office and Snape's private quarters were not the only ones.

The Shrieking Shack had no portraits.

He flinched at the memory those words brought up. _I failed both Black and Snape,_ he thought. _Snape lost faith in anything good, while Black learned his actions would never have real consequences._ And so Padfoot fell behind the Veil last year, because he could not believe Snape was telling him the truth.

Poor Harry might still pay the ultimate penalty. He still grieved for his godfather, and refused to see any of the man's mistakes. Part of him still wanted to blame Snape.

_I'll have to remind Lupin to tell the boy the truth. Harry might believe it from him._

None of the other children came into the office. After what he thought was a reasonable interval, the Headmaster went back out and freshened everyone's chocolate. Not long after the harried-looking prefect gathered the first years up for one hour more of homework, then bed.

Dumbledore looked in on Severus, who slept. The table holding most of the tokens from the enchantment that had saved the Potion Master's life last summer was still set up. Albus picked up the charm Flitwick had made to keep the wearer from bad dreams and put it around the younger wizard's neck. "Sleep well, Severus," he murmured. "Sleep well." It was so little, compared to the sacrifices Snape had made already.

He resolved to visit the first thing tomorrow morning and stay there till Snape woke. It was wrong for anyone to look so defeated.

But the evening was still young. There was something else he could start tonight, and finish by tomorrow morning before the younger wizard awoke. He should have done this small thing years ago.

Harry Potter

He paid more attention in his Potions class than normal. It _was_ strange how Snape was so different this year. Oh, he'd become severely sarcastic in class a few times, but nothing like his usual constant simmering with peaks of rage. Maybe there was something extra in the potions the older wizard had to take. But as far as Harry had been able to find out, that had started after he'd received the pensieve for his birthday.

A few days later, right after Quidditch practice, he remembered what Aunt Petunia had said about Snape eating his heart out in the corner at his parents' wedding. Harry went to his bedroom and looked in the pensieve again, though he almost didn't need to. He really hoped the way Lucius Malfoy looked at the darker Slytherin didn't mean what it could. It was easier for him to concentrate on Snape.

No. He didn't look happy. Snape looked like he _was_ eating his heart out, the way his aunt had said. _Was Snape in love with Mum? But why did he call her names?_ Then again, his dad had threatened to hex Lily Evans if she didn't stop interfering with his fun, and they'd still ended up married later on. Then Harry remembered some of the nicknames he and Ron and some of the other boys gave a few of the Slytherin girls. He and Ron had made the mistake of repeating them in front of Hermione exactly once.

_Not that I'm ever going to fall in love with one of those slags,_ thought Harry. _Malfoy calls Ginny 'Weasel' and Hermione 'Mudblood' all the time. Maybe it's a Slytherin thing._ He shuddered at the idea of the blond Snake being in love with someone he knew.

He had a thought. _Maybe it wasn't just me looking like Dad that sent Snape into a fury the first time he saw me. Maybe…maybe it was seeing part of Mum in me, too. You'd think it'd make him feel better to see her again, not worse, if he really was in love with her. That doesn't make sense. I mean, I didn't want Cedric dead even though he was with Cho…_

_But was I really in love with Cho? I missed her and everything when she dumped me, but…_ Then he realized he didn't have to see her go with Cedric, either. Maybe that would have made it worse. And Harry wouldn't be surprised to find out Snape was laughed at by all the other Slytherins for having it bad for a Muggleborn, too.

He withdrew from the pensieve and looked at it again. _If I just keep taking without ever giving back, or even saying thank you, what kind of person does that make me? Even if I don't like him and he doesn't like me, I still owe him, the way he owed Dad._ He'd been in the Wizarding World long enough to realize what it thought of people who owed debts and somehow never found time to settle up. _Besides, if he died and I hadn't done anything, then I'd probably owe whatever debt there is to _Draco!_ Anything's better than that! If I bring in Voldemort's head on a platter he'd probably enjoy it as much as everyone else! But maybe—maybe he ought to have something just for him._

He bent over his Potions homework. _I'll do this one first for a change. Then I can sit with Ron and Hermione after supper and find out if I'm on the right track._

Ron dragged in and started on his books as well, though he sighed in a martyred fashion and clearly hoped the bell for dinner would ring soon, which it did. But afterwards, his friend actually went back to the pile of papers on his bed and took them with him on his way to the common room instead of abandoning them and fetching his chess set.

Harry stopped him from leaving. "I want to show you something in the pensieve and find out what you think," he said. After all, everyone knew his friend had it bad for Hermione, and probably always would. "I'm trying to figure something out. After looking into one of the memories there, I'm kind of wondering if Snape was in love with Mum."

"Ewww," said Ron. "Let me keep my dinner down a bit longer, will you?"

"No, take a look for yourself." Harry brought out the ceramic dish. Though it was smaller than the one Dumbledore had had in his office, it seemed to hold just as much. Together they looked at the wedding and especially at Snape.

Once it was over, Harry made sure Ron left with him out the main doors. His friend chewed his lip and appeared less skeptical than before. "I remember when Fred had it bad for Angelina when she was going with someone else. He had that 'where's the nearest cliff to jump off' look, too. Of course, George knocked it out of him." Ron sat on his bed and swung his legs. "And I can see where Malfoy gets his nastiness, with _that_ for a dad. Maybe…maybe you're right about Snape. Naturally no girl would ever look at the greasy git, let alone your mum."

"Well, suppose Hermione married someone else—Krum, or someone like that. And suppose all their kids looked like him, except they had her bushy hair. Would that make it better or worse when you saw them?"

"Worse! I'd want to strangle the little bas—oh shit!" Ron's eyes went wide. "But…well, he's been different this year. I hate to admit it, mind."

"Maybe he finally figured it out for himself. Maybe he gave me these memories because they were ugly ones for him." Harry thought out loud. "But there's some of Dad and his friends, but not doing anything mean."

"Dunno. Maybe he was doing general housecleaning and threw out more than he meant to because he was sick of the mess in his head?" Ron said. "Don't ask _me_ to figure out Snape! It's enough he isn't after us so much. Count your blessings and move on."

Harry sighed. He still owed the Potions Master, no matter how he tried to work it out that he didn't. He grabbed his books and papers and went down to the common room. If he stayed here with the pensieve, he wasn't going to get any work done.

Ron followed him with his own gear, and an air of extreme virtue.

Once they were both set up with their homework, Harry asked, "Can you make any sense out of the question about Ashwinder eggs and dragons' blood? The only thing I can make out is how big the crater would be afterwards."

"Not if you put a unicorn hair in while the mess is still blue," Hermione said, as she walked into the common room herself. "If it turns all the way red first, then I'd start running, too, but the hair keeps them from mingling in the earlier stage even if they're in the same cauldron. Once it dissolves, of course, you have a really strong Repairing Potion."

"Good!" Ron started scribbling. "Does it work the same when dragons' blood meets up with extract of Blast-ended Skrewt?"

"Not quite. You need maidenhair fern for that. But it's the same principle." Hermione beamed at Ron.

_No wonder he's working so hard this year, with a smile like that to reward him,_ Harry thought morosely. _Ginny used to look at me like that, but I ignored her too long and now she's running around with—oh, who is it this week?_ He knew he wasn't the only one driven nuts by Ginny's popularity. Ron ranted at least every other day about what-Mum-would-think. _But if I start taking her out now, she'll think it's only because I can't stand for her to be around anybody else. I wish I understood girls._ And, to be honest, he _liked_ Ginny a lot, and sometimes wanted to kiss her the way he'd kissed Cho. Yet he knew he didn't obsess over either girl the way Seamus did Lavender, just to give an example. Of course he participated in the talks in the showers after Quidditch—he'd be thought pathetic if he didn't. But he just didn't have a great love for any girl—or boy, for that matter. Maybe there _was_ something wrong with him. He didn't know.

He sighed and finished the Potions essay. Then he started on Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall might have slowed a little physically after four stunners to the chest last year, but nobody made it past that sharp mind without picking up a few paper cuts.

In fact, the next day after class she called him to her desk. "Just a few words with you, Mr. Potter, nothing to make you late," she said. "I only wanted to say I'm quite pleased by the attention you're giving your classes this year. Even though I did lobby a bit to make a place for you in Advanced Potions, I was worried how things would work out. Everything indicates you're doing much better than expected there, though."

"Well, it's embarrassing when I have to catch up to _Ron_," Harry said sheepishly. "Even though he's captain this year, he's really keeping in there. Of course, it'd be nice if the person teaching it said I was doing all right, too." _Of course, if someone like Hermione smiled at me the way she does at Ron when he works hard, I'd be motivated, too!_

McGonagall nodded briskly. "I understand. However, there has been much less shrieking in the staff room over your academic unfitness. From more than one teacher. I might add that Professor Snape was not the only one who expressed concern last year, aside from that woman. I am glad my hopes for you are being borne out."

"Thank you," said Harry. He noticed how his Head of House's eyes changed when she alluded to Umbridge. He was really happy her flinty ruthlessness was not aimed at him. As he walked off to his next class, he remembered Hermione had looked the same way when they were out in the Forbidden Forest with the Toad and the centaurs. Oh, she'd sounded frightened, and her face had been screwed up like she was going to cry, but her eyes…her eyes had been as hard as McGonagall's had been just now.

Maybe Hermione hadn't given up nagging Ron. Maybe she'd just found a way that worked.

Then he laughed to himself as he sped along hoping not to be late. Yes, he was going to Potions, but it was Friday, and they were going to work on the Wolfsbane today. Everything he did in there was going to help Remus, and that was worth getting yelled at.

He slid into class just barely before the door slammed back (that hadn't changed) and Snape had them take their cauldrons out. Harry whispered to Ron, discovered it was his turn for Neville-watch, and hoped for the best.

He concentrated on the Memory-Sharpening potion they were brewing today. Now he was looking for it, some of the procedures used with that one were the same as one part of the Wolfsbane Potion. That made sense. If they learned all the different parts, and remembered them, it'd be easier to put them all together for the really hard potions. He hoped the fumes alone would help both him _and_ Longbottom, actually.

At least Neville was drawing stuff out on a piece of paper before getting started. Harry had nothing against that, since it gave him to do his own work for a bit before having to make sure his friend didn't blow anything up.

"Are you all right, Professor?" Malfoy's voice came as a surprise. Harry didn't know the Ferret could sound concerned about anyone but himself.

Everyone glanced up. Black drops were forming on Snape's face and hands. The Potions Master said, "I was told this might happen." He pulled out his wand and performed quick stasis spells on all the cauldrons. "I have decided to make this a lecture opportunity," their teacher said with a grimace, as he used a large handkerchief to wipe the gruesome sweat from his skin. "If any of you plan to enter the potions field professionally, be aware of new Ministry regulations regarding the health of anyone brewing on a long-term basis. Mr. Weasley, your brothers should obtain a copy as soon as possible, so they'll know what they're ignoring."

"But what's happening?" Hermione asked. She looked concerned and a little frightened. That made sense. Harry knew if anybody here went into potions full time besides the Weasley twins, it'd probably be his friend.

"Because I have been brewing and inhaling the mistakes of dunderheads for so long, I have been required to take a year's sabbatical or undertake a detoxification regime. As you can see, there are some unpleasant side effects. Move your cauldrons back into the storage room for now, with the stasis field still on them. Class is dismissed once that is done. Three feet on the effects of long-term brewing by the next class from the Gryffindor with the raised hand."

They did as he said. Malfoy took off looking worried, once Snape left.

"Wonder why he let us out like that?" Ron asked.

"He probably has to go to the infirmary," Hermione said. For once she didn't look so confident about things.

_We have to survive Voldemort first before worrying about what might happen years from now,_ Harry thought. But Hermione always thought far ahead of anyone, except Ron sometimes when he was playing chess.

"Just as well he gave you more homework," Ron replied. "You'd spend all weekend looking it up anyway."

Neville looked unhappy. "I never meant to make him sick."

"Think of it as a bonus," Ron said.

Harry stayed quiet. How much had the rest of them inhaled over the years? Of course, he'd added the occasional toxic cloud himself, as had all of them.

"Maybe your brothers ought to look over the new regulations," Hermione said. "They always try their new tricks on each other first. Besides, if your mother hears about this, she'll make them be more careful anyway."

Ron nodded glumly. "She will, too. I won't say anything, and neither will Ginny, but she's almost as good as the Headmaster for finding out things. I wonder if I can ask for an extra copy? The way Percy is these days, he'll wait till Fred and George are in trouble and whack them over the head with it."

"Madam Pomfrey probably does," Hermione said. "I think I'll ask her, but I'll wait a bit. She'll be busy with Professor Snape right now. I'll try the library first."

_That's Hermione, all right—library first and ask questions later. But she's probably right. I'd hate to have that goop on my skin, too._ Harry said, "We'll all go. If there's a copy there, you can charm an extra one that Ron can send to his brothers." Besides, though Malfoy and his friends hadn't done much this year, he didn't like Hermione walking around alone. She just didn't have good sense sometimes about the Slytherins.

"Don't forget about Charms after lunch," Ron said. "I know you, when you put your nose in a book, you lose track of anything else."

Hermione made a face. The three of them walked to the other building. Harry and Ron saw her inside, then headed back towards the Great Hall.

"I wonder if breathing our muck does make the greasy git worse than he already is?" Ron asked. "That was some gross looking stuff on him. Maybe getting rid of it is helping. He's not nearly as bad as he was last year."

"I dunno," Harry said. "Fred and George probably ought to think about it. They don't brew the same things, or have to inhale Longbottom's latest disaster, but their own stuff is weird enough." Who knew what potions Snape had to make for Voldemort? Maybe he deserved to be poisoned by it.

He looked back at the library and chewed his lip.

Ron did the same thing, then nodded. "I _hate_ knowing he probably saved 'Mione's life last year, right after the raid…"

_Try being me,_ Harry thought. _He's saved my life more often than that._ "I wish I could hate him the way I used to just a couple of months ago," he said quietly. "Life was a lot simpler when Snape was the one we were all afraid of, and V—um, You-Know-Who showed up once a year just in time to win us the Cup."

Ron sighed. "Yeah, it's no fair changing like that! I guess we're going to have to, too. But don't tell Hermione. She'll crow like mad if we tell her she was right all along."

They both laughed. Some things never changed.


	43. Chapter 43: Penance

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 43: Penance (Part the First)

Author's note: Sorry to take so long on updates! I'm working on a project now that might actually pay money, if the people involved are even more delusional than I am…wish me luck!

Severus Snape

When Snape awoke, he felt the Headmaster's fiery wand underneath his palm, and an unfamiliar charm around his neck. For once he felt refreshed.

And then he remembered, when he saw the burn mark on the back of his left hand. Oh, every Potions Master acquired small burns and scars on their hands; but only he had one from the brand of phoenix tears. It didn't hurt as much as it had at first, but he feared the small discoloration would be permanent.

He looked up and saw Dumbledore sitting by his bed. Wasn't there any place in this castle where the old man would leave him alone? Severus school his features into blankness and made ready to hear the _real_ lecture Flitwick's presence yesterday had undoubtedly prevented.

"I know…I know my presence isn't entirely welcome," Albus said hesitantly. "I won't be here long. I just wanted to remind you of the table you have in this room. Try to remember what it was like when you felt all of Hogwarts gathered together for your sake. You are _not_ lost, no matter what. We _will_ find you a way back." He fumbled in his pocket and drew out a small book. "I want you to have this. The Ministry proved most stubborn, but gave in this morning. I finally convinced Umbridge to agree you should receive all the income from two of the potions patented in your name. I pointed out you had published little lately, and how the Wizarding World would lose should you give up developing anything new entirely. Fortunately Madam Marchbanks was of the same opinion and joined my petition." He held out the small volume. "I am afraid to speculate why Umbridge was more cooperative. I don't want to know if she's aware of your increased status among our enemies."

Snape took it, and was surprised to find it was a small passbook to some bank with a foreign name. "We'll need to find out."

"I fear we will. She chose the two potions with the least current revenue, of course. If you win your bet with the Wolfsbane potion, the resultant publicity will do some good." Then Dumbledore smiled. "The Singsong potion still appears to have little industrial value, but you never know. However, I somehow failed to mention that Dickson's Imperial Products will begin commercial production of a stain remover with your Evanescence Potion as its base."

"If only I could use it on that portrait at Grimmauld Place," Severus said, riffling through the pages. Were the figures in it accurate? How much _had_ the Ministry been stealing from him?

"True. As soon as I received permission from the Ministry, I contacted the manufacturers to have any monies paid into a Swiss account unrelated to Gringotts, but with merchant privileges, so transfers to your vault will be easier. It will truly be yours, and the goblins won't be able to interfere."

Severus set down the passbook. "Headmaster," he said. "I do not need bribes to perform my duties."

"It would be ten times that or more if those idiots at the Ministry didn't steal it in the first place!" Albus snapped, his face reddening. "Please accept it, Severus. I can't help you with a lot of things, but I can manage _this_."

"Thank you," the Potions Master said. He had no idea what he'd do with the money. At this point it didn't feel real anyway. "You must have been up all night with this. McGonagall _and_ Poppy will have my head if either one thinks you've made yourself ill for my sake. Go to bed, Albus."

The old wizard calmed down. "I think I will. I…I'll rest better knowing you slept well, though. I hoped the charm from Flitwick would help. I was so terribly worried last night that you'd be tormented by what you cannot help."

"I feel better now," Snape said, surprised to find it was the truth. "As for this—" He held up his left hand to show the blotch. "Once I am dead the Dark Lord may find he regrets holding me prisoner. He felt the blade in my Mark in his own. Perhaps I can find a way to use the link that way once he can no longer hurt me physically."

Dumbledore looked dismayed at this swift acceptance. "I don't plan to seek death, Albus," Severus said. "But if it is forced upon me, I may as well make use of the situation." Slow fury began to build in him as he looked at the passbook again. "It's so _wrong!_ We shouldn't have to fight both the Ministry and the Dark Lord! And you shouldn't have to beg for a fraction of what they've stolen from me!"

Something made of glass exploded into splinters, but Snape refused to be sorry about it this time. He sat up straight. "I have always thought it wrong that half-grown children must be involved on either side! Maybe the Prophecy won't let me finish _him_ off, Headmaster, but I can surely thin the numbers to make it easier for Potter to do so. Since I am a killer, allow me my proper target!"

"The time may come when I will ask you to do so," the old wizard said softly. "But it's far too soon to sacrifice one of my strongest pieces."

"So pawns like the woman I killed and the Edgecombe girl must suffer instead," Snape said bitterly, and slumped back onto the pillows. He looked at the red mark on his palm from the Headmaster's wand, no doubt from the heat of the phoenix feather in its core.

"I know you think you have nothing to lose, Severus." Albus took the wand and put it back into his robe pocket. "Yet your death would hurt us, even if you fought for us from beyond the grave. I know…I know I haven't shown it well. But I wanted to show you I don't need a watchdog to talk to you without lecturing or hurting you. You have a right to be angry with all of us over the way you've been treated."

"And you have a right to rest instead of listening to my latest tantrum," Snape said. "Winky would set up another bed if I asked, but really, I am capable of carrying on without an audience. It will be less embarrassing when I run out of steam if no one else is here"

Albus smiled. "Then I will let you have at it." The old wizard left.

Severus breathed deeply, feeling odd. It was as if his anger was draining into the charm around his neck. He glanced down at it, but it wasn't changing color or shape. He removed it anyway, just in case. He would need it more another night.

Winky appeared shortly afterwards with breakfast and the first potion of the day. She insisted she didn't mind helping him to and from the bathroom, though he hated leaning on the frail little elf. However, she refused to help him dress. "Master to stay in bed today, Mistress Nurse say," she squeaked.

"Then bring me something to read," Snape said. "In fact, bring me the top foot or so of the essays on my desk. Not that the dunderheads will learn anything from my comments, but I need to see how far behind they really are."

Winky obeyed, and also brought in the writing-tray from the sitting room. "Master should sleep again," she said reproachfully. "Master work too hard!"

"Don't worry, I'll be ready to nap after the first dozen or so," he said. "If only they would make _new_ mistakes!" He had enjoyed that from the Weasley twins, though he would never admit it. He was still angry with them over Montague's injuries, but not as much since he'd seen them at the hospital the day the Slytherin boy had gone home. Snape was uneasily aware that he hadn't followed through on his promise to check on the former Quidditch Captain. However, he was certain Winky would turn out to know _Petrificus_ if he even thought about going to his parlor till she believed he was better.

He began feeling drowsy after the first four or five papers rather than making it to a dozen when he started grading the essays. Snape glanced at the table, where he'd replaced the charm Flitwick had given him. At least it hadn't burned his skin. He couldn't believe he'd slept so well. Normally he would have been forced to endure the horror of this weekend over and over in his nightmares, not to mention all the rest.

But quarter day had only been postponed. It was time for him to perform a rite he'd hoped was over and done with. During the first war things had been even worse, especially once he'd given his conscience into Dumbledore's keeping. He'd been haunted by those he'd killed in Voldemort's service. Flitwick had helped him to find a summoning spell to ask forgiveness of those he had murdered. He had been relieved to discover being forgiven or not wasn't the point; it was the asking that mattered.

Yet he would have to wait till he could stay awake long enough to do it. Severus closed his eyes, surprised to be so tired after a good night's sleep. Once he awoke for the second time that day, Winky was there with lunch and the inevitable potion. She assisted him to the bathroom, but he was able to totter back by himself. This latest cycle of sweating and purging seemed to be over for this time. _I should go to the clinic next time,_ he thought, knowing the real reason he wanted to was to avoid being summoned.

Winky had cleaned the papers off the bed and stacked them neatly on the floor, while his tray waited for him on the table. "Master should just rest today," she said.

"Since I fell asleep after only a few of them, that's all I've done," he said. She seemed satisfied with that, and even happier when he managed to eat almost everything on his tray.

Once she left, he put on a heavier robe and went to his private lab. Snape threw several strong wards around it, then set up a cauldron. He remembered the formula, though it had been a long time since he'd needed to use it. One advantage of being Malfoy's lapdog last year was that he hadn't been forced to kill. He didn't count Karkaroff. It was supposed to have been a simple execution, but the Durmstrang Head hadn't been searched well enough. No doubt it had been a test, and the survivor allowed to come back into the Circle.

The brew began to create a mist after he'd placed his wand in the cauldron so it was floating on top. Her blood would help summon the spirit of his latest victim, if she had any mind to hear his plea. He knelt, bowed his head and chanted the spell that would lure her here.

He heard a soft cry and looked up. The image of the dead woman formed itself out of the mist. She was still a duplicate of Lily in many ways, though with slightly broader cheekbones and…and something bright shone on her hair, like a crown.

"Virgin and martyr," he said softly. "Hear my plea for forgiveness. I spy for those who wish to destroy those who abducted you. I must seem like one of them. But I should have found a way to spare you. Instead, I took your jewel and murdered you. I beg for your forgiveness. But do to me as you will." He bowed his head again. In the past he had felt the echo of his victim's death, and he was prepared for the pain to come from this one.

Instead he felt a wave of sorrow pass through him. Then he heard a whisper in his mind. _I cannot judge you. That will be for others. You regretted my death at the moment you killed me, yet you cannot see alternatives. You must find them._

He almost wished he could have relived her death instead. Reasoning with the Dark Lord over such things was extraordinarily dangerous. But…did it matter now? With death a certainty anyway, and his soul bound to Voldemort's, what difference did it make?

He sighed. His duty was to stay alive as long as possible for the sake of the Order. But there were still things neither side could force him to do. He was the only one who could make _that_ decision, the only one who could set his own limits, despite Dumbledore's wish to be his conscience. "I can see no alternative but death," he admitted to the shade. "Oh, that my sight might be clearer and I can find a way! I don't want to be a murderer. I don't mind being a hunter for the sake of the Order, yes; and a protector to the children here. But not…not _this._"

_Your plea has been heard._ The spirit dissolved back into the mist.

Now it was time for the other one he'd killed this year. Snape hesitated. 'Innocent' was not the word he'd use for the tramp. Yet…yet the man's death had come at his hands. His fury had consumed him when it should not have. Severus tried to remember what the fellow had looked liked in the dim light of the fire.

There was no help for it. He retrieved his wand from the cauldron and performed _Priori Incantatem_ till he'd reached the Cruciatus that had killed.

The old man's face and form appeared rapidly, howling for vengeance, at least by the tone of his voice. Snape knelt once more and begged forgiveness, though he felt far less regret.

The echo of his own spell struck him and he moaned in pain. His curse must have been a potent one for its shadow to hurt so much. With the last of his strength, he dismissed the spirit, then collapsed onto the floor.

He awoke in the private room in the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey sitting by his bed. Fortunately the room was relatively soundproof as long as no one shouted. "Oh, Severus," she said mournfully. "I thought you'd stopped doing this to yourself. It's been years, hasn't it?"

"Yes. It's been that long since I murdered someone." His muscles still shook from reaction and pain.

"You're not teaching tomorrow. I won't tell Albus why you had this little setback, but…oh, dear, you just can't _do_ this any more! I know how much it bothers you to have…to keep your cover, but you're just not strong enough to manage it this way any more." She sighed. "Did she really look like Lily?"

"Yes. But she wasn't the spirit who hurt me. It was the man I killed last summer during Crucio Demonstration Night. Albus was right about me, he was right all along…"

"No, he isn't!" Poppy said crisply. She brushed some hair off his forehead. "You know, at first I wondered if you had been forced to hurt Miss Edgecombe. But everyone's stories, including hers, all hung together. And when you talked to her…well, she was upset, of course, but not the way she would have been if you had been directly involved. She told me what you did do, however. I am so sorry."

"How did you know to look for me? Did Winky find me?"

"Your book began chiming. I thought it best to check on you. Your elf is terribly upset, though. She feels she isn't caring for you properly. You didn't do this last year…"

"Belonging to Lucius had some advantages. He knows I don't like what the others consider fun and games." He still didn't count Karkaroff. Igor had wanted to kill him, too.

"You…_he_ won't force you to hurt any of your apprentices, will he?"

Snape looked at the mediwitch as the thought filled him with horror. "That is a line I will not cross. I won't do it for him or for the Order. At the initiation…at the initiation, Lestrange murdered a Muggle child. Oh, Merlin, I hope they don't ask me to do that."

"You know quite well what I'm really talking about."

"Yes. I do." He stared at the wall in front of his bed. The Dark Lord knew what a punishment it would be for him to become a child-rapist. "I will die first. I hope I'll be able to take some of them with me, but I will die."

"Then you'll need to take precautions so they can't use your students' welfare against you," Poppy said gently, without revulsion. "You wouldn't like leaving them defenseless, and _he_ probably knows that."

He thought furiously. "They must all have portkeys, or learn to Apparate earlier than most. Miss Edgecombe first. She didn't know where her portkey would go, you see, so she took her mask and cloak off before she used it. That's undoubtedly why she was mistaken for part of the entertainment."

Pomfrey nodded. "That makes sense. They can't wait for the classes."

"It will be best if they have a known rendezvous point. Montague ended up badly because he didn't know where he was. Most of the time, not even I know where we meet."

"Well, I'll be ready to put the splinchers together if you need me," she said. Then she took a breath. "Severus, you can't do this to yourself. I know the weight of what you have to be when you're with _them_ is hard for you to bear, no matter how we try to assure you it can't be helped. I know Albus made you feel worse about it last summer, though he didn't mean to."

_Yes, he did,_ Snape thought. It was true the older wizard appeared to regret it. "That…that doesn't change the way I feel about it, though."

"I will assign you penance, then," Poppy said firmly. "You will dislike it enough to consider yourself absolved, and able to save up some for later, I dare say."

He snorted. "You're enjoying this."

She sobered. "No. And you won't either. This whole situation is horrible. But unless you feel sufficiently martyred, I fear you'll risk yourself too much until you are." She took a breath. "The first one is to be kind to Mr. Longbottom till Christmas, at least. He is trying so very hard this year. Even you admitted he's only melted his cauldron twice, which puts him far behind his usual quota. He's worried about making you ill. I know he isn't finishing his potions as quickly as the other students, but if he were less terrified I truly believe he'd do better. He did receive that O on the OWLs, you know."

"But this is so petty…"

"Not really. It will be hard to change your habits with him after this long. I know you've done a remarkable job with Mr. Potter thus far. If anyone in the Ministry knew how hard that was, you ought to receive an Order of Merlin just for that."

He ducked his head, trying not to show how susceptible he was to flattery that came from someone he trusted. "It's stupid," he said. "I don't know why being fussed over by Winky helps so much, but it does. There's been several times I felt anger building up again towards the boy, and then she'd bring over some little problem and thank me for the answer. I'd swear she did it deliberately, but how could she tell? These potions make it easier, too. It's not impossible, but it is harder to throw a tantrum when I can't tell if I'm going to keep anything down or not." He sighed. "I hate to agree with you, but the Longbottom boy is less trouble than he used to be. Maybe if he made potions over and over again the way young Mr. Weasley did last summer, even if they're simple ones…I wouldn't have to supervise him as much then."

"Perhaps your elf could help with him, too," the mediwitch suggested.

"Now that's a thought, but only if I were in the next room…" This could work out better than he thought. Some of the potions required for Hogwarts use were absurdly simple to brew, just tedious. Despite being told he was only to work on specialty items difficult to find on the market, the first part of the Quidditch season alone would likely use up the infirmary budget for the year. "The second part?" he asked, hoping the rest was going to be this easy.

"You really won't like this one," she said. "I've noticed your phobia about Professor Lupin has been growing worse, not better. I suppose you have so much to be afraid of that it must go somewhere, but it's not healthy for you or for the school. I have seen how you've restrained yourself from showing it much, but it's obviously bothering you."

"Poppy, I have good and excellent reasons for this!" he said more loudly than he wished. "I've done much better this year than the last time he taught here."

"You have. But it's more like when you believed Moody was here. If you let this go on without doing anything about it, it will continue to eat away at you, and you won't be able to manage so well. You _will_ start up again with the sort of comments we heard the first year he taught here, he'll roll his eyes and offer up those little sighs of 'At least _I'm_ being civil about it' and Albus will, of course, come down on you for the situation."

Snape turned his head away and tried to pretend his hands weren't shaking. "I can't help it, Poppy," he said softly. "I know why he's here. He is competent, which is more than I can say about several of his predecessors, but Mr. Potter lost his wonderful dogfather, and thus needs moral support, no matter how much it endangers the school." It was such a relief to be honest.

"That's part of it. Another is that Remus was falsely suspected of betrayal before, and Albus likes to do what he can to make up for such things."

Severus grimaced. He knew he was alive and out of Azkaban on the same billet. He glanced back at the mediwitch and said, "I know. I'm a charity case myself."

"Oh, dear, I never meant to suggest that. Your situation is entirely different."

"No. Without the Headmaster to vouch for me, I would not be alive," he said dully. "I must remember to be grateful."

"That's not what I meant at all!" Poppy sighed. "What happened to you here as a student still angers me. Albus favored those boys to an impossible degree! I am sorry to say I believed them for a little while when they kept saying you were the instigator. But Remus was always so quiet when the other three talked about it, I began to wonder. That's when I began paying more attention to how badly you were injured and how little they were."

"I'm glad _you_ believed me, even if it took a while," he said.

"I only wish Dumbledore would have listened to me," she said, her cheeks flushed. "Even after the Shrieking Shack he never really understood how bad it was. I must say the night after you…after you came back to us, he came down here and apologized. He'd seen enough of your memories to realize how bad it was for you all along." She tucked strands of graying hair back into her bun. "But even now, he's still fond of his illusions. Albus will move heaven and earth for you, but he'll always find a way to do it without hurting a Gryffindor. I know that Remus has tried to make amends."

"Yes, only to let Black do or say whatever he wanted without saying a thing."

"But Sirius is gone. So is James. Peter…you see him more often than anyone else, I suppose…"

"Friendly enough as long as I stand high in the Circle," Snape said with a harsh laugh. "Still looking for the strongest patron to lean on."

"And so Remus must bear the anger for all four of them. I'm not saying his hands are clean, Severus, he hurt you by inaction and silence. I can see where it would be irritating to have him be friendly in private, only to betray you around the others. And to have to owe James Potter a life debt because of him made it worse, I'm sure."

The attack, the fear, and the pain of those claws ripping through his side still echoed as loudly in his mind as when it had happened. "My life…my life was worth so little…"

"I know," she said softly. "But I think we showed you how much it's worth now."

The memory Sybil Trelawney had let him view comforted him a little. Flitwick had been extraordinarily thorough, but Albus had put it all in motion, and everyone had been there. Even Moody had contributed his bit.

"You have to understand that you have to give up hope of public vindication," she said. "It's never going to happen. James will never say he's sorry. Neither will Sirius Black, and I suspect you've taken Pettigrew's measure already. On the other hand, you learned how to protect your Slytherins from the same fate. Minerva says she's tried to keep the Trio from becoming like their predecessors, but last year I saw she let the twins run just as wild. I was the first to examine Mr. Montague before he was sent to St. Mungo's."

"As much as I hate to admit it, those Weasleys didn't realize how bad it was," Snape said. "They visited the hospital and were shocked by what they'd done. I haven't written them off yet, as much as I would like to."

"See? Even Gryffindors can see the light eventually," Poppy said. "And…I know nobody paid attention to it, then or later, but the ten points that put the Lions on top in Mr. Potter's first year came from Mr. Longbottom being brave enough to try to stop his friends from breaking the rules. Albus meant that to be a lesson, but I'm afraid not even you saw it that way."

Severus blinked. He had never thought of that. Unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey was right and it was likely no one else had, either. "But what am I do about being so afraid?" he whispered. "Because you're right. It is getting worse."

"You have to realize we will protect you. Firenze is here this year, and is keeping watch. You know how it is with centaurs and werewolves. I wish you didn't have to make the Wolfsbane, though, I fear it's making you ill."

"That helps, Poppy," he said. Part of him still hurt from hearing the mediwitch say he would never have any public vindication, though, for all he'd gone through during his years as a student. Knowing she was right only made it harder to bear. "I know it'll work when I make it. I don't have to worry about some incompetent putting in too much maidenhair or too little aconite."

She nodded. "That makes sense. But if I find a reliable source that even you can trust, let me purchase it elsewhere. You shouldn't stay up all night for any reason in your current state of health. If you skip the sedative, the detoxicant will ruin your digestion again, and there's too little left of that already. And I want to help you with the fear. I don't want you being civil because you feel you have to. There's too much of that in your life already. Remus is a dear man in many ways, but quite spineless in others. But there's a reason for that. He became a werewolf quite young, and was taught to hold back anything that smacked of ill-temper or self-will, and leave it all to the wolf. This is a fairly common syndrome in a lot of werewolves who still want to think of themselves as human." She rummaged around in her workbag and pulled out a book. "I want you to read this, and understand him a bit more. He is used to having a pack, and they are all gone now."

"Well, I know that," he snapped.

"Do you? I think every time you see Remus you expect James or Sirius to pop out of hiding, or Peter to spy you out and let them know where you're hiding. James is dead. So is Sirius. Neither one can hurt you any more. I'm not asking you to forgive either one of them. But Remus was the only one who _was_ unhappy at what they did to you."

"Forgive? I'll do my best to be civil, Poppy, but you're right—whenever I see him, it all comes back no matter...wait. I was able to see him and not be afraid last summer when I tucked so many memories away, but I have them back now."

"Severus," she said gently. "I didn't want to say this. But to be forgiven, you have to learn how to forgive."

He choked on a snarl of anger. She was right. Snape glanced away from her, only to notice the dark patch on skin on the back of his left hand. The fury drained away then. "You're right," he said. "I'm a worse monster than he is now."

"I didn't it mean it that way—"

"No. See this blotch?" He raised it up a little.

"Oh, I didn't notice that—I thought it came from an earlier spill. Does it hurt?"

"Not really. But that mark—it's from Fawkes. That's what phoenix tears do to me since I…since I became a member of the Inner Circle." His voice shook. "And…that stupid bird doesn't like me any more." It was irritating how much that bothered him.

"Oh, Severus, I am so sorry." She patted that hand once he'd laid it down again. "I didn't know." Poppy was silent for a moment, then spoke again. "There was once a story about a woman named Wilhelmina Harker who was marked with shame in much the same way because of what a vampire did to her. But because her friends did all they could, and because she fought for as long as she could, she came home safe again."

"Ah! So I am to find comfort in Muggle fairy tales."

"Yes. Because we are fighting for you. Your part is to hang on the best you can till we can find a way. Don't give up hope, Severus. You still belong to us, and not to them, no matter what _he_ does to you."

"Oh, Merlin, I hope you're right!" He suppressed a sob. He didn't want to prove the old nickname of 'Snivellus' was true.

"It's only fair. You fight for all of us, and to be honest, sometimes I wonder why. It was a terrible mistake for Albus to keep you here, where every step must remind you of what was done to you."

He grimaced. "I fight…I fight to keep Draco from being a monster like his father. I fight to keep poor Crabbe from going the way of his friend. I fight for every little dunderhead from Hufflepuff, even that Muggle-born girl who enjoys conducting physics experiments in her cauldron instead of making potions. I fight…I fight for bushy-haired know-it-alls so she doesn't end up like Miss Edgecombe. I even fight for the annoying Boy-Who-Lived. I fight…I fight for you, Poppy, and Molly Weasley, who was the only member of the Order who cared about me last year."

"She fretted over that," Poppy said. "She was terribly afraid what would happen if you were injured too badly for you to come here. I couldn't believe you weren't even allowed to eat there, or sleep. She was quite angry with her cousin over that. Fortunately Remus finally saw reason over _that_."

"It was easier there for me Sunday morning. I just hope it lasts." He could probably say farewell to any such privileges once Black's will went through probate, though. Not wanting to say anything on that subject, he picked up the book on werewolves. He supposed the cover illustration was supposed to be beautiful as well as informative, but just watching the wolf on the snowy landscape bothered him. Madam Pomfrey was probably right. His fears were getting out of hand. "This is going to be hard."

"But there's more to my little scheme than the book. Once you are well enough to start teaching again, and the weather holds, I want you out to Hagrid's hut once a day to play with Fang."

"Ah. Your subtle way of seeing I have pleasant experiences with the canine set."

"Precisely. With Sirius being a dog and Remus a wolf, and the phobia becoming worse, you could easily start being bothered by Fang, too. I want you to read the book, play with the dog, and try to realize Remus is what he is, no more and no less. Then I want you to write all the horrible things you feel and think."

"One of Trelawney's books suggests just that," Snape said. "It's like an expulsion phase, only not quite so messy."

"Yes. And the same reasons hold. You don't have a lot of time. Why spend more of it in fear than you have to? You have much worse things to worry about."

"That's certainly true! It's been suggested I start dueling practice with Lupin and Shacklebolt once I'm stronger. That's going to be loads of fun, trying to figure out how to drill the wolf properly and still not hurt a hair on his head."

"Oh, now, it won't be that bad…"

"You've known the Headmaster longer than I have. He'll say, of course, that everyone involved will have to take their chances, but I suspect I'll be spoken to if the wolf is hurt more than a few scorch marks."

The older witch pursed her lips. Snape knew that meant she agreed with him, but thought it better than to say so. "Well," she finally said, "I won't allow it till I think you're up to it. That may be a while, and I'll let you know ahead of time. Of course, you _could_ see this proposal as an example of how much Albus trusts you, instead of another set of traps…"

"What? Poppy, I'm a _Slytherin_. I'd be letting the side down if I did that."

Pomfrey laughed and shook her head. "Just when I think you're hopeless…well. I'll have Winky bring in a tray, and if you can finish it I'll consider sending you back to your quarters for the night. I wish you could take your anti-Crucio potion, but if you follow the rest of your standard regimen for the curse, you should be right as rain by morning. Except you still aren't going to teach tomorrow."

"Oh." He looked down at the book again. "And for the third penance? Let me guess, you want me to forgive Moody?"

"How can I ask that when I can't do it myself?" She shrugged in a gesture of helplessness. "I will let you decide the last one for yourself, Severus. Being a Slytherin is not the same as being without honor, and I know you'll choose something much more stringent than I could come up with. I'm certain you know some tasks you've left undone. I've read some of the essays your students have written, and frankly, I am delighted to escape that. Ah! Winky, dear, you stay here and help your master eat what's on that tray." She stood up as the tiny elf arranged the food on the bed-tray. "And remember, there is a great deal less to Mr. Lupin than you think. He is not the Marauders by himself, but only their last member. It won't be easy to stop being afraid of him, but you can do it. I remember how very proud you were when you told me how much better you were on the broom. I expect you to be even more annoying once you begin to manage this problem as well."

With that, she left and closed the door behind him. Snape decided he could distract himself from his lack of appetite by reading the book, and vice versa, by combining the two activities. It was still annoying how Winky made any unpleasant situation better simply by her presence, but he supposed he could learn to enjoy it. Fortunately she didn't mind assisting when he had a fit of the shakes during the process. It was more than he deserved.

He already knew two things he'd left undone, and wasn't looking forward to either one.

Remus Lupin

A gentleman did not eavesdrop. Both his parents had made that exquisitely clear during his childhood, when wolf-enhanced ears had found themselves listening to many conversations not fit for children.

No doubt the private room was supposed to be that way without a muffling spell. However, he found himself drawn to the murmurs. Poppy needed to check him over this evening so he could find out if he would be allowed to teach tomorrow. Fortunately he didn't need the potion with the moon three days past its full. Remus glanced around and was glad only a few students were in the infirmary this evening, and none of them paid him any attention.

He stood what appeared to be a discreet distance away from the door, but could hear the conversation inside perfectly well. His ears burned. It was true eavesdroppers never heard any good of themselves. Lupin was used to it from Snape, and tried to make allowances, but to hear Pomfrey's low estimation hurt. He had tried to make amends with the prickly Potions Master, only to be constantly rebuffed and insulted.

But Poppy was right. Nobody thought about the Shrieking Shack any more, never mind all the other wonderful pranks the Marauders had amused themselves with. All that was ancient history, save to their favorite victim. He and Black had had a narrow escape last year when Harry had found out far too much. If only Sirius had kept his mouth shut! He could have persuaded the boy it had been a one-time incident, but of course Black had wanted to _brag_. _Thank Merlin he finally shut up and let me do the talking,_ he thought, _and looked sufficiently penitent before Harry asked me about what I'd said in the Shrieking Shack. It would have just complicated things far too much for the whole story to have come out back then, and once Snape was unconscious we were all far too busy to worry about who had done what when._ Then he remembered what else had happened. _I am surprised Albus let Snape take the blame for me being sacked, though. I could have killed Harry and the others without Padfoot to lure me off. I suppose I should be happy I was ever asked back._

He paced around a little. _I wonder what happened this weekend. The Headmaster said he'd fill me in this evening, though I'll hear all the rumors from the students tomorrow once class begins. _He shouldn't let the children gossip quite as much in class as he did, but it was useful. He gained both useful information and a reputation as a nice teacher that way. Minerva had sniped at him a few times over such tendencies, but he'd found a charming smile often nipped that in the bud. A pity Snape couldn't be bothered to exercise any manners at all. His shone all the brighter in contrast.

His jaw nearly fell as he continued to listen, and it became apparent Madam Pomfrey was on to his little game. Remus was a bit ashamed of himself then. He'd always considered himself somewhat of a victim given the way Wizarding Society treated werewolves. It had been dreadfully lonely as a child, with only his parents for company. Other relatives had shunned them as well. His first friends had been the other Marauders. He had learned a few things about pack psychology from St. Mungo's once he'd started counseling others with his condition, and now knew he would have latched onto any group that accepted him. _Perhaps it is just as well I was not sorted into Slytherin,_ he thought grimly.

He didn't quite understand what Pomfrey said on the other side of the door about Snape not having much time, though. Hearing that Snape was actually reading something Trelawney recommended, though, was truly a sign things had changed.

Remus went white when he heard about the changed reaction to phoenix tears. He wondered if that had anything to do with the note from Flitwick in his box. The wording had been a marvel of camouflage, even from the Charms professor. If Snape was right, then Riddle had good reason to trust those of his Inner Circle.

He backed away from the door as Winky approached it with a tray. Remus smiled at her, but the little elf would never respond. No doubt she was sensitive to how her master felt about him. If Severus was still terrified the way he had been just before the start of school, only hiding it better, that made sense.

Poppy smiled at him wanly when she exited the private room. "Remus, dear," she said. "You're looking better. Let's talk in my office."

He followed her in. "I am feeling better," he said as he waited for her to sit behind her desk, and then took a seat in the chair on the other side. "This last full moon was a fairly easy one—much easier than the last one, certainly, and a marked improvement over the basement of Sirius Black's house."

"I'm glad," she said, and quickly went over him with her wand. "Well, you should take it easy tomorrow and the next day, but you can teach. No dueling or active wand work till Thursday, I think, and try for a second helping at all your meals. Have you adjusted your schedule to make up for the days you're going to be absent?"

"Not yet," he said. "The last time I taught a substitute kept the students on schedule."

"Well, I'm afraid that won't be possible. Professor Snape was usually the one chosen, if I recall, and we're trying to lighten his load this year." She lowered her voice. "His other work is more dangerous this year as well, even without him being treated for potions overload. I am sorry if this causes you more trouble, but he is a Head of House and has those duties as well."

"Poppy, why so formal?" he said, knowing he could cajole her into a better mood. "Haven't we been friends for a long time?"

She thawed a trifle. "I can never stay angry with you for long," she said, shaking her head. "It's just…well, I can't really discuss another patient's problems in any detail."

"I'm afraid I must make a confession, then. My ears are quite sensitive and when I heard my name, well, I stayed to listen a bit. And I can smell his fear. Sometimes I think it's odd there is a group for newly made werewolves and not one for those who have survived our attacks without, er, turning."

"Perhaps there aren't enough people," the mediwitch said sharply.

He winced. That was certainly a possibility. Normally a werewolf attack resulted in dinner, a new recruit or a dead wolf. "A good thing James Potter was there, then."

"Especially for you. I very much suspect he was much more concerned with your possible fate than with the professor's. You should be the one to owe a life debt."

"You're probably right," Lupin admitted. After that, of course, any overtures to Severus had met with failure. The next year Snape had been thick with a group of Slytherins, and he could imagine what the price of their protection had been. With James as Head Boy and Sirius Black more than happy to take advantage of his connection, the future Potions Master had probably needed the others around him.

"Well, you had best eat dinner and lie down for the evening," Poppy said.

"Is…is there something I can help, I mean, with Professor Snape?"

"You can stop sighing regretfully whenever he's in a temper. I've seen how hard you exert yourself to be charming to everyone else whenever he's snappish. I realize you may think you're trying to ease the situation, but it does make quite a contrast and I believe you know it."

He felt his face grow warm. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Please tell young Mr. Potter the truth about you and your friends. I know he looks up to you, and I know you would rather keep it that way, but distorting what really happened to keep his good opinion of you is not helpful. He is supposed to learn how to work with the Potions Master and not merely rebel against him. We have more important things to worry about than to justify past rivalries. If you really were listening, you would understand that I am asking Severus to give up any real hope of justice for what was done to him. Harry loves you, Remus, and not just because you were Black's friend. He will be a trifle angry about being lied to, and as a young man will likely express himself badly, but if you are truly honest with him he will respect that. He has been lied to far too often already, even by those who mean well."

"Of course," he said, though it was a wrench. If only there was no war, and they could ignore the past entirely. He was not proud of how he'd conducted himself as a student nor, at times, as a man, and wanted to do better.

"Good. As tempted as you may be to cling to illusions, they will not help. I am trying to dispel a few still being held by Professor Snape. I trust you will do your part as well."

It was disturbing how she saw through him. "I will," he said.

"Thank you," she said. "Now, there's the bell for dinner. Remember what I said about second helpings."

It wasn't till he was most of the way to the Great Hall that he realized the look on Pomfrey's face had been almost identical to the one his mother used to have whenever his father promised something and it was clear she didn't believe he'd really do it. _I ought to be insulted,_ he thought. _In fact, I think I am._

As always just after the full moon, he ate heartily. The Slytherin table studiously ignored his existence, but those on the Gryffindor side cheered and waved at his appearance. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were almost as quiet as the Snakes, though most of his classes with them were highly productive.

Was he going to be present at a tipping point? The project he'd done for his seventh year class in History of Magic and for Arithmancy to make up for so many absences had been about social patterns in Hogwarts itself. One house would be dominant for a while, fall, be replaced, and then cycle back in patterns that were nearly predictable. According to the pattern, Gryffindor's dominance when he was a student here should have been replaced by that of Ravenclaw. Instead, Slytherin had taken the cup for nearly a decade after the end of the first war, instead of going into disgrace the way it probably should have. Ravenclaw should be dominant now, only to begin fading and starting to be replaced by Hufflepuff. Gryffindor shouldn't be dominant for a long time, and Slytherin shouldn't be second. He'd used the same formula to calculate who should hold the Ministry. Given the usual time lag, Slytherin should hold the top positions with Gryffindor nipping at their heels. As far as he could tell, distortions to the cycle were usually caused by an unusually incompetent or determined Headmaster, or an extremely dedicated Head of House.

Then he realized that one sat here at the table, and the other in Madam Pomfrey's private office. Yet Albus Dumbledore could not live forever, while it was clear Poppy didn't think the Head of Slytherin was going to, either. What would be the reaction pattern once both of them were gone? Everyone respected Minerva McGonagall, the most likely successor, but she had neither the personal power nor the inclination to favor Gryffindor beyond its deserts.

Of course, if the war turned out badly the question was likely to be moot. Even success could be bought at a terrible price, and leave few able to worry about keeping any part of Wizarding Society together, let alone Hogwarts as an institution. Everyone could end up in the Muggle world trying desperately to maintain any traditions at all.

Not for the first time, he wondered if the Wizarding World in England was large enough to survive even without a war. He had had a great deal of time to read and think, more than he really wanted sometimes.

Then he realized dinner was over, and others beginning to leave. _I'll go to my room and make a few notes, perhaps. I wonder if someone still has a copy of the paper I did? I'd like to make some comparisons with my conclusions then and compare them to current conditions. Then I want to talk to Vector to make sure I'm not too far off._

But then Harry walked up to him, along with his two friends. "Professor Lupin!" Miss Granger said. "How are you?"

"Much better," he said.

"Funny Snape should disappear at the same time," the Weasley boy said. "I don't suppose you bit him?"

"Professor Snape," Remus said automatically. Harry hung back quietly. "And no. I remembered the potion this time, and I much prefer it that way. If you two don't mind, I want to speak with your friend by himself."

They nodded and went off. Harry followed him to his office, where Remus made tea. "How it is going this year, Harry?" Remus asked while the pot was steeping.

The boy sat quietly, with little of the tension he'd exhibited last year. "Better," he said.

"I'm glad," Remus said, and brought out a plate of chocolate biscuits. "Even though you've already eaten, I suspect you'll have room for these."

A young appetite had no resistance to the treat, and Harry dug in. Remus felt happy knowing the boy showed no hesitation now. The last time he'd taught here, Harry had been uncertain if offered extras, as if someone were going to issue forth from the woodwork and berate him for taking too much. _I should have asked him about his relatives then,_ he thought. _Back then I still trusted Dumbledore, and didn't bother._

They chatted a bit. "So, what happened this weekend? How did the game go?"

"We beat Hufflepuff and Slytherin rolled up Ravenclaw," Harry said. "Ginny is becoming good enough at the Seeker position I may put her in some games where we're so behind or so ahead it doesn't matter that much, just to give her some experience. Ron is better all the time as Keeper, but I really miss the twins as Beaters. Seamus is doing well there, but doesn't have the right partner yet."

Remus had written a few articles under a pseudonym about Quidditch, and decided to offer some advice. "It sounds like you're off to a good start. Have you scouted the other teams and evaluated them yet this year?"

"Some. I need to do more, though. MacMillan moves really fast on a broom for being so er, solidly-built," Harry said, clearly trying to put the Hufflepuff's lumpiness nicely. "And he's a lot more aggressive than he used to be. If I were playing him, I would think he'd make a better Beater than a Seeker."

"Seekers are usually short and thin, but a few in the professional teams are, shall we say, alternate body types," Remus said. "George Talbot in the Wasps is much taller than you. In fact, he's taller than young Mr. Malfoy, but he still maintains his standings quite nicely. I shouldn't think Mr. MacMillan would ever make the professional teams as a Seeker, but some of the better Chasers are also er, quite sturdy. Young Mr. Krum has a more athletic build than you or Miss Chang."

"To be honest, I was glad Slytherin was playing the Ravens last week. She takes risks that are scary even for me," Harry admitted, looking a bit abashed. "I watched a bit of that game, and it's going to be interesting the next time we play the Snakes. I thought losing Goyle would mess up their Beater team, the way losing the twins did us, but Bulstrode is just as good. I never thought Slytherin would put a girl there. They only have two on their whole team."

"About twenty years ago, the Steamers had a married Beater team. She was about a quarter giant, so she wasn't as tall as Hagrid, but she matched her husband well enough. I can't remember whatever became of them…I'll have to look it up."

"Well, the word is Bulstrode is part troll, and nobody has trouble believing _that!_" the boy said with a snort.

"A gentleman does not speak ill of a young lady, not even in private, Harry," Remus said. "Especially one who has done you no personal harm. I will grant it's been the fashion, even when I was a student, to put unpleasant names on some of them, especially those from a different house, but I have never thought that was right."

"Well, Snape didn't mind calling my mum a Mudblood!"

"If I recall the incident correctly, James threatened to hex her," Remus said. Good. This was the opening he was waiting for.

Harry picked up another biscuit and ate it slowly, obviously trying to gain time to thought. "I suppose. Hermione got on us just yesterday for it, too. That horrible Ravenclaw girl who grassed on us to Umbridge supposedly tried to slice herself up in Moaning Myrtle's this weekend, and Ron and I said something we shouldn't have about it. The next thing we know we're hanging from the ceiling of the Common Room apologizing like mad. She was about to let us go, too, when Ron like an idiot asked why she cared so much—Hermione was the one who put the boils on her face for telling Umbridge everything. I wished he'd waited till we were down on the ground before he mentioned that part. She started crying and it took almost a half hour before we were finally let go."

"Wasn't there anyone else to help you?"

"Are you mad? Against _Hermione?_ Nobody in Gryffindor is _that_ stupid, Remus. I mean, er, professor."

The DADA teacher sighed. "If you had said something, this is speaking only theoretically, of course, that your friend could have construed as…let me put it this way. You didn't use the phrase 'the school broom', did you?"

Harry's flushed face said all Remus needed to know without words. "Well, you know better now," said the werewolf. "Let's move on to another subject. How are you doing in Potions? Remember, I know what the sixth year project is, and I have a strong personal interest in seeing that it works out well." He was going to wrestle this conversation onto Snape if it took him all evening. He hated knowing Poppy expected so little of him.

"We left early on Friday. Snape had a weird reaction to whatever he's taking, Horrible black sweat started coming out of his skin. He put our cauldrons into stasis and dismissed us. We didn't have Potions today, either."

"I went to the infirmary this afternoon just before dinner to make sure Madam Pomfrey would allow me to teach tomorrow, which I will. However, Professor Snape is still not well yet. His regimen is working, mind you, since the horrible black sweat was in his bloodstream and liver before this."

"Where did you get the potion for this month, then?"

"He brewed it anyway. It is a tiring process, and undoubtedly not good for him. Yet he must do it anyway because of me."

"Why are you defending him so much? Anytime he's around you, he's always so nasty and rude."

"I have tried to kill him twice, Harry. Once in our sixth year at this school and once in your third year. The first time I had no idea of what was going on, but the second time I didn't take my potion even though he'd made it for me. There are some people who would have trouble with that," he said mildly, though for once he wished he could put the acid sting in the words they deserved the way Snape could.

"Oh." Harry looked thoughtful.

Remus wanted to encourage it. "The incident you discovered in the pensieve last spring was not the only one, either."

"I knew _that!_" Harry said, his face appearing troubled now. "Even in the good memories Snape gave to me in the pensieve, he was always trying to hide. At least once I was away from Dudley and his friends, I didn't have to worry about it here. I mean, Malfoy's always trying to hex me, but he's so bad it doesn't bother me that much any more."

"And you have friends here," Lupin said, hoping Harry would pick up on what Snape did not have.

"Yeah. It's weird Snape never did. But I never did at the school I went to before here, either. I mean, who's stupid enough to want Dudley and his gang after them, too?"

"I did try," Remus said.

"I saw a couple of those," Harry said, looking down at the ground. "But when I saw my dad do stuff, you were just sitting there. Snape probably thought you were just softening him up for later, or trying to figure out where he was going to be so the rest of you could get him."

_No, that was Peter,_ Remus thought grimly, but understood why Harry thought this way.

"Why are you bringing all this up, anyway?"

"Because you need to know the truth."

"But you said—let's see, what was it—back in the Shrieking Shack you said Snape hated Dad just because he was jealous."

There is was. Remus poured the tea and blew on it to cool it, to give himself one last moment when Harry would trust him. He sat down. "I lied, Harry. I didn't want you to have any reason to not like me. I wanted you to like Sirius, too. He didn't contradict me, either."

Harry's mouth twisted. "I loved Sirius. I still miss him. But he…he did lots of things I couldn't do. He tried to tell me what he did was normal for being fifteen. But even the twins never go after the same person all the time just for fun." He stopped talking, clearly remembering something he didn't want to.

"I follow the Quidditch news quite a bit, Harry," Remus said, believing he knew why the boy was quiet. "I especially watch the contracts to see where Hogwarts students are placed when they try to play professionally. I was quite proud to see Katie Bell accepted into the early recruitment program. However, one bit of news most people missed was about a student named Montague, whose contract has been allowed to lapse."

"But he deserved it!" Harry said shrilly. "He tried to take points from the twins for being out when they weren't supposed to be."

"Did he? Did he deserve to lose his place with a professional team because of his injuries? I wasn't here, Harry, but there is a lot of gossip in the Quidditch world. I wish the twins the best in their business endeavors, but anyone connected with professional Quidditch is not likely to buy from them."

"Why are you bringing them up, anyway?"

"Because when we almost killed Snape the first time, Gryffindor ended up _gaining_ points from your father's heroism. Your Potions Master learned his life was worth negative points for Slytherin, since he was penalized for being out after dark. The twins are now heroes in this school for their actions against Madam Umbridge, or so I have gathered. They were never punished for almost killing a student. Do notice a certain parallel here."

"But the Headmaster isn't like that!"

"Isn't he?" Remus was appalled to follow that line of logic himself. "From what I've been able to tell, young Mr. Malfoy is, as you say, bad at hexing you. I have heard a number of stories about how poorly he fares."

"He hasn't really pulled anything this year." Harry seemed reluctant to admit that.

"Perhaps he has finally learned to mind his manners," Remus said. "Or perhaps he's finally decided he doesn't want to follow in the path of his fellow Slytherins, when it is so very clear the current administration will not penalize extreme measures against them."

"Luna said she thought the firsties there walked together in groups all the time. I've been looking, and she was right."

"Can you blame them, Harry? What sort of stories do you think circulate in that House about the rest of us?"

"Why are preaching so hard about Slytherin anyway? You're a Gryffindor!"

"Because I sat and did nothing for so very long," Remus said. He stood and paced around the small room. "In your third year, Snape began to trust me to drink the potion without him watching. I betrayed that trust, because of Sirius Black. It was his idea to lure Snape out to the Shrieking Shack the first time I almost killed him, and again, Black's idea to bring you out there the second time, when I almost killed _you_. Snape never blamed you children for knocking him over, though Poppy almost sent him to St. Mungo's for the head injury he received. He thought Sirius had put a spell on you. Remember, he never saw Wormtail."

"He was sure happy when he thought Sirius was going to be Kissed by a Dementor!"

"I know you were brought up before the Wizengamot for saving your cousin Dudley from one, Harry. But…weren't you tempted, even just a little bit, to let it do what it wished?"

The boy was silent. Lupin pressed the point home. "At least you had the joy of putting a pig's tail on your cousin, or so I heard. And there are rumors you set a snake on him once. You had a sanctuary here away from him. Granted, you had other problems, but from your file they seem to be self-inflicted in many respects. Not everyone at this school wanders out to the Forbidden Forest at night to talk with an Acromantula, for instance."

Harry went pink. "But Snape's still hateful!"

"And we hate him right back. From all accounts you were rather unpleasant to be around last year as well. Hateful people often know very little love. Plus, and I really should not be saying this, but the Headmaster clearly cares for you a great deal, and did so from the moment you stepped in here. I think some unspoken jealousy may be playing out here."

The boy was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Not from the moment I stepped in here, Remus. From the moment I Sorted Gryffindor. And Dumbledore _knew_ about the Dursleys! I always thought before he didn't do anything because he was as clueless as every other adult, but he _knew!_"

Now it was Lupin's turn to be thoughtful. He rarely became angry, but something began to rise in a slow boil inside him. Yet part of that had to be directed at himself. Harry would ask why none of his father's friends had ever checked on him. "I should have visited as well," he said. It had been the Headmaster who had told him there was no need.

Harry finished his tea. "Snape doesn't have any reason to care," he said, "but he was the one who sent me the Pensieve with the memories. And he keeps saving my life, when I know he hates me. I think…sometimes I think he sent Aunt Petunia some funny herbal tea to keep Uncle Vernon from blowing his top, too. Why would he do that?"

"Perhaps the Headmaster told him to," Remus said, who couldn't think of an answer either. _I could have watched over Harry years ago,_ he thought, _if only I'd had the courage to listen to my heart and not to what I was told. Maybe I need to do that more often._

"It has been easier this year," the boy said, obviously wanting to leave.

_If you had seen the Potions Master just before school, you'd know the price he's paid. I thought he was dying that night when he fell in the Great Hall. I was angry when Firenze escorted me out to the Shack, but I knew that I deserved it._ "He shouldn't be here. That detoxification program should be taken in residence, and he shouldn't have to brew or teach while undergoing it. There are potions to help with the side-effects, but it's still not something I'd care to go through myself. The potion he makes for me is tiring for someone in the best of health. I tell him at least he doesn't have to deal with Dementors this year, but he doesn't think that's funny."

"It isn't." Harry took his leave, claiming homework.

Lupin finished his own cup, hoping he'd done some good. It hurt to have to look at his own betrayals over the years. No wonder Snape treated every friendly gesture from him as if it were fairy gold.

Then a owl fluttered into the room, and Remus read the note. The Headmaster's loopy writing said _Tea tomorrow night, fill you in on things then._

He tossed the note into the fireplace and sighed. At least they'd avoided the topic of Sirius Black. There were still some things the boy didn't need to know. _My friend was able to escape Azkaban soon after he saw the picture of Wormtail in the newspaper. Why didn't he leave long before that? Why did he forget about his obligation to Harry? At least I had the excuse of being told by the Headmaster that everything was all right._

_Damn you, Sirius! Why did you have to die? Why did you have to risk my life for a stupid stunt? If James hadn't stopped it, I would have gone to Azkaban or been put down. Was _my_ life worth so little to you as well?_

Remus stopped pacing and took a deep breath. He shouldn't be so angry. No doubt it was because it was still so close to the full moon. _Sometimes I envy Snape for being able to yell and snipe the way he does, without fear everyone will call him a Dark Creature._

Then he remembered what he'd overheard tonight. No. He shouldn't be jealous of Snape at all. _I wish I could talk to the Headmaster tonight._

Then he gazed at the stack of essays, which he could have sworn before the Wizengamot bred whenever he took his eyes off of them. It wasn't as if he didn't have plenty to do. Remus choked back his grief at losing Sirius and sat down to them. It would be good practice to grade the poorly written essays without venting his fury on the authors. _Snape, you aren't the only one who thinks his students are idiots!_


	44. Chapter 44: Small Steps

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

This story has been nominated for the Multifaceted Fanfiction Awards! (go see http slash slash multifaceted dot creative-musings dot com, substitute symbols and take out spaces as necessary).

Fic: The Birthday Present

Category: Alliance (Best Genfic)  
Category: Tears (Best Darkfic)

Whee!

And of course this chapter mentions Lucius. We just said 'slash slash', didn't we?

Chapter 44: Small Steps

Severus Snape

He talked his way back into his quarters after dinner, and out of being transported there by the elderly floating chaise lounge he'd used once before. Snape wished he'd given into his weakness by the time he'd returned to his rooms. It was pleasant to lounge in a hot bath Winky drew for him, which soothed nerves and muscles still shaken by the echo of the Cruciatus Curse he'd used to kill the tramp last summer.

Unfortunately, his extra naps earlier in the day made it difficult for him to nod off, especially once he remembered one little task he'd been putting off. Severus grimaced, knowing a visit to Lucius Malfoy was long overdue. No doubt it was thinking of the older Slytherin which caused an embarrassing dream once he finally fell asleep. Last year he could have blamed his body's response to the way Lucius controlled his Mark.

He woke just enough to cast a quick cleansing spell, then slept again, glad no one would ever know. The book which had chimed to let Pomfrey know of his illness earlier had also been charmed to read 'none of your business' whenever it _was_ none of her business. No doubt this was part of the expulsion cycle, just the way it had been at the clinic, but having the image of Lucius in his mind when it happened had not been planned at all.

The next morning, he let it be. He would definitely have to spend more time with the magazine Filch had found for him, however. Snape felt well enough after a leisurely breakfast to bathe again. He needed to remind his body that pleasure existed and not just pain. Yet duty called. Snape tottered to his office an hour or so later with a stack of graded essays. He planned to go back to a regular schedule tomorrow, and it was best he spent some time sitting up, if only to promote better sleep that night.

Both Poppy and Trelawney were right about some things, a disturbing thought. Whinging on paper had helped before, and might again with this. What he'd done with the cauldron was too dangerous in his current state of health. Death was no longer the haven he once thought it, now the Dark Mark bound him to Voldemort for eternity. _Only the Dark Lord can break the tie,_ he thought. _Once I am no longer on this earth, he'll want to be rid of _**me**!

He began writing slowly, then picked up speed as the words came to him. Tears nearly blinded him as his feelings erupted onto the paper. Here he could say anything he liked, anything at all. He could tell the truth without fear of repercussions from either one of his masters, or offending the delicate sensibilities of those who had not endured what he had.

In fact, he took up four feet without meaning to, but felt lighter when he was done, the way he had the first time. _More black glop, only on paper and not my skin. A vast improvement if you ask me._ He scanned it briefly. _Perhaps if I whine enough about the horrors of werewolves even I will get bored with it eventually. _Then he spotted some odd characters interspersed with the rest. _I had no idea I remembered any of the Russian Mother taught me,_ he thought. He was surprised he'd written the beginnings of his first year speech right at the end.

That sparked another idea. He took out a fresh piece of paper, wiped the quill on the blotter and started fresh. _Potions: First Year._ Snape wrote down his opening speech, complete with the comment about dunderheads. The first year in his class was far more important than most people knew. It served as the foundation for everything else that was to come. Oh, he had the occasional late bloomer who managed to catch up, but they were rare. Most of those who did well in his class had a bright beginning.

He had long supplemented the standard texts with his own notes, since most of the volumes were hopelessly inadequate. It was time to organize those notes, along with the base material, to create a book that would start students off on the right foot. He didn't have enough time to leave any other kind of legacy.

Perhaps Mr. Longbottom could finally make himself useful. This text would be more for the likes of him rather than Miss Granger or Draco. Longbottom, and students even less talented such as Crabbe, would have to be able to understand it, too. Why, even that creative little Hufflepuff whom Miss Walsh liked should be able to learn from it. He drummed his fingers on the desk as he tried to remember her name. Marcher, that was it. She was Muggleborn, but more like the Weasley twins than Miss Granger. Snape imagined a class made up entirely of Longbottoms, Weasleys, the Marcher girl, Lovegood, and some of the more imaginative Slytherins, and shuddered.

He crumpled the other papers and watched them burn in his office fireplace. _I'll have to find time for that kind of writing more often. It does help._ For a moment he figuratively stood outside himself. Just now he was more or less at peace, and not driven by fear or anger towards anyone. Yet he wasn't dead inside the way he'd been last summer after hiding all those memories.

Winky popped in with a plate with a small sandwich, a bowl of egg custard, and the inevitable potion. He did his best to eat the food and drink the potion, and remembered the elf usually brought him something like this right before he had Double Potions with the sixth-year Slytherins and Gryffindor. He decided he didn't care if it was a deliberate plot to make his relationship with the Potter boy easier. _I'm going to need a clear mind and stronger body to face what is to come anyway. Yes, yes, the Brat-Who-Lived is the center of the universe, but I don't have to care nearly as much as I normally do. _He tiptoed carefully around the sore spots in his psyche, and decided if he were to work on his problem with Lupin that Mr. Potter would just have to stand in line and wait his turn like all the rest.

However, before he took himself back to bed with the book Madam Pomfrey had given him, there were a couple of tasks he needed to manage first. He walked slowly to the parlor and sat before his Floo. Fortunately it had a safety feature to keep unwanted callers from coming through the flames. He could bring people through if he wished, but would rather that didn't get out. If he could blame Dumbledore for having strong security, some people wouldn't ask him for favors he preferred not to give.

Worst one first. "Malfoy Manor," he said, gritting his teeth. One of the family elves appeared in the flames. "Is your mistress at home?" he asked. "I would speak to her if she is in."

The elf vanished and Narcissa's face soon appeared instead. "Severus!" she said with a smile, which faded. "Are you all right? You don't normally Floo during the day."

"Expulsion phase," he said. "Yes, I know, I probably should have gone to the clinic for it, but I didn't, and I won't make that mistake next time."

"Oh, dear. I heard there was a meeting this weekend. May I congratulate you?"

Snape grimaced. "I suppose you have to."

"My sister didn't like what you asked of her at all," Narcissa said. "At least you…you weren't hurt this time."

"True. I was exhausted, due to being in the middle of the expulsion phase." _Murder is hard work._

"I'm glad you're allowing yourself to rest for once!" she said sharply. "I shall have to send Madam Pomfrey something nice, and encourage her to keep up whatever she's doing."

He nodded. He was annoyed with himself for being so weak, but he had found out yesterday that refusing to face reality where his body was concerned didn't work. "We haven't talked about this much," he said. "Is there any progress on the will, or on your suit for guardianship?"

"None whatsoever," she said with a slight smile. "I've been sent a packet of papers, but I would like your assistance filling them out. You know me, such a scatterbrain." She made a little deprecating gesture with her fingers.

_Good excuse as any_, Snape thought and tried not to smile. Narcissa Black had gained several citations for academic achievement while a student, and no doubt could have written the documents in the case, never mind reading and understanding them. "I will be delighted to help," he said. "However, I do have a small favor to ask. I have been avoiding visiting your husband for the past several months. It's not right for me to fail in my obligations to him."

"He hasn't even asked," she said, with pity on her face. "I'm sure he understands what going to that terrible place means to you."

_I am _not_ a coward!_ Snape told himself. "I appreciate that. Yet I should talk to him anyway. I don't know if I'm on the list of allowed visitors, however, given my ah, record."

"Of course you are." Narcissa smiled. "In fact, I have a visit scheduled this Friday evening. Draco and I are usually sent a portkey, but I'll have to ask about you, since you're not immediate family. I'm sure Lucius would be delighted to see you again."

"I would hate to make you miss one," he said, not certain he wanted to see Azkaban again quite that soon."

"Lucius is allowed five visits per month, and I saw him just last week. I'm sure he won't mind, especially since it's been since last spring the two of you were able to speak."

_I suppose that's one way to phrase it,_ Severus thought mordantly. "If you could ask the prison authorities what procedure they would like me to follow, I would appreciate it, then." He may as well get this part of his penance over as soon as he could. The prison would only become more frightening to him the longer he had to worry over seeing it. Oddly enough, he felt the same way about Malfoy. Would becoming a member of the Inner Circle end the man's power over his Mark?

"It's settled, then. I'll send you one of the passes I have in a book, and discuss itwith the prison administrator myself. He's a dreadfully rude man, without even the excuse of having Dementors about to excuse it, but I found his wife wanted to be introduced around a little, and he's thawed a bit since."

_A good thing she never became a Death Eater,_ he thought. Narcissa was more intelligent and stronger than people thought. "Thank you," he said.

"You really shouldn't have to teach this year. I know…I know all you've done to help Draco. I won't forget it."

"I may end up putting him in greater danger," he said.

"He's alive. I am sorry his friend…had that accident, but you couldn't help it. Mrs. Goyle is a very determined woman. Now I should let you rest. Perhaps I should send you one of my passes for a later visit, though. Are you sure you'll be well enough by the end of this week?"

She'd given him a perfect out to postpone. "I am much better than yesterday," he said.

"Good. You have saved me some time. I was going to send you an invitation to a party on Saturday night," Narcissa said with a false bright smile. Clearly someone else had come into the room there at Malfoy Manor. "It really is in your honor, and to make up for the one you missed earlier. You see, we'll have special guests that night. I'm afraid we're also having Minister Umbridge, but I'll make sure she has others to speak to. She is having a hard time becoming used to her new position, but with some help she'll learn to enjoy these little affairs."

"You managed to teach _me_," he said. "Madam Umbridge should be quite trainable by comparison."

She laughed. "Well, the experience did me good. Is there someone besides Poppy to look after you there?"

"Winky is determined to cosset me the way Marta does you. I had no idea I would acquire an elf this way, but apparently I have."

"I'm glad," Narcissa said. "You need someone who's focused on just you. In fact, I think I see her just behind the couch, waiting for me to leave so she can fuss at you." Her face disappeared from the flames.

Indeed, the little elf was patiently waiting with yet another tray, this time with one of the potions that didn't need food with it. "Master should be in bed," she informed him.

"Master still needs to make another firecall. If it makes you feel any better, I'll drink the potion and lie down on the couch before I do it, though." Just thinking about seeing Lucius again made him want to shake without any echo of a Cruciatus. He would make a better impression if he waited and rested first.

Winky approved of his resolution to rest, anyway, and probably hoped he'd fall asleep. As soon as he drank the potion, she brought a pillow and blanket. He didn't need much urging to lie back, and felt his eyelids closing by themselves.

He wasn't really surprised to see Poppy sitting by him when he woke up. Her presence didn't bother him the way it probably should have. She examined him with her wand and said, "You are much better than you were last night. Despite the stack of essays on your office desk, it looks as if you've actually been resting. I wish I could persuade you to take yet another day. You were at the clinic for at least a week during your first expulsion phase."

"Tomorrow will be for lecture and review," he said, though he was tempted. "The little dunderheads need reminding we _have_ a class called Potions here."

"I suppose you're right. I just wish you could have taken this year off."

"I wish I could, too," he said. "I promise to rest this weekend, though."

"I'll tell Albus you should have trays in till then instead of eating in the Great Hall," Pomfrey said. "It will be much easier if you don't have to go back and forth so much."

"I should be able to make it there before Friday," he said.

"But you're still underweight, and you eat better by yourself."

_I eat best in a kitchen with Molly Weasley in it,_ he thought. "I can have more than just what's served there," he said. "I know Winky would be pleased to fetch me meals five times a day if I could eat that much. My students feel isolated enough."

Pomfrey sighed. "Only if you do try to eat more often," she said. "It's dinner time in only an hour, and according to her you haven't really had that much today."

"I needed to sleep more. If I can't use the potion for the Cruciatus, even just an echo of one, resting helps the mostthe first day after. I promise to eat better tomorrow, but there's no point forcing it till the rest of me calms down."

"Well, you're the expert on that by now," she said. "There haven't been many studies done on the cumulative affect of the curse. I know you're not worried about any problems fifty years from now, but I would hate to see you in the long-term ward for any reason."

Snape knew what she was talking about. Total somatic nerve failure could also occur after too many repeats of the Unforgivable, especially in younger people. Pain and cramping afterwards were actually _good_ signs, and let him know his body was still trying to cope. He lifted his hands and held them steady with only a little more effort than usual. "See? Right as rain. I won't even try to brew till after the weekend, either, unless there's an emergency."

Poppy nodded briskly. "Well, I'll ask Winky to bring you an early supper and a hearty snack just before bedtime, then. The sedative should help your digestion that way, too. Take it easy tomorrow, and I would prefer none of your students brewed unless they must. I wonder if something's interacting with your potions."

"I _know_ they are," Severus said with a shrug. "There's just too much going on down here to separate anything out. I must admit, I felt the worst just before the expulsion phase when I was working on the Wolfsbane, and I'm trying to think which of the 30 ingredients could be causing the problem, if not several of them working in teams."

"That's not counting what the students are doing which might combine with something from the Wolfsbane to bother you, either." The mediwitch shook her head. "Well, I'll be off. I really think you ought to go to the clinic for the next time this happens, though."

"I'm beginning to agree with you," Snape said as he rose and bowed the older witch out. Winky eagerly scampered in her wake, and then was off to the kitchens.

Once he was alone, he waved a wand at his fireplace to start the flames going again. This was probably a bad time to speak to the family, and too close to the dinner hour, but if he delayed the call again he would likely find a good reason not to make it at all.

"Montague residence," he said, hoping he _would_ be told to push off. A house elf almost as cheerful as Winky answered, then fetched the mistress of the household. "I must ask your pardon if I am interrupting dinner preparations," he began.

"Oh, Professor Snape!" she said. "Blenly manages that, has for years. I'm afraid to walk in my own kitchen without permission. I'm so glad you called. I'd heard you hadn't been well. Frederic wrote about what he'd heard about you having to go to the infirmary on Friday."

"This wretched potions overload regime," he said. Severus glanced at his robe, and saw it was the casual one he'd worn all day. "Had a bit of a lie-in the last two days, but I'll be back to teaching tomorrow." Now the question he really dreaded. "How is Reginald doing?"

"Well, he has his good and bad days, but you were quite right—keeping him active helps a great deal. He's frustrated by having to use a child's broom, but I don't think he'd be safe on his own. Not yet, anyway. He likes to ask about the bet you made with him."

"Tell him I'm on an old Cleansweep nearly every day, but not going much higher than he is." Snape knew starter brooms were limited as to height and speed, though he was somewhat surprised Montague was back on any kind already.

"He'll enjoy knowing your taking the bet seriously." Mrs. Montague frowned a little. "We keep getting little notes and samples of ah, _things_ from those dreadful Weasley twins. My first impulse was to Incendio the lot and send a letter asking them to stop, but I wanted to ask your advice first. I know _you_ don't suffer from the wish to coddle any Gryffindors."

He remembered the horrified looks on the boys' faces when they'd spotted Montague going home with his parents. "I had as much trouble believing it as you do, but I think they sincerely wish him well." Snape found it difficult to give up his anger towards them, but he had to tell the truth. "I would let Reggie read the notes, if he can, and make his own answers. He has the most right to decide what to say to them. Open everything you receive from them carefully, of course, and destroy the samples for now. Any time a Gryffindor feels regret about anything he does wrong, he ought to be encouraged."

"I thought their mother had found out and was forcing them to be polite," Reggie's mother said.

"I don't believe she knows," Snape said. "I must associate with the Weasleys on occasion, as they still have two children left at school, but she has not said anything. Mrs. Weasley is not the sort of person to leave this sort of thing unexpressed. If nothing else, the Howler she would have sent them would likely have made the front page of the Prophet."

Mrs. Montague smiled briefly. "I suppose she has a good heart," she said.

"And with seven, there are bound to be a few that don't turn out as expected," Snape pointed out. "Look at the Blacks—I'm sure no one expected any of them to end up the way the oldest son did." He still hated remembering what had happened to Regulus.

"Yes, ugly business that. Even though everyone believes he's dead after that ugly bit of business at the Ministry, it would be just like him to pop back up again and muddle everything. I know you're helping the Malfoys with their suit. How are those matters proceeding?"

"Not very quickly, I'm afraid. There are actually two suits in progress. One is to overturn the will, and the other regards guardianship. I really can't go into much detail."

"Oh, quite understandable, professor. But as I said, it would be just Sirius to turn up two minutes after everything is supposedly settled."

_It _would_ be like the mutt to do just that,_ Severus thought. "I must admit, since there was no body it is a temptation to attempt to void the will by asserting that he really isn't dead, and leave the whole guardianship issue moot till the young person involved is of age in his own right. However, that is not the intention of my client." He would have to talk to Narcissa again, and find out if she would be allowed to file such a motion without drawing the wrath of the _real_ party of interest. Of course, he would needed to raise the issue with the Headmaster as well. Under the circumstances, Snape almost wished Black hadn't so inconveniently died after all.

"I see," Mrs. Montague said. "I shall be careful not to discuss the matter with anyone, of course."

"That would be best." And he really had talked more about it than he should have. "How is your husband holding up?"

"Oh, better than I thought, really. It's early days yet, so he doesn't expect much progress and seems quite happy with the little we've seen so far. He was…was so proud of his son being accepted for a professional team straight out of school…but seeing Reggie on a broom, even a child's one, makes him think the boy may recover after all."

"You're quite right to let him on it, Mrs. Montague," Snape said. "I'm sure you worry a great deal about him, but having him move about as much as he is capable of is really the best. He is much better off at home than at St. Mungo's for now. If he suddenly becomes worse off, you must take him there immediately, but familiar surroundings do help healing, especially with you there to make sure he doesn't overdo. However, it would be a mistake to keep him _too_ quiet. He must be allowed to decide things for himself as much as his injuries allow."

"I put a Cushioning Charm around his head every morning once he's up," the boy's mother admitted. "Not in the face, of course, but around the rest of his skull. Perhaps I am overanxious…"

"No, I think you are quite right," Snape said. "I have heard too many stories of those with head injuries being aggravated through accident or clumsiness, and how dangerous that can be. Continue with the procedure till he is much better, and tell your husband if necessary that I agree with you. I am not a Healer or mediwizard, but I had to take the short course as part of my Potions training, and have assisted Madam Pomfrey on numerous occasions. I only wish I could brew something that would help him."

"He does quite nicely on what the hospital prescribes," the woman said. "And they're all potions we can find on the market. You must look after your own health just now. I just wish…I just wish this hadn't happened in the first place."

"You may wish to discuss your son with an expert in Quidditch injuries," Snape said. "I am really surprised the leagues haven't moved towards a helmet of some sort, given what Bludgers can do to anyone. Granted, the pattern of skull fractures your son suffered is somewhat different than those often gained in professional play, but the results are often similar. I will speak with Madam Hooch and see if there's someone in particular she would like to recommend."

"I hadn't thought of that!" She looked pleased. "Well, professor, I hear the dinner bell. I would hate to keep you from your own supper. You're still far too thin."

Snape knew a dismissal when he heard one. He tried to hide the sense of relief his escape brought him. "I shall endeavor to please, madam. Give my regards to your son."

"He'll be glad," she said. "Next time I shall be certain to bring him over and let him speak with you."

"I will be happy to do so," Snape said. He waited till the flames had died down before letting himself slump back on the couch.

"Master go to bed now, please?" Winky said, as she came into view.

"In a moment," he said, eyes closed. "I should probably sit up to eat. I'll have a short bath after that, and then I'll lie down. But I need to rest first." Perhaps it was just as well he'd spoken about the lawsuits a little. Mrs. Montague would try not to gossip, but some details would go out. If any member of the pureblood families had something helpful to add, they would run with them to Narcissa simply to spite the Ministry. _I should talk to Binns,_ he thought. _He knows things about guardianships not even Dumbledore does. There has to be a way to keep Potter out of Malfoy hands._ He was certain Narcissa knew she had to sabotage her own legal actions, given the delays she'd engineered so far.

"Master?"

He opened his eyes. Winky had set up the movable tray from his bedroom right in front of him with a light meal, and, of course, a potion of some sort. He ate slowly, and eventually began to enjoy the flavor of the food and drink after all the emotions of his last Floo call slowly subsided. The twins really were showing remorse, or trying to, anyway; more than one note argued more persistence than he was used to seeing from them. And he would survive one more visit to Lucius, even if it was in Azkaban. There were no Dementors there now, it couldn't be as bad as it used to be.

If only he could stop shaking with fear. _I'd better not look at the werewolf book when I feel like this, or I'll only combine all my terrors into one,_ he thought. He finally put his fork down. He couldn't eat any more. Severus took a deep breath and gagged down the latest potion.

He was surprised when Winky brought him a bowl of ice cream. "Thank you, Winky," he said, then teased, "I'm surprised to see it, though, since I didn't clean my plate."

"Master do hard things today," the elf said. "This take bad taste out."

"I hope so," Snape said. As he ate, he heard a knock on his outer door. Winky hastened to answer it. Severus knew he ought to see who it is, but felt wrung out. _I wish I could take all this week off,_ he thought, but decided he would try teaching tomorrow and see how it went.

"Who was that?" he asked when Winky returned, holding a note.

"Elf from other Tower," she said. "Here it is, Master."

"Thank you," he said, and took the small folded paper. He supposed he should perform a basic safety spell on it, but was too tired. It read, "Dear Professor. Mr. Zabini sent me a note letting me know he was going to send me flowers at dinner tomorrow! What should I do?" It was signed from Miss Edgecombe. He had Winky fetch him a quill and a small bottle of ink and answered it.

_Miss Edgecombe--_he_ is only trying to let people believe what they want about last weekend. Please allow him to do so. React to them any way you wish. Burst into tears if you like. It doesn't actually matter, so you may please yourself. The point is to give people a reason for your actions, and Mr. Zabini has kindly volunteered to join you as a subject for gossip. He is not trying to force you into a relationship. It would do neither one of you any harm to pretend to have one till someone else does something spectacular. Do not worry about this note, it is spelled to disintegrate once you have read it. Sincerely, Professor Snape._

He took out his wand and added the necessary charm. "Please take this to Miss Edgecombe in Ravenclaw Tower, Winky," he said. "Be there when she reads it. She may cry the way she did on Sunday, and you were kind to her then, too. I promise to lie back in the chair and wait till you return before exerting myself in any way."

The elf sped off, clearly happy to run an errand for him. Snape did as he said he would, since sitting upright for a time after eating seemed to help his digestion. He was feeling calm enough to look at the pictures in the werewolf book, though he read little.

Winky returned in a fairly short time and helped him make ready for bed. "I will be teaching tomorrow and see how it goes," he told her. "You may let the students know this if they come to you with questions tonight."

Snape was a little surprised the Headmaster had not called today, but wrote the old wizard a note about his intentions. He probably should breakfast in the Great Hall even though Poppy had won him a short break. His presence would be all the others needed to know. However, he could have a tray in his rooms first. Winky brought him the bedtime potion and he was soon asleep.

Perhaps he shouldn't have looked at the werewolf book. In his dream he was at the entrance to the Great Hall. Instead of the mob of students at the tables and the teachers at the staff table up front, everyone had been turned into a wolf. Dumbledore was an aging gray wolf in his usual seat in the center, though a few russet hairs still showed in his coat. Snape recognized Lupin right away, of course; he would always remember the distinctive brownish-gray fur. Hagrid was a huge, shaggy beast, not that his wolf form was a great deal hairier than his normal one. Professor McGonagall was a thin, gray bitch with a tartan ribbon around her neck, while Filch had a scraggly dirty-white coat of fur. Trelawney was a misty gray color, and Vector was a sleek dark one. Sprout was plump and motherly even in a dark, earthy brown. He almost missed the small pale wolf at the end, then realized he had nearly overlooked Professor Flitwick. That was a mistake few people made twice.

The lively chatter of students was also replaced by yips, howls and barks. Snape could easily spot the Gryffindor table—two of the wolves were a brilliant sunset tone. One undersized cub had untidy black fur and brilliant green eyes, while the one next to him was growing her winter coat early or had never lost it. Miss Granger, apparently, was going to have issues with hair no matter what form she took.

Then he saw his Slytherins. Draco was obviously the beautifully sleek silver wolf, while the exquisitely groomed bitch with a champagne-colored coat nuzzling him was most likely Miss Parkinson. One huge dark wolf sniffed experimentally at an equally large russet bitch. _Perhaps Mr. Crabbe will find consolation for his grief with Miss Bulstrode,_ Snape thought.

The Ravenclaw table clearly centered around an impossibly thin and glossy black wolf. Miss Chang, perhaps? One wolf paid no attention to the others, and its fur hung in clumps, even while a silver garland lay around its neck. Then he realized and almost laughed—Miss Lovegood continued to be different from all the rest. The Hufflepuffs, as usual, were in far better order than the other tables, even if their forms had changed. Miss Bones was probably the blond, fluffy wolf near one end, and Mr. Macmillan the already imposing bulky one at the other.

Snape, caught between terror and wonder, carefully looked down at himself. He was the only human left. A small wolf pup with huge watery eyes rubbed herself against his shin. _Winky, not you too!_ Lupin apparently caught sight of him as he stood on the threshold of the Great Hall, as the werewolf raised a paw as if to beckon him in. He took a step, and then another, the same way he had on that night just before the beginning of school.

Then he felt terrible pain in his hands as they began to grow thick black fur and change into paws…

Severus awoke gasping for breath. It had all been a terrible dream. His hands were still long-fingered, and the left one had a dark brown blotch on the back of it. Winky rushed into the room. "Master all right?"

"Yes," he said. He took the offered handkerchief and wiped his sweaty brow. "I dreamed everyone had changed into a wolf but me. Then I started to change, too. That's when I woke up."

"Master should rest today," she said.

"No, I'll be all right. In fact, help me dress now, then fetch a small tray so I can eat a little in quiet before going to the madhouse we laughingly call school." He wouldn't feel right till he had gone into the Hall and reassured himself everyone was still human after all.

Winky still fussed at him, but not very strenuously, as she fetched his teaching robes and stood on one of the tables so she could make it easier for him to put them on. Once done, he felt less vulnerable. The elf disappeared and returned with a small bowl of porridge heavy with cream and pieces of fruit. Severus ate some of it in the few moments of peace left.

He entered the Great Hall and felt silly to be so relieved nobody had changed. Albus nodded at him, clearly happy he was there. His half-eaten porridge appeared in front of him, still at its proper temperature. The clamor of the place struck him like a blow after the quiet of the past few days, but Snape adjusted quickly enough. It was enough to see everyone's human faces, even Lupin's. He was afraid the change the wolf went through each month was much more painful than the glimpse he'd had of the procedure in his dream. _I have never added anything to the Wolfsbane Potion to make that part easier, and I'm fairly certain no one else has. Perhaps part of a werewolf's irritability is the trial of the transformation itself, which happens once each night of the full moon, and again in the morning for a few days in a row. What if a werewolf only transformed once at the beginning of each period, and back to human only once each month? Would Lupin's general health improve without that ordeal?_

The entire focus of the Wolfsbane Potion, after all, was to keep the werewolf helpless and safer around others. The actual welfare of the wolf was a secondary consideration at best, though remaining quiescent was clearly beneficial to Lupin.

Snape decided he would think about it later, and in more detail. His students were happy to see him, though none of the other tables were. He nodded to his Slytherins, and attempted to finish his breakfast. He supposed he was so glad only one wolf sat in the hall that Lupin's presence didn't bother him quite as much as usual.

He grew tired as the day wore on, though all he did was to sit and review. He didn't want anyone brewing who wasn't certain of what they were doing. Snape lay down instead of going outside in the morning, and actually fell asleep. After the sixth year class was done, he took the opportunity to speak to Mr. Zabini. "I received a note from Miss Edgecombe asking about the flowers. I told her to react any way she wished, as the gossip would explain the events of this weekend nicely no matter what she did. Is it all arranged?"

"Yes, sir," the young Slytherin said. Mr. Zabini looked nervous.

"You are doing the right thing, even if she throws them back in your face. I am glad I was informed prior to it happening. Have you spoken to her yet?"

"Ah…no, sir. But I've looked at her in Charms as if I wanted to ask her a question, and she shook her head."

"Good. People will remember that after you send the flowers. By this time tomorrow, several others will have the entire story around school, even though there isn't one."

"I'm glad you thought of it, sir! It's not fair to have people talk about her the way they have so far. I've glared at everyone who has who did it in my hearing. I hoped I did that right."

"Yes, you have. Defending the reputation of a young lady is always correct. Just don't hex anyone, please. You may look as if you wish to all you like, however."

"I don't have any problem with that, professor," Zabini said grimly.

Snape noticed the young man was unusually vehement. Had he encouraged feelings that had already existed before and only wanted an excuse to be expressed? Perhaps he needed to caution the boy against taking action on his own outside of Hogwarts. "The matter will be taken care of, though the perpetrator can't be brought to public justice. Proceed to class now, Mr. Zabini, and again I thank you."

"I should be thanking you, sir," he and left.

Well. That was interesting. Severus hated to see yet another promising student crash against the rocks of True Love, or whatever passed for it around here, but he suspected Mr. Zabini was about to end up another sacrifice to the nobler passions. What was that Muggle song called, "Heartbreak Hotel" or some such? Miss Edgecombe was likely numb for now, but later would take out her pain on those around her, especially those who wished her well.

The rest of the day went reasonably well, though he needed his lie-down in the afternoon as well. At dinner he enjoyed watching the show between Mr. Zabini and Miss Edgecombe. The girl played her part perfectly, though—at first she appeared surprised, then forced a smile, though the way she looked at Mr. Zabini meant she planned to make him grovel more later. The young Slytherin looked humiliated and hopeful at the same time. Snape looked forward to the gossip he would hear from others later.

Later that evening Draco Malfoy came to his office. 'You wanted to see me?" he asked cheerfully.

A pity the boy's smile would soon be gone. "Have a seat, Draco," Snape said, and performed a quick muffling spell.

"Of course, sir." His godson did as he was told. "Are you all right? You still look tired. Were you, um, called for since we last met?"

"I am better, and I would tell you if I were summoned by myself, _if_ you needed to know," Severus said unhappily. "I look forward to the day when this regimen is over. However, that isn't what I wanted to talk about. I am concerned about Miss Edgecombe, and Madam Lestrange's neglect of her. It may be necessary to have her become my apprentice and you become one to your aunt. I suspect the woman will speak more freely to you than to the girl. Naturally I expect you to pass on any information to me."

Draco's eyes widened. "She wouldn't be able to hurt me the way she did the Ravenclaw."

"There are other ways. If she understands the properties of the Dark Mark, your life could be quite hellish. So far she has not shown such knowledge, but _he_ could instruct her." He had to be honest with the boy. If necessary, he would use his favor to force Miss Edgecombe away from her horrible mistress, but Snape would rather save it for something else.

"Did—does my father have that sort of power over yours?"

"That's something I'll probably find out when I visit him Friday night. Your mother is sending one of her permits. Do you have any messages you want to send?"

"I'll write something up by Friday morning, sir." His godson was hiding something, but Snape couldn't tell what it was.

"Don't make it too long. I'll have to memorize it. All visitors are searched, as you probably already know."

"I wasn't."

"Ah. Then your father has the guards under his thumb, as I expected. However, my record puts me into a different class altogether, so I probably will be. I also want you think hard about Madam Lestrange. I do not recommend it, and will not force it on you. I am also going to either provide portkeys or train the apprentices in Apparation. No one is to use either one before being dismissed except in extreme emergency. However, if I am not available, this way you shouldn't be trapped. Most of the time I will dismiss you myself, and ask the Dark Lord to return you to a rendezvous point at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. I know you've already revealed that you can Apparate, though you don't have your license yet, but the others must keep their abilities hidden till it's necessary to use them."

Draco bit his lip. "We won't desert you!"

"You will if the Dark Lord commands it or I tell you to," Snape said sternly. "Have you spoken with the Headmaster yet?"

"No…"

"You need to do so soon. If you wish to serve the Order he needs to know. I will tell him myself if you become Lestrange's apprentice, though he'll understand why. He already knows what happened to Miss Edgecombe. Madam Pomfrey is also a safe confidant in my absence."

"Er…Hagrid's all right, isn't he?"

"Yes. But try not to overburden him with knowledge he can't talk about. He keeps more secrets than people believe, but it's very difficult for him. However, it would be an excellent idea to have him take you to meet his brother. Grawp is not especially bright even for a giant, but it's a very good idea for him to know your scent and voice. He has proven himself helpful at least once thus far when I was…was in difficulty." Severus took a deep breath as he remembered the huge hands lifting him as if he weighed nothing at all. "However, you are likely to run into the Trio should you visit Hagrid on a regular basis. I should hate to explain to the Headmaster why you or they are throwing hexes about. If you do find some common ground, I must know at once in order to devise a likely scenario. I am not as harsh on them myself this year."

"I've noticed it, and I've already written Father about it. Since nobody seems to be doing anything about it, should I mention it to Aunt Bella if I become her apprentice?"

"Certainly. As long as she believes you are spying on me, you should be safer. Of course, I already made sure the Dark Lord knew I was being threatened with Azkaban if I did not mend my fences with the Potter boy." He had let Voldemort see _that_ memory long ago. The fact it was the truth would be to his advantage if questioned. Had Dumbledore thought of that when he'd made his threat?

"I'll do it!" Draco smiled.

"Don't think you can manage your aunt as easily as you could Madam Umbridge. She is far more dangerous, and will turn on a friend as readily as on an enemy. She spent over twelve years in Azkaban, longer than Black, and was vicious before then. It is difficult to believe that she and your mother are sisters."

"Well, all three of them had different mothers," his godson observed. "And Aunt Andromeda married a Muggle. Maybe the Blacks are the brilliant ones after all, to have a representative in all the factions. Amazing Cousin Nymh-er, Tonks had enough magic to have a letter to Hogwarts."

It was certainly true men of the Black family tended to marry more than once, officially or not. Bellatrix's mother had been a cousin to the horrible woman who bore Sirius, which explained their resemblance, both in appearance and in temper. "Has either parent spoken to you of your betrothal?"

"Not recently. Pansy—Miss Parkinson and I have an understanding since we were contracted before going to school. She and I are used to each other, and the bond keeps us, um, inclined towards each other. I wish I could talk to her the way I can to you, professor! It's so hard when something happens and I can't say what I really think. I know I have more freedom than she does, but I don't really want to see anyone else." Draco looked unhappy.

"Her parents would pay the penalty and void their side of the contract if they knew of your real feelings," Snape observed, though he wasn't cheered by it either. Miss Parkinson, for all her simpering ways, provided the boy with a sense of stability often lacking at home.

"I know. Father would certainly disown me."

_Possibly not. Lucius worships the family when he has a chance to think for himself._ "At least you are certain your mother has chosen you," he said.

The young Slytherin brightened. "Yes. Yes, she did. I wish you had a family of your own, professor. I know you have us, but it can't be the same."

"I thank you for your concern," Severus said in a tone that closed the subject. "Moving along, how does the team's chances look this weekend?"

"Against Gryffindor this time. With Potter flying, it'll be hard to win. Unless he shoots up this year, he probably won't ever be tall, and that's an advantage in the Seeker spot. He was scouting us the other day—probably knew we'd spot red hair faster than black. Miss Weasley is better, so even knocking him out won't help as much as it used to. They're weaker in the Beater positions. They must really miss the twins this year. But _the_ Weasel is much better as Keeper. He watches the whole game, not just his section of it near the goal. As captain he's not too bad this year, and he'll be really good next year. Vince and Millie have their work cut out for them. They are a team now, though still not as good as when Greg…when Greg was here." His voice faltered. "Vince said he ran into Greg's ghost when he fetched his cloak and mask on Saturday, and that's why he was late. Have…have you seen him yet?"

"No." Snape wasn't sure he wanted to, but knew he likely would sometimes.

"If that's all, sir, I should start on my homework." Draco stood.

"Good. Don't worry about Miss Parkinson. She helped Miss Edgecombe clean up and let her rest before having to send her back to Ravenclaw. She may begin to think of what could happen if her luck ran out as well."

His godson looked away, his face troubled. "She hasn't been happy with me since then. Maybe that's why."

"At such times it seems the real war isn't between the Dark Lord and the Order, but between men and women," Snape observed. "When an incident of this kind occurs, many women tend to judge all men guilty. Remember, Miss Parkinson saw me kill the Muggle woman. That could easily give her a jaundiced view of our entire gender."

Draco nodded, but still looked unhappy. "I won't push. At least not now. Arranged marriages are normal, I suppose, but I don't want her to hate me. Mother and Father always seemed happy with each other. I mean, I always thought so…"

"I am not the one to comment on their relationship." Snape stood up. It wouldn't be long till the boy matched his height. "I have a great deal to do this evening, while you still have your homework."

The blond Slytherin left, but with a look on his face that probably meant he wasn't through with the topic. Severus sat and wiped sweat from his forehead. _Surely Lucius hasn't told Draco anything. He can't._ His stomach churned.

He was glad when a knock on the door distracted him. Madam Pomfrey came in, and he bowed her to a chair. "I am tired tonight and plan to retire early, Poppy. It was a long day, but I think tomorrow will be better."

She waved her wand over him. "I just wanted to check, dear. Did you sleep all right last night?"

"Yes, except for an odd dream I had right before waking up," he said, and told her about all the wolves in the Great Hall. "I was quite happy to go to breakfast and discover everyone was human, more or less. I'm glad I awoke before I changed, too."

"You looked at the book right before bedtime, didn't you? I forgot to tell about that side effect. I can't imagine what the author was thinking to do that. You're really best off reading it in the mornings. You'll still be able to see what people would look like if they were wolves, but you probably won't feel as if you're transforming. Also, it doesn't work with mirrors. You might want to keep one with you during the day while you're reading it."

"Probably the silver," he said. "I'm glad you said something. Sometimes I use it as an ingredient, or as part of a cauldron or ladle. Will the silly book cause any allergies? I'm not using silver in any form I can think of for the next couple of weeks, but I will be after Halloween."

"I hadn't thought of that," she said, and frowned. "I didn't have any trouble handling the mirror, but the silver bit was covered with glass. Perhaps you ought to finish the book before you handle the stuff in potions. The plate used in the Great Hall should be all right, it's so covered in anti-tarnish spells even Professor Lupin can touch it, though he uses the stainless steel instead for safety. The elves try to make sure his food doesn't touch silver either. They managed quite nicely the last time he was here."

For moment his eyes saw _her_ as a wolf—an aging bitch, slightly plump, with brownish-gray fur nearly the same color as Lupin's though a bit thicker, and still wearing a mediwitch's apron and cap. Then he blinked, and she was back to normal.

"Severus?" she asked.

He felt his face going hot, but told her what he'd seen anyway. She smiled. "See? That wasn't so bad. I hope you weren't afraid of me."

"No. I was just surprised. The really silly part of the dream was the wolf-pup almost tripping me and licking my ankle. Her eyes looked like Winky's, if you can believe that. Then again, I saw Hagrid as a wolf, too." Then he thought of something. "I didn't see Firenze anywhere. He doesn't come to the Great Hall very often, and he never would with that many wolves around. Of course, I didn't see Professor Sinistra either."

"I think Firenze would hide in his room permanently out of sheer humiliation if anyone saw him in a wolf form," Poppy said, laughing. "I found this book when Remus first started here." She sobered. "Then I reread itthe first year he taught. It was the oddest thing—even the Dementors changed into ghostly wolves if I happened to glance at one of them every once in a while. Still horrible, though. You were fairly dashing as a wolf, though you were too thin."

Snape knew she was being kind. "I suspect my fur was ghastly even then," he said, and saw the truth of his statement in her eyes. "I do look in mirrors, Poppy. You won't tell me anything new in that line."

"If you had some flesh on those bones, it would help," she said. "And your hair should improve once you're done with the regimen. You should consider a preventive course of some sort afterward, to keep things from becoming this bad in future." Then she turned her face away. "Oh, Severus, I keep forgetting…"

"No. It would be nice if I had to worry about such things," he said. "The apothecary in Diagon Alley said he'd sell me the ingredients half price for research in that direction if I mentioned his name when I proposed a design, though."

The mediwitch looked back at him. "It would help. No doubt some of the people at St. Mungo's are exposed to some odd substances in their work as well. That would explain the way some of those Healers carry on!"

Winky approached the two of them with another potion. Pomfrey smiled at the elf. "You have done well taking care of your master, dear," she said. "And I agree, it is time he went to sleep." Poppy smiled at him, too. "Now, Severus, I know you all too well. You're probably trying to work on all the penances at once just to get them over with. I suggest you stop for tonight. You'll need your rest for tomorrow and you'll have more time to manage anything else after Friday. I suggest reading the wolf book first, though not tonight. I don't think the side effects would cause any allergies to silver, but I'm certain you'd be the first to find out. If you try too much too soon, you'll only wear yourself out and end up in my infirmary again. I'm beginning to wish I hadn't said anything."

"No, you were right," Snape said. "I _want_ to stop being afraid of Lupin. It's so hard sometimes, and it is becoming worse. If…if certain parties decide to make alliance with other werewolves, I'll have to be involved. I can't let _them_ see I'm afraid of anything."

"I hope this will help," the mediwitch said soberly. "But you still need to pace yourself. I'm increasing your mood enhancers for the next few weeks to help you cope. You're not even a quarter of the way to the maximum dose, and the LD50 would require buckets of it a day. Please think about going to the clinic for your next expulsion phase. Albus has a list of people he believes could substitute for you if you're gone for a week at a time. That rather brilliant woman who edits Potions Monthly is on the top of it, I believe."

"I don't know if she has any teaching experience, though," he fretted.

"Then wouldn't it be a nice change if your students were glad to see you back?" Poppy said. "The children would see what Potions Masters are like in the real world, and realize their good luck in having one like you."

"With _my_ luck she'll be much better," he grumbled.

"Then we'll know where to look when…when someone must always teach in your place." The older woman's eyes were suspiciously bright.

"Are you _sure_ you weren't sorted Slytherin?" Snape said, knowing when he'd met his match.

"Quite. But as a Hufflepuff I am very stubborn, and won't leave till I know you'll spend the rest of this evening asleep. Remember, even Albus knows better than to argue with me when I'm like this."

"Oh, well, if you're resorting to _threats_, I have no choice," he said. It was reassuring to have her nag at him like this." He rose and escorted her to his door. "I promise to drink my potion, change for bed, and lie down for the night. After all, I know Winky will grass on me if I do not."

"In that case, have a nice evening," she said with a smile, and left.

Snape glared a several students apparently lounging about the hall with nothing better to do, and sent them scurrying. Ah. Then he retired to his quarters and did as he'd been told. _A pity the Dark Lord was never in her hands,_ he thought once tucked away in bed. _She would simply prescribe for him till he was cured of his idiotic notions. _

He wondered if he would dream of wolves again, though. It would nice if he could stop being so terrified of them. For one thing, the Dark Lord could ally himself with some of the nastier packs, and force him to be in their presence for the sheer fun of it. Severus hated being dependent on potions to help him manage his various terrors, but perhaps they were the only things keeping all his nightmares from ganging up on him at once. He ought to be brave. He ought to endure them, knowing what he'd done to deserve them. Instead he felt as if his insides had turned to blancmange.

He felt the tiny hand of a house elf patting him. "Good night, Master," whispered Winky. "Sleep well."

That helped, too. He sighed, and let the sedative work. _I must rest, and grow strong. Only then can I do what I must to destroy that madman._


	45. Chapter 45: Mr CauldronGoBoom

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

This chapter is edited fairly lightly, as I am working on a library computer in Palm Springs (the resort I'm at has clever little phone jacks that do not work in a computer. Boo, hiss!). Lightly edited. Speedily edited (I have 15 minutes left).

Chapter 45: Mr. Cauldron-Go-Boom

Severus Snape

The next day Snape allowed some brewing. During his morning break, he was on the broom again, though at a slow pace. If Reggie Montague was already on a child's broom, he would have to be up to speed a year from now. The fresh air was cooler now. _I'll have to find somewhere to ride indoors if I am to gain enough skill to show I took this bet seriously._ It was just as well the regulations stated 'no _racing_ brooms in the halls'. Perhaps he could set up an obstacle course in one of the larger sub-dungeons and have the team practice on it when Quidditch quit till spring.

For once, the repetitive movement and cool breeze calmed him instead of increasing his anxiety. Snape was surprised to see just how far above the ground was able to manage now. Pomfrey was right. He could accomplish so much more in the time left if he were not kept in thrall by fear.

Severus hovered in the air a moment further above the ground than he had ever gone since Draco's first year, and just _enjoyed_ not being terrified. He allowed himself to rise up an inch at a time till he reached a point where the height did bother him, sat there for a while with his heart hammering, then gently drifted back down to the ground. He could practice overcoming other problems later. If he could conquer this fear, he could learn to deal with others as well.

That afternoon, he closely observed Mr. Longbottom. He'd neglected that part of his penance, even though it had been the first one Poppy had mentioned. Snape was careful not to lean over the boy or even walk too close to him, but even so the Gryffindor began sweating at the scrutiny. The Potions Master then turned his attention to Mr. Potter, and offered a few well-chosen words about the state of his Agglutinating Potion. He was delighted to see the look of astonishment on the brat's face, as the words themselves were actually positive even though the tone was not. He glanced back just to time to see Draco hide a quick smile. _Yes, write _that_ to your father and aunt…_ Miss Granger's work was nearly perfect, as always, and he gave her a quick nod of encouragement. She was nearly as startled.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley," Snape said, savoring this moment. "Is your potion really supposed to be this shade of blue?"

The red-headed boy blinked, looked quickly at his notes, obviously unable to read his own writing, then squinted up at the board. "Er…yes, actually."

"What a pleasant surprise," Snape said, his voice oozing with sarcasm. He turned on his heel and eviscerated a couple of Ravenclaws whose potions had the misfortune to be purple instead. He listened in amused despair as one of them argued that hers would be more effective that way.

"You could be right, Miss Lovegood, but effective at _what_? Three feet on this potion and its variations by Monday. The proper reference should be in the periodical collection. Try Potions Monthly for June of 1992 for a rather vivid description of what _does_ happen when the potion is the color you prefer."

To his own surprise, the girl actually smiled and thanked him. Yes, there was definitely something wrong with the child.

Miss Granger had a raised hand. He raised one eyebrow in return. "Don't tell me there's something the famous know-it-all _doesn't_ know."

"Er, sir, it's just that I didn't know the Hogwarts library had a periodical section."

"Did you ever ask?" Of course she hadn't—the girl had been much too busy sacking and pillaging the rest. "Never mind. However, you may not remove any of the magazines. And those of you who expect to find Quidditch journals in the library will be sadly disappointed." He didn't tell them Madam Hooch had all of those in her office. Snape was happy to see a gleam of determination in young Mr. Weasley's eyes. His godson looked smug, of course; he received his own subscription to the important Quidditch magazines once a month, and passed them around as he saw fit. Mr. Longbottom, however, looked as if he wanted to rush to the library himself to find the Herbology section, as if Professor Sprout didn't load him up with her journals already.

Then he sharply reminded everyone they were in Potions class, and urged them back to work. It was easier to pay attention to keeping the little dunderheads from blowing themselves up when they were like this, active and aware. Why, even the Weasley boy was actually _thinking_ about things, and what a terrible shock that must be.

He was glad to lie down after, though he couldn't quite stop from rehashing the class. The seventh years were more intelligent and less likely to kill themselves, but this one was more vital, somehow. Every once in a while he had a class he despaired of that somehow managed to redeem themselves, and for some reason their glory tasted sweeter than the ones who were on track from the beginning. _Maybe I wasn't insane to make that bet with Lowenstein after all. _

After supper, Snape looked at all the lab notebooks, then concentrated on Longbottom's. The clumsy Gryffindor was doing better, insofar as creating disaster was concerned. He had already noticed the Trio tended to take turns on "Neville Watch" instead of leaving all such matters to Miss Granger. Unfortunately, the Potions Master was forced to admit that fewer sabotage attempts by his Slytherins kept all his classes less accident prone. The Gryffindors still managed some exciting maneuvers, especially in the younger classes, but their inability to keep from getting caught tended to slow them down. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were less apt to mischief in the first place, with the exception of Miss Marcher and a few others.

Longbottom's notebook not only contained lists of potions ingredients and procedures, but also had diagrams of how ingredients should be laid out and in what sequence they should be added. The boy's potions were often not finished by end of class, but that was often a _good_ thing. In fact, the boy had lost fewer points than normal by this time of year.

Snape scribbled some notes on a scrap of paper. There was something familiar about the diagrams, but he couldn't think what. Perhaps he ought to ask the Headmaster if he remembered seeing anything like this.

Mr. Cauldron-Go-Boom, as the house elves called the boy, appeared to be on track with a lot of his lab work this year, just slower than the rest in the actual brewing. His proposal to Poppy of having him come in and simply practice with less time pressure now seemed a good one. _I'll have to set up better wards and then be in a different room—just looking at him made him sweat—but if he could make an O without my supervision, he can surely manage some of this year's work that way as well. Winky could supervise, or assist, or merely stand around and look pathetic. Most elves are fairly immune to the effects of potions accidents, or Dobby would never have survived some of my experiments when Lucius let me practice at Malfoy Manor._ _Perhaps Dobby could instruct Winky about how to protect herself, in case she lacks the experience._

Severus sat back up, glad to have that settled in his mind. Normally he would consult with Longbottom's Head of House, but everyone knew Professor Sprout enjoyed the boy's real skill at Herbology and let him have free run of the greenhouses. Perhaps he ought to talk to her instead. It was possible the boy's erratic magic was strengthened and stabilized around plants.

He stood up and stretched. A short walk would help loosen his stiff joints, promote digestion, and help him sleep better, or so he was told.

Snape found Professor Sprout in one of the greenhouses, though it was dark. No doubt some of her plants were nocturnal. He walked carefully through the rows of plants with only a soft light coming from his wand to avoid disturbing the little darlings.

The Head of Hufflepuff looked up as she tucked a few of the younger mandrakes into their tiny plant beds. Ever since the problem with the Basilisk, she had made sure some were planted each year.

"Lullaby time?" he asked ironically.

"They're a bit past that, though they'd probably still enjoy it," she said. "And what can I do for you this fine evening?"

"I'd like to give Mr. Longbottom some potion making practice when he doesn't have much time pressure. He is trying to be more careful this year, but it's making him slow. Normally I would sit back and enjoy it, but he really should learn more. I plan to have Winky watch him instead of me. Then I thought of something else." He outlined his theory about plants, and what he'd need to see if it worked or not.

"Actually, I have a few hardy ones that would be all right in the dungeons," Sprout said. "In fact, I may try to breed a few strains that thrive on the more exotic items in the air there. They might help induce a more wholesome atmosphere. How is the lavender pillow working?"

"Better than I hoped," Snape said cautiously. Better than he deserved.

"Good. We all see how hard you're trying to rein in that temper of yours, and a decent night's sleep has to help. I'm having Mr. Longbottom grow more of the Mimbletonia as well. The exposure to the stinksap does a world of good. What do you plan to do when he finally stands up to you?"

It was annoying to realize stinksap might help his own situation. "Take five points from Gryffindor for disrespect and sentence him to an evening's detention in one of the greenhouses. After all, his fellow classmates will only encourage him. Allow me a _little_ fun."

Sprout smiled. "With the point schedules posted the rest of us have to look at our own favoritism instead of complaining about yours. Vector's running a study on the points so far this year, and you're not the only one who's being more evenhanded. Your Slytherins are being good this year, and some of us wonder how long it's going to last. I certainly expected young Mr. Malfoy to be worse, rather than better, with his father in prison."

"The students who tend to be the worst have other matters to occupy them," Snape said. He wondered if she'd been told which had taken the Mark. "As for Draco, he seems to listen to reason more clearly without his father reminding him he must be a true Malfoy. He had to do a lot of growing up this summer."

Professor Sprout nodded. "I think he's afraid of losing you, too. You must have some unpleasant divisions in your House."

"I have for years. They're just coming to the surface. I hate losing students—" He regained control of his voice. "But you know."

She smiled sadly. "Yes, Cedric was one of my favorites. I was so very proud of him when he was chosen to represent Hogwarts for the Tri-Wizard Cup. I was a little upset to see Mr. Potter in the contest. Everyone focused on him, and saw little of what Mr. Diggory could do. I was still happy Hogwarts won, of course, and it was quite sporting of Mr. Potter to want the two of them to claim the cup together." The Herbology Professor took off one glove and wiped her face with her bare hand. "You were quite right about Mr. Moody all along. I resolved to listen to you more closely after that." She sighed, then replaced the glove. "You have reason to be proud of Mr. Goyle, too. He had far less reason to make the choice he did than Cedric, given his family and associations. I'm afraid we don't think about how difficult your task is sometimes. But the rest of us have spoken with the Headmaster, and let him know you have our support."

Snape blinked. "But _he's_ not the enemy!"

"No, dear, but his focus is a little narrow on occasion. I honestly believed he was the one who'd put Harry's name in the cup for quite some time, even if I pretended to believe his denial. Minerva and Filius are _not_ happy with the way you've been treated, especially this summer. From what they told me I certainly understand it. You've been kept on leading-strings for far too long, even without that, and it's not right."

"It's certainly better than what I could be facing," he muttered.

"I am sorry you have any of that to contend with," she said. "Albus should know better. If only he'd ever had children of his own, he'd have some idea of how sons grow up and go away, and come back only if they choose. It's been clear to me for years he thinks of you as one, but you persist in not being Gryffindor. Frankly, he's better off. A Gryffindor would have left here years ago, no matter the constraints put on him. Still, it's obvious Dumbledore hasn't the slightest clue on how to deal with someone of your temperament. All those Christmas parties and whatnot are obviously dreadful as far as you're concerned, and forcing you to go doesn't improve them. He can't understand why you don't enjoy the same things he does, and he doesn't have enough experience with anyone but other Lions to help you do so. When he taught, he had very little interaction with Slytherins save to make sure their homework was handed in on time. Apparently the presence of Mr. Riddle there was enough to curse the whole house in perpetuity as far as he was concerned. The Headmaster still doesn't understand it's not just being a pureblood that helps a person become Sorted into your house, even after _his _presence there."

"If…if you were managing me, how would you do it?" Snape was honestly curious.

"Why…I'd simply be happy to see you whenever you were present, and never hector you about not showing up, especially not in front of other guests. I'd let you retreat to a corner whenever you wished, and make sure no one bothered you if you obviously didn't care for it. Some of my Badgers are quite shy, too, and pushing them into things just makes them want to disappear even more. But the way Albus goes about it clearly just sets your back up and makes you more determined you won't enjoy yourself. The rest of us haven't always been as patient as we could be, either. You are so much younger than the other members of the staff we _do_ talk down to you as if you were still a student sometimes. I wonder if that's why Professor Sinistra rarely allows herself to be seen at all."

He'd never heard anyone analyze a social situation like that before. Professor Sprout continued. "I sometimes wonder if that's why Percy Weasley is so standoffish. You have to hold your ground or be run over in that mob. Molly blames herself for it. She feels she gave him too much responsibility with the twins much too young, what with Ronald and Ginevra following on their heels. Both Bill and Charlie left the country entirely as soon as they were old enough. Perhaps Percy ought to as well—they might appreciate him better that way."

_Lucky them, to have a choice,_ Snape thought.

The Charms professor glanced at him. "I know Dumbledore had his reasons, but sometimes we forget you aren't here willingly. He probably believes he was offering you a haven, but…well, you have the same problem, don't you?"

He grimaced. "It's too late for that to change," he said dully.

"Now that's where you're wrong," Sprout said. "We all have choices. In fact, I've seen some changes in you already. Last year you probably wouldn't have come out here to talk to me about Mr. Longbottom, for instance. Or stayed to listen when I started talking about Weasleys. I don't pretend to know all the problems you must deal with, but the rest of us do want to help. We've let you take burdens that aren't really yours for far too long." She paused. "Sometimes I think the whole House system is a terrible mistake. For one thing, the Sorting Hat clearly makes bad choices sometimes. I can't help thinking the youngest Weasley boy is more of a Hufflepuff. I'm sure he's been lots of help to Mr. Potter, but it might do him a world of good to be more on his own. As for Miss Weasley…" She grimaced. "Well, after that nasty diary business, she has enough secrets to be in your house."

"She would be subject to more temptations there," Snape said, who had thought the same thing. "I try to ensure it doesn't make too much of a difference, but some in Slytherin are heirs to great wealth and enjoy making a show of it. Draco isn't as bad as he used to be, but I have to deal with resentment from others who started out further down the food chain. It doesn't seem to be quite as much of as issue in Gryffindor. I must admit, it would be entertaining to watch the duel between Miss Weasley and Miss Parkinson when Pansy's tongue finally lit off the girl's temper, but it would be disruptive."

Sprout laughed. "And she would be bored out of her mind in Hufflepuff, I daresay, though Miss Granger might do rather better. We have more Muggleborns in our house, and she probably wouldn't feel quite so alone. How do you think the know-it-all would manage if she had been chosen for yours?"

"She would be even more terrifying than she is already," Snape admitted. "This year she resented not being the only soaring intellect in the class, but is currently rising to the challenge with all appearance of enjoyment. Flitwick is forever whining about losing her. The level of discourse between her and the Ravenclaws in Advanced Potions is reaching levels I normally see in seventh year, if at all. If nothing else, Miss Lovegood provides a great deal of entertainment."

"And the other members of the Trio?" she said in a light tone of voice.

"Mr. Weasley is much better at actual brewing after spending the summer under his mother's wooden spoon," he said, almost smiling. "I doubt he'll ever understand why things works, but for now I am content with seeing results in the cauldron. Mr. Potter is applying himself, which is more than I saw last year. He does have a great deal of potential, and it always irritated me when he had better things to do than to fulfill the basic requirements in my class." He took a deep breath. "I will grant my own reaction to him did not help. But he was disruptive and simply wasn't doing the work. I have to admit, almost everyone is being more careful this year." It would be nice if anyone but him cared how his Slytherins were doing, but he knew better than to expect that.

"Part of that is because they know it's affecting your health," Sprout said. "Especially after this last Friday. How are you feeling?"

"Better. I still wonder if this therapy was a good idea to begin with, and I hate the potions I have to drink. I just wonder how much of this year I'm going to spend laid up."

"Herbologists sometimes have problems as well, especially those who constantly deal with poisonous plants," she said. "I suspect my own liver could bear looking into. But I do know some about Potions, and can help with some of your classes. You've certainly covered everyone else's over the year. And, as was pointed out to me, you have a good reason to rest when you're not well for other reasons."

"Thank you," he said. Despite the table in his bedroom, he felt off balance when he discovered others did notice what he'd done for them. "I have a first year who's a bit awkward," he said. "Mr. Andreas comes from Knockturn Alley, and has an unusual home situation. I think he could benefit from some motherly attention."

"Is he that thin one with the mouse brown hair? I've noticed he's not comfortable around plants, even the safe ones."

"There aren't many growing things where he lives, and the few that show up in shop windows are definitely not safe," he said. "I've tried to make all his detentions outdoors."

"I'll see to it he has more experience in the greenhouses," she said. "How is he on a broom so far?"

"I plan to ask Madam Hooch. I want to talk to her anyway about a former student with a head injury, and find out if she can recommend any specialists."

She set her shears down for a moment. "Mr. Montague?"

"Yes. I spoke with his mother yesterday. He's recovering, but rather slowly."

"I shall send a card and a basket, then," she said firmly. "You must think us quite rude sometimes, the way we ask you about our students and never seem to care about yours. I saw that Mr. Zabini of yours send the flowers to the Ravenclaw girl." The older witch began pruning back some snapdragons that briefly hissed tiny flames at her. "Rumor has it the poor thing had a nasty time of it this weekend."

"There is less than meets the eye, at least so far," Severus said, reluctant to reveal too much. "You may wish to ask the Headmaster about it, as I am going to urge her to confide in you if she is too distressed. Miss Edgecombe was involved in an ugly incident outside the school recently through no fault of her own, but I would not have gossip ruin her life here."

"Outside the school? But we don't have a Hogsmeade weekend—oh!" The shears clicked firmly through a cane. "Oh, dear."

"Yes. Professor Flitwick knows, but I'm not certain he's able to deal with her given the circumstances of last year. I still wish I could have prevented it." He was surprised how easy it was for him to speak frankly in the dim light of the greenhouse.

"It breaks my heart sometimes what happens to these students. I hope she does talk to me. But she may not feel she ought to confide in someone who…may not understand what else she's involved in this year."

"If it's any help, her heart's not in it," he said. "She was affected last summer when a loyalty spell was used to winnow the sheep from the goats. But I fear you're right. I plan to discover the responsible party as soon as possible." He clenched his teeth. _Something_ would be done if he had to do it himself. "If only I could have kept them from becoming involved in the first place!"

"At least Slytherin has a Head of House who's trying," she said softly. "I have my failures, too, Severus. For all I know I have a few who plan to join later on. I don't think so, but I try not to assume you're the only one who should worry about such things. I know this sounds spiteful, but I'm almost glad this latest catch included a Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw. Neither Minerva nor Flitwick pay enough attention to their students' hearts. I keep reminding myself I could now be asking you to look after one of mine.

"So far I've been lucky." She lay down her shears, then took off her gloves and put them in her apron pocket. The older witch swallowed. "This time. The Sorting Hat usually does get things right, but things…things can change. One of my girls had a mother who remarried while she was at school. She came back from the summer not quite herself. I should have pried!" Sprout said. "I wish we'd had all students examined on their return a long, long time ago."

Snape remembered the Head of Hufflepuff had been one of his few supporters for that particular reform. "I think we would all have been surprised at what we found."

"You wouldn't have been," she said, twisting her mouth into a wry smile. "I should have dragged her to the infirmary by force. Poppy said I should. But I waited.

"Well, her roommate was caught making the wrong sort of potion for her age. Or perhaps it was the right one, as she was already popular and her only thirteen. I did talk to that girl about it, and made sure she was started on the regular one. But it clearly didn't take her long to figure out more than one dose can stop something already started. To make a long story short, it was the girl whose mother had remarried who ended up in the infirmary from the induced miscarriage, not the roommate. She wouldn't say who the father was. I had my suspicions, but no proof. And I had to let her go home again that spring, though I made sure she had a summer's worth of protection to take with her.

"She married a week or so after the Leaving Feast, but it didn't last long. I don't think she cared."

"Ah," Snape said. "A married woman need never return home, even if she is separated."

"Precisely. They divorced for barrenness, but I suspect it was really for non-consummation. Since she wasn't a virgin any more, that would be difficult to prove, though. It's so hard to look at her and see how she's changed…she used to be such a sweet girl. Fond of kittens, that sort of thing. I tried to talk to her last year, but it was no good."

For a moment his mind was blank. Then he was filled with horror when he realized who the 'sweet girl' must be. "She—she's terrified of centaurs now, isn't she?"

Sprout slowly nodded. "I asked Firenze what he thought they did to her. He wouldn't say anything of substance, only that Bane was no fit leader of the herd. Centaurs would keep to their own kind, wouldn't they?"

"I don't know enough to say," Severus replied. "There are legends, of course, but I don't know how much truth there is to them. However, that woman will believe Miss Granger knew exactly what she was doing whether she did or not." Perhaps he could see to it a book about centaurs made its way to the girl's hands.

"I doubt she will ever be the same again," Sprout said. "Centaurs are almost as good as boggarts at making someone face their greatest fear. I wish Miss Granger had appealed to any other member of the staff for assistance, but one can see none of the Trio has been taught to trust us, especially with Minerva sent to St. Mungo's."

_I could have helped,_ Snape thought. _If I had _been_ an adult, Potter or one of the others might have come to me._ _Instead, I was too busy scoring off them and enjoying my petty revenges to pay attention to the real issues at hand. Umbridge couldn't have sacked me or sent me to Azkaban without Dumbledore being notified._

"I'm not blaming you, Severus, none of them came to me either," the Herbology Professor continued. "None of them sought out Filius, as well."

"But they knew I was an Order member," Snape said softly. _Of course, if any of them knew what I was really like they'd run screaming anyway._ "Amazing Madam Umbridge has risen as far in the Ministry as she has, then."

"Some people go to great lengths to overcome their background. You, for instance. You could have ended up preying on others rather than protecting them."

Severus closed his eyes, then opened them again. Surely Sprout couldn't know about what really happened this weekend. His hands still remembered how the blood had flowed from the Muggle woman only a few nights ago.

She looked directly at him. "But you are more than that. You always have been. Here, take this plant with you for your office. It doesn't need much light." Sprout walked over towards the back, picked up something leafy, and brought it to him. "It's called heartsease. The aroma is said to bring clarity and peace to those who need it most."

Snape accepted it, though he knew it would die. Plants in his rooms always did. "Thank you," he said, though he still hated feeling obligated to anyone.

"Well, I'm turning in, Severus, and I suggest you do likewise." She began to put things away. "Isn't Dobby just outside with another set of potions for you?"

"Or Winky," he said. Once he left the greenhouse he convinced the elf he was better off drinking them in his quarters. She put the plant in his office and said she'd look after it. Good. It might have a chance, then.

As Snape lay in bed, he thought how he would attempt being civil with Lupin. He'd rather talk to the wolf in the staff room, as he disliked the idea of a sickening public display. Fortunately the DADA professor toned down his morning cheerfulness the week after his transformation. Severus grimaced, knowing he'd have to behave himself around Madam Umbridge Saturday night when he was at Malfoy Manor. Odd. Her behavior made more sense now. Her gushing over him last year hadn't, then. But it was easier for some to fix their affections on someone quite unavailable rather than take the chance of facing a real relationship. Wasn't he doing the same by loving Molly Weasley from afar? Of course, it was easier to sympathize with the woman when she wasn't actually here to plague anyone. And that wretched quill—no wonder she used it only on boys. He remembered what he'd told Draco about the war between men and women.

The next morning, he tried eating a little before going to breakfast again. He was able to get down a bit more than the day before, though the noise of the Great Hall still made his stomach churn a trifle. Another cup of tea settled it, and allowed him to eat a few more bites. Fortunately no one talked to him till he set his fork down.

He received two envelopes that morning from the Malfoy owl, and was glad he'd eaten what he could first. The first was permission to visit Lucius in Azkaban that night, with a list of the procedures he would need to follow, while the second was an invitation to Narcissa's party. Snape put them away after quietly showing them to the Headmaster. Fortunately Flitwick, on his other side, was busy gossiping with Trelawney.

The Potions Master spoke to Draco after class that afternoon. "I will be visiting your father tonight. Do you have a message for your father for me to take?"

"Only that I love him and miss him," his godson said. "I already wrote him a letter sent through Mother about your disgusting leniency towards the Gryffindors using the family code, though, and how upset I am that you've stopped our tricks against them. I also grudgingly admitted you've been sick a lot. I spent a paragraph on the meeting last weekend, and how proud we are were of you then. After all, as your apprentice your glory reflects on me. I was suitably regretful I wasn't able tp be under the guidance of a real member of the family and thought it was unfair Aunt Bella had only one while you had nine. He'll like that, don't you think?"

"I'm afraid he will," Snape said. He didn't know whether to grimace or smile in triumph at the way Draco was learning the art of intrigue. He gave the boy a pass for Transfiguration and gathered up his latest collection of essays. He knew he wouldn't sleep if he lay down, not with the visit to Lucius on his mind, and so went to the staff room to grade instead.

The staff tea was as vile as ever, but it was certainly strong. He'd been counting on that. Winky had already been told how by Poppy to brew his, and hers had little kick to it. Snape was surprised no one else was in here.

Then Lupin dragged in, still looking worn out from his latest transformation and possibly a stray hex or two from some overenthusiastic student. "Aren't we a fine pair," the werewolf said, as he sat down and poured himself a cup of tea. His nose clearly winced at its aroma.

Severus took a deep breath. "I've been meaning to ask you," he said. "How did last full moon go? I tried adding some rosemary for the taste. I was fairly certain it wouldn't affect the aconite, but if there were any problems, I can leave it out next time." He forced his hands to relax in his lap. Lupin was quite harmless for nearly a month.

"You're right, it wasn't quite as bad tasting," the DADA professor said. "I can't remember anything going wrong, and Poppy said I've recovered nicely. I would be in perfect health right now if I hadn't had to stop a practical demonstration today that went badly. I suppose it's good practice, though. I'd rather drink my potion than yours from what I've heard."

"Quite true," Snape said. "However, even the worst of the expulsion phase isn't as disruptive as your transformation, so I believe I'll keep mine." Oddly enough, Lupin _wasn't_ turning into the form of a wolf before his eyes, despite having read the book for a little bit today. He resolved to finish the wretched thing this weekend and get it over with, and patted the pocket where he was keeping a small hand-mirror just in case.

Lupin smiled wryly. "According to the latest rumor, you dissolved into a pile of black goo and had to be spoon-fed to the infirmary."

Severus snorted. "Just scraping it off my skin and throwing it up is enough. Besides, Filch would never talk to me again if he had to clean a trail of that in the hallways. Being a slimy git is more trouble than it's worth."

The werewolf laughed. "Here, let me freshen your tea."

Snape forced himself to accept the service rather than brush it off. "I think it's as bad as our potions," he said. "I believe Sinistra brewed it last week."

"Well, that explains why I have to use a knife and fork on mine." Lupin stared down at his own pile of essays, sighed, and began marking them.

Severus distracted himself from the wolf's presence by wielding a sharp pen on his. He felt a trifle constrained, since he normally spent grading time shrieking out loud at his students' stupidity, but contented himself with his usual acid comments on paper. After a while of this, he realized he wasn't nearly so tense or frightened as he had been in the wolf's presence.

And it was clear Lupin wasn't terribly happy with his own collection of drivel.

"Are they being unusually dense today, or are your students normally stupid as rocks, too?" Snape inquired, feeling an unusual wave of sympathy for the other teacher.

"Both," the wolf sighed.

"Have you done the boggart yet?"

"No. I'm repeating it for all the classes for third year and above, though."

"I…I don't mean to tell you your job," Snape said. "But I suppose I am doing so anyway. It would be best if each student faced his or her fear with only you watching. Some of my students have an _interesting_ home life. Even some from other houses might have incidents they would rather not have the entire class know about. Also, if any student cannot manage himself properly, that will be counted against them, particularly the boys. I must admit, I can't imagine what Miss Lovegood will come up with for her greatest fear, but…Miss Weasley could face something she has not seen since her first year, and I suspect she would not appreciate her friends knowing what…or _who_ it might be."

"The diary," Lupin said, his face still.

"Yes. As amusing as it might be for others to see the ghost of young Tom Riddle, I doubt she would appreciate her friends knowing. Also, since you are going to work with all the students with a Boggart, some of them have had extremely unpleasant experiences lately, Miss Edgecombe from Ravenclaw in particular. It would be best if only an Order member viewed some of those fears. A certain personage as he currently exists is likely to appear. In fact, I believe _he_ will probably replace Dementors for some, including Mr. Potter."

"I see," the wolf said soberly. "That…that sounds quite reasonable. I suppose I was quite lucky I only worked with a few students before I had to help Harry out."

"Yes." Snape left it at that. Even Longbottom's grandmother had heard about the image of him with the vulture hat, and had offered to lend him one of hers if he wished to stop the hearts of a few staff members for Christmas dinner that year. He supposed from a certain point of view the incident _had_ been funny, and it had been good for the boy. But it still rankled.

"Jacks or better to open at Hagrid's Saturday night," Lupin said, clearly changing the subject by brute force.

"Already invited out. Admittedly, I'd rather try to eat a rock cake even if you're going to be there. There is likely to be a meeting when I return from Malfoy Manor, so you should prepare an excuse to leave the game if it runs late."

Lupin nodded. "I don't see how you do it," he said. "Last year especially. Moody told me to quit whining when I complained at the start of school how teaching made it hard to keep up with other business. He conceded he couldn't schedule me for anything during actual class time, but wanted me to manage the number of patrols I did last year around it. _I_ had to remind him when the full moon was, and that's not like him. And if I couldn't eat or sleep at the safe house going back and forth…" He shook his head.

Snape braced himself for the inevitable apology and the sigh of helplessness. Then he took a deep breath himself. If the Headmaster couldn't manage Sirius Black, why should anyone expect it of Lupin? "It's easier now," he said shortly, and let it go at that. If either one of them spoke of the dog he would surely lose his temper. "I have a question," he said abruptly, desperate to change the subject. "Is Potter organizing the Drooling Amateurs again this year?"

The wolf snorted. "Yes," he said. "They've had a couple of meetings already, though attendance is down. I was able to give them some pointers at the last one. I made them go over what they did wrong at the Ministry Raid."

"I see. Mr. Malfoy wishes to organize a dueling club that isn't quite as _exclusive_, but he wanted to wait till it became clear none of his house would be offered membership in this one. When they meet, would you be available from time to time?"

Lupin hesitated. "I would have to check. I—I'm not sure a second club would be approved."

"I see." Some of his children were in far more danger now. But of course it didn't really matter, since they weren't Gryffindors. He bent back towards his essays rather than voice his concerns, which he was certain would not be listened to.

"Look, I need more practice myself. Shacklebolt's talked to me, too. He seems to think that he and I together might almost be a match for you."

"Madam Pomfrey wants me to wait," Snape said, though his weakness galled him. "However, we should probably schedule some drills anyway. Some people may not wait. It would be unfortunate if my students were unable to protect themselves. I intend to allow Mr. Malfoy to petition for the club anyway. Some of them are in just as much danger as Mr. Potter, and could use additional work." He took another breath and tried to speak with less bitterness. "Since I am considered perpetually unqualified to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, I thought to appeal to you." He bit off further words, knowing they would only get him in trouble despite the Headmaster's assurances. Snape gathered his essays together.

"I know you could teach them a lot, Severus. A Patronus charm isn't that difficult."

"If I could do one it would help." He swept his papers into his arms and stood. He had passed on a little of what he knew, but given Umbridge's use of his students against the rest of the school, had emphasized defensive spells only. The temptation might be too great for children shunned by the rest of the school to avenge themselves with the other kind.

"Wait," Lupin said. "As you know, I'm quite a Quidditch fan. I've never played much, but I have a feel for the game. In fact, I've published a few articles under a nom de plume."

"And this is important why?" He was proud at keeping his voice calm. _Poppy, if you hadn't assigned being civil to Lupin as a penance, I would have hexed him by now!_

"Young Malfoy is captain of the Quidditch team this year, right? If he decides to drill his players in secret, and perhaps some other students in case they might qualify as substitutes, I might be able to offer a few tips. I'd hate to see the quality of anyone's play go down."

Severus turned from the door and blinked. "Thank you." Then he added, "A few students from other Houses might be in attendance, if only to brush up on their skills."

Now it was Lupin's turn to look surprised. "Now I think of it, the DA is a fairly small group compared to the rest of the school. But you shouldn't have to thank me for doing my job."

"Considering the quality, or lack of it, that I've seen from others in your position, I probably should," Snape said. He didn't like feeling grateful to the wolf, but resigned himself to it. For the sake of his students he'd manage it somehow.

"I wish things had been different," the DADA professor said.

"So do I," said the Potions Master, but less bitterly than before. "And…one more thing," he said, trying to match the wolf's mood. "I…I am thankful you refrained from asking me to Black's memorial gathering, whenever you had it. I afraid I wouldn't have contributed much." There. He had actually mentioned the dog's name without spitting.

"But...well, we've never had one." Lupin looked slightly bewildered.

"What? He was your friend!" Snape had to sit down for a moment. All of Hogwarts had gathered to keep him from dying, and he knew how little he'd deserved it. The entire Order and all of Potter's friends should have been in mourning.

"Well…well, I think we're still having a hard time believing he's dead." The wolf looked quite uncomfortable now. "I mean, with no body and all."

"There's a proper rite for that, too," Severus said, still having a hard time understanding this. "And in some ways, with no body, it's far more important. Such things are for the living and not just the dead." He thought furiously. "I'm sure you've been filled in on Narcissa's suit to break the will and her suit for guardianship. If you believe both should be contested on the grounds Black could be alive, you should mention this to the Headmaster. That could delay proceedings. But…" He was still amazed to hear nothing organized had been done. "I realize you may hold out some hope, but there isn't any. If nothing else, his godson needs to mourn the dog properly, instead of having to pretend for your sakes. He was told a pack of lies about his parents as he grew up by those wretched Muggles and he shouldn't be lied to now." Snape was surprised at being angry on Potter's behalf instead of at him. "It would still be a good idea not to have me there. I'm certain he will blame me for the entire debacle. I might say a few things about your friend nobody wants to hear. It would be best to allow the boy to vent, but my reaction would not help."

He stood again, stiffly, still holding the essays. "Forgive me, Lupin. No doubt Winky is attempting to track me down to stuff yet another potion down me." It was best he left.

Lupin nodded. "Let me know about the Quidditch practices. Oh, and I do know better than to pass secrets to a rival team."

Severus forced himself to calm down. His students came first. He nodded in farewell and went out to the hall before he lost his temper. He stumbled down the hallway, still unable to comprehend that Black had yet to be formally mourned by his fellows. Even the beggars in Knockturn Alley received _some_ kind of sendoff, organized by the local merchants. His parents—his parents had been cremated while he'd been in St. Mungo's, and their ashes mingled in a cheap vase. Lucius had bought a better one, and their remains quietly buried one night in the back yard of the cottage his family had once owned, with the current inhabitants unaware of anything going on. He and Malfoy had been the only mourners, but at least his parents had been remembered.

_What will happen to me?_ Severus thought to himself as he walked towards his quarters. _If the Order can't organize a proper wake for Sirius Black, no doubt my body will be thrown in the dustbin!_ Rationally, he knew better, but he was still shaken by being around Lupin even with their conversation so much calmer than usual.

He leaned against the wall, exhausted for a moment. Snape looked around and noticed he was close to the Room of Requirement, and decided to risk entering it. _Someplace to take the taste of werewolf from me,_ he thought, _someplace I can rest a moment and think straight._

Snape walked in and saw a room lined with books, several chairs, and a very comfortable looking couch. Firenze glanced up at him. The centaur was squinting at a book propped on a tall lectern. "Professor Snape. I wanted to see you."

Well, he didn't mind seeing the Divinations Professor right now, either. The scent of the forest eased his nerves a trifle. "I notice that you are still the child of far-sighted Apollo," Snape said as he stacked the essays and set them down on a small table by the couch.

"Unfortunately. I think this print was made for goblins."

"If it's a Charms book, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised. I can't remember if Professor Flitwick is part goblin or part pixie, but either way he prefers smaller print." Severus walked over to the book and took out his wand. "_Engorgio_!" The book increased in size, as did the letters on the page. "This is not a permanent solution. Perhaps you could use Muggle reading glasses for your studies. All they do is to magnify the size of things." Magical items and magical creatures were often a bad mix.

"That is a thought. My eyes were made for the forest," Firenze said. He paused for a moment, then spoke again. "The potion you made works perfectly. I can still see the outline of an object soaked in it, but none of the foals could, save for Miss Bulstrode and a few others with nonhuman blood."

"Good. I deliver it tonight," Snape said, wishing he could avoid the trip. That was what was really bothering him, not Lupin or the lack of a funeral for Black.

"You are not well."

He sat down. "It doesn't matter. Malfoy wouldn't believe a note, but he will believe me in person. I hope the Ministry was intelligent enough to hire your fellows for guards."

"I do not know."

Snape could tell the impassive centaur hated being cut apart from his fellows. Firenze was silent as he turned the pages of the book, clearly looking for something. "Is there—do you have a problem I could help with?" he asked.

The Divinations professor shook his head. Snape waited. He, of all people, knew better than to pry. He could tell something was wrong, though. The other teacher's set face told him that. He had learned from his students to wait. He leaned back into the soft couch and allowed himself to relax. Centaurs and werewolves were natural enemies, and the part of him that had been anxious around Lupin was finally quiet.

"Not here!" Firenze said angrily, and slammed the book shut. His hooves clicked on the floor as he maneuvered around.

Snape knew what it was like to feel a prisoner here. An odd smell permeated the room, different than the usual wholesomeness around the centaur. "Are you ill?" And what would Madam Pomfrey do if the centaur was?

"No. Only the wrong season." Firenze turned his head away, as if ashamed of admitting so much.

Then Severus realized what the problem was. Centaur mares went into heat two times a year, not just one. Those who did not fill in spring offered themselves in fall. "You should be outside," he said.

"It's much worse then," the equine creature said. "The scents float on the air and I cannot go to them." His fair skin flushed red.

"I can give you a salve to put in your nose that is harsh enough to keep other smells from entering," Snape said. He checked his pockets, but he didn't have anything in them at present.

Firenze cocked his head. "That might help."

"I'll go down to my quarters and find something," Snape said, getting to his feet. "I'll have Winky bring it to you. She won't know why you need it."

"Ah. The little one. No butterbeer on her now."

"No. She…she is good to me." He gathered up his papers. "Thank you for guarding Lupin the full moon before this one," he said.

The centaur seemed calmer now. "Your nurturer spoke of what happened. No one will call you coward, I promise."

Severus was still upset at himself for showing himself so weak that night. He nodded in farewell, then went down to his quarters, feeling much better than when he'd entered the room. One more class in just a few minutes, and then he would have an hour or so till it was time for the evening meal, and a couple of hours after that before he had to leave for the prison. The boat was on a very strict schedule, and arriving early made no sense at all.

His students greeted him as he walked towards his rooms. He took heart from their concern for him, and swore inwardly to do all he could to protect them. Snape entered his quarters and received a hug from Winky, who eagerly scampered out on her errand once he'd found a few jars of salve, so the centaur would have a choice.

He knew he was running short of time for the class, and was unhappy when he couldn't find the proper lab sheet, and it wouldn't _Accio_, either. Severus ducked into his bedroom for a moment in case he'd left it in the bedclothes while grading somehow, then saw the table. He hadn't really looked at for a couple of days, but its contents struck him again with wonder.

Oh, he was glad to be proved wrong! He would not be forgotten after all.


	46. Chapter 46: Azkaban

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 46: Azkaban

Warning: the point of view of Lucius Malfoy contains discussion about slash, underage sexual activities, and proposals for the future some will find offensive.

Also, hail to Snape's Nightie and to Zafaran for their noble Brit- and word-picking. Betas are the best!

Severus Snape

"I thought you were on your way right after dinner," Dumbledore said as he sat behind his desk. "Not that I'm complaining about your presence. I did want to see how you were keeping up. I apologize for not stopping more often this week, but Poppy said it was better you rested."

"I don't meet the boat for a couple of hours yet," Snape said. "I'd rather let the food I ate digest a bit. I hate making the crossing in the dark, especially if the wind kicks up. No doubt the Ministry hopes all their visitors will get seasick and thus easier to deal with." Immediate family, such as Draco, were often allowed to use a portkey. He wasn't.

Severus glanced out the Headmaster's window. It was a beautiful Friday evening for October, far too nice to use it heading to the dreadful island prison.

Albus grimaced. "I wish you didn't have to do this. You're not really recovered from last weekend."

"Wait, there's more. I'm invited to Malfoy Manor tomorrow night as well. I showed you the invitation. I suspect the program will be a quick private conference with Narcissa to pass on any messages Lucius wanted to send her, dinner, and then a legal meeting afterwards over the state of her actions in chancery. As far she knew a couple of days ago, nothing had happened, but it's better to plan some things ahead of time."

"You must act circumspectly, Severus. People love to gossip."

Snape knew exactly what the Headmaster meant. "I am well aware of that. I plan to ask her to have Kreacher as a chaperone."

"He lied to Harry and to Sirius. He could lie about you." The old wizard looked distressed.

"Narcissa treats him much better. She's already promised him that after five years of faithful service that he may join the…other elves in Grimmauld Place. And since we will be plotting how to acquire it, he is not likely to interfere." He decided to address something else he was certain Albus was worried about. "Lucius had me promise to protect her while he was in prison, Headmaster. I know what he will do to her and to any man involved if she isn't faithful to him. He won't be in prison long. Frankly, I'm surprised he's still there." Severus hoped Dumbledore wouldn't bring up what would happen on Malfoy's release. He preferred to leave that subject alone for as long as possible.

From what he saw of the Headmaster's expression, Albus felt the same way. "Do you know who else will be there?" the old wizard asked.

"Madam Umbridge. Pity I can't take any anti-nausea potions, either tonight or tomorrow. After the Minister leaves, there may be _other_ guests. However, Narcissa still hasn't found the key to the wards on the Manor. When Draco is home for Christmas, she'll have him try. They may be linked to Malfoy blood only. If the boy can bring them down, her next soiree might be of great interest to the Aurors."

"Why can't she hold one of her larger receptions?"

"I think Lucius has told her to leave off till he returns home. She must _appear_ respectful of his wishes. I know Mr. Weasley would love to have another raid, though I doubt he'd find anything unless the wards are down." Severus thought of something. "I wonder if the wards limit female guests? Narcissa has never had trouble with any coming to her afternoon teas. In fact, I believe Mrs. Weasley has been there several times. Percy Weasley was a guest of Draco's last summer, but his Dark Mark probably confirmed his bona fides. No matter what anyone tries, though, it will probably work only once." Snape would be ecstatic if Arthur Weasley could find enough evidence to put Lucius through the Veil, or at least confine him for the next several years. But the older man had tried to enter the grounds of Malfoy Manor just last month, only to find himself transported to Bermuda. It had taken Molly's husband most of a day to figure out how to return to England.

Albus cleared his throat. "When your health is better, would you mind being a lookout for Mr. Weasley? Some contraband is entering Knockturn Alley again and it's possible Malfoy is helping through his business contacts there."

Snape almost laughed. "And the sun rises every morning, more or less."

"Yes, I can tell you're shocked," the Headmaster said dryly. "But Arthur doesn't know the area nearly as well as he thinks he does. I know the place is a reminder of unhappier times for you, but it would only be a couple of nights per month."

"I see the fine hand of Molly Weasley in this," Severus said. "No doubt she thinks one snakebite is enough. I have ideas along the same line. Mr. Andreas is a first year student from Knockturn. He's told me the names of some of his friends there. You impressed him a great deal, sir. I taught him a preservation spell for the lemon drop you gave him after noticing the lint on it the last time I had him turn out his pockets. It could be worth our while to purchase the loan of some of the boys now working for Mr. Bartholomew as well. They see a great deal, and could report some of it to us as well as to the old man."

"I've read some Muggle stories about a great detective who organized boys like that. Reading about the old days brings back so many memories."

Snape had run into the tales as well, though it startled him once again to realize Dumbledore had actually lived through those times. "'They see, but they do not observe,'" he quoted. "But I shan't be quite as particular. Both girls and boys live in Knockturn, though girls are more closely watched. They're more valuable untouched, you see."

Albus looked startled. No doubt he'd never considered the matter. Severus was not about to enlighten him. It felt odd to realize he had any sort of experience the ancient Headmaster didn't already know about after so many years.

"It's not just pureblood families who guard young ladies more carefully," Dumbledore murmured. "I thought times had changed, given the conduct of the younger generation and especially the attitudes of the Muggleborn. When I was young, it was considered quite normal for young men to be experienced and young women not to be, at least at the time of marriage. Hogwarts was able to pick and choose its students more then, and the conduct of the lower classes didn't matter. Things were a trifle more orderly then."

Snape knew he wouldn't have been accepted into the school so long ago. "Knockturn Alley, among other places, helps to supply the women who allow the young men their experience," he said. "Virgins still cost most, though it's generally older men who seek them." He wouldn't have one on a silver platter. He quickly glanced down at the papers to distract his musings from plumper, older women such as Gerta, or Molly. Longbottom's diagrams, fortunately, drove such thoughts from his mind. He didn't know if the older wizard would be relieved he wasn't lusting after Narcissa or annoyed because he cared for Mrs. Weasley so much.

"What's that?" Dumbledore asked.

The Potions Master noticed the old wizard's ears had gone pink. He offered the lab notebook to the Headmaster. ""Mr. Longbottom is doing better this year. He works on his potions much more slowly, and often doesn't finish. Given the alternative, I have not complained. I plan to offer him a chance to work on potions in the evenings with Winky to supervise. Professor Sprout has offered to supply plants to put in the area, since there is the possibility they stabilize the boy's erratic magic. Now he has a wand suited to him, I understand he's doing better in other classes as well. However, I'd rather not take any chances. In fact, Sprout says she wants to breed plants which thrive on potions accidents to help clean the air."

Albus looked startled. "You've clearly put some thought into this. Won't you find watching him aggravating?"

"This is why Winky is going to do it. I'll be in the next room in case of serious accident. I hope the elf will plague the boy with a dozen questions. This will force him to explain what he's doing and why. Since he made an O on his Potions OWL, he clearly brews better without my hovering presence. I want him to start on simple ones, first. This way he'll gain confidence he can manage without exploding anything before moving on to this year's set."

"Well, I must say this is a pleasant surprise," the old wizard said. "But what are these drawings for?"

"They appear to be diagrams to help him set up his ingredients before lighting off his cauldron. When he brews in the evenings, he'll have the whole table to himself to arrange everything properly in front of him, rather than deal with the drawing alone. But there's something familiar about the way he's doing this, and I can't think what. With your years of experience, I hoped you could remember something you've seen that I haven't."

Dumbledore paged through the notebook. "I think you're right, Severus. Let me take a look at these for a bit." His eyes went vague, no doubt lost in the lumber-room of his memory.

The room fell silent. Snape watched as the Headmaster lay the notebook down on his desk and played with a few of his lemon drops. First he placed one over to the left side of the open notebook on his desk, and then a second one next to it. His face lit up as he placed a third one to the right. "The Skilboard System!" The old wizard's eyes lit up. "I wonder if…no, let me look…" He abruptly left his chair and went out a side door that Snape hadn't known existed, let alone seen open.

The Potions Master listened to Dumbledore mumbling to himself, then to a crash, followed by a muffled expletive that caused the dust filtering out of the doorway to turn blue. A small insect too stupid to stay out of it vanished in a tiny flash when it flew into the tinted dust.

Albus emerged with a triumphant look on his face as he held a box with mold on the corners. "I thought I still had a set of the tiles!"

"What tiles?"

The Headmaster sat down at his desk again and opened the box. "Centuries ago, not every brewer knew how to read or write. A true Master either had an incredible memory or knew how to use the tiles to keep incompatible ingredients apart. They can also be used for timing procedures. Look at the symbols on these tiles."

Snape recognized a few of them as shorthand from older textbooks.

Dumbledore continued. "Schools like Hogwarts emphasized literacy, but two or three centuries ago, a set of tiles was as common as scales, knife and cauldron to any professional." He spread the clattering stone—no, bone—tiles out over his desk. "This set used to belong to Flamel, made from the remains of a mammoth found in the ice somewhere."

Snape thought of another source of bone he wouldn't mind using, but decided any potions made with the help of _that_ skeleton would likely be cursed. He took a deep breath and rose from his seat to look at these tiles more closely.

"Part of the old Potions NEWT was a test on the symbols on the tiles," the Headmaster continued. "The final step from journeyman to master was not only to devise a new potion, as you and I did, but to create one's own set of tiles and properly enchant them. In fact, they were often used as clocks, since the next ingredient tile to go into a cauldron would glow at least five minutes before it needed to go in, turn red at the right moment, and turn black when it was unsafe to put it in from too much delay."

"Like a Rememberall, only actually useful," Snape said. "But I don't see any tiles with wand symbols on them. Granted, I tell the first years 'no foolish wand waving', but obviously the more advanced potions require it."

"That's one of the reasons increasing literacy became an advantage over the tiles," Dumbledore said. "But if Mr. Longbottom ends up in anything but Herbology, I will be quite surprised. If he created his own set of tiles, however rudimentary, it is far more likely he'll make it through Potions these last two years.

"But Severus, I am very happy with you. It would be quite easy for you to allow the boy to limp along and not make a fuss as long as he didn't melt anything. This way it's far more likely he will really learn something and not just fill a seat."

Snape warmed himself at the praise, then remember he probably wouldn't have bothered without Poppy assigning him penance for the deaths at his hands. Would Lupin have volunteered to offer 'Quidditch tips' to his Slytherins if he had snarled as he usually did at the wolf? _I almost wonder what sort of benefit I will gain by seeing Lucius tonight._ "Anything which helps that dunderhead understand what he's doing is worth the trouble," he said. "If he had a decent memory, I would likely be content with him learning the most important potions by rote. Obviously he managed his OWLS well enough. Mr. Weasley, if he brews at all, will know the work through his fingertips, as the saying goes. I am trying to impress on Mr. Malfoy that his wealth may not be eternal, and his skills may yet be necessary for starting over. Miss Granger, of course, enjoys academic challenges for their own sake and not just for the teacher's praise. This is true of Mr. Zabini as well, and for most of the Ravenclaws. I do not understand Miss Lovegood at all, and I suspect I am not alone."

"And Mr. Potter?"

Well, he knew that question was coming. But it didn't bother him as much as usual, and this time he had an answer. "I don't know. He seems upset that even his red-haired friend appears to be doing better. I don't know if it will sustain him for the year. His temper has been much better. You don't need to say anything, Albus, because I know about mine." The nightmares had been dreadful, but perhaps only such harshness would have made him pay attention. He thought for a moment. "Perhaps I ought to run a short course in emergency potions to be made quickly. If I can relate it to Quidditch or something dangerous, he might pay more attention. I wish Poppy would run a first-aid course again for all the older students. She could always begin with the sort normally caused by Bludgers and whatnot, and proceed from there to other problems. I suspect if we can work in Acromantula stings Mr. Weasley will pay attention! I could teach the potions most often used for accidents at the same time to reinforce her lessons. Most of them know there's a war on, Headmaster, but are afraid to talk about it. Knowing there is something practical they can do will help everyone."

"Harry has good reason to be frightened," Dumbledore said. "One of the reasons he wrecked my office at the end of last term was because I told him about his role in the Prophecy."

That actually sounded reasonable. "You know my opinion already about forcing someone his age into such a role," the Potions Master said carefully. "However, he _is_ trying to learn this year. I only hope it continues."

"I like your ideas, and I'll talk them over with Poppy." Albus stared down at his desk. "And I forced _you_ into a role just as dangerous when you were not much older."

Snape was quite surprised to find that still bothered the old wizard. "I was already in hell, sir. It was only right to make myself useful there."

The clock chimed. Severus felt a sharp tug of fear inside. "I need to go now, Headmaster."

"Must you?"

"Yes." Snape couldn't say anything more. Albus knew too much now. He stood.

"I'll ask Winky to have some ice cream waiting for you. We all know how much you love being on a boat, even if not going to that dreadful place." Dumbledore's voice was gentle.

"I'm glad I was able to digest some of my dinner before watching it go over the side." With that, he went down to the dungeons, threatened his Slytherins soundly, and picked up the vial he needed to deliver to Lucius. Severus bundled up for the walk, as clouds were moving in. Once again, he wished he'd remembered the Cleansweep Madam Hooch allowed him to use. As soon as he reached the other side of the barrier, he Apparated and landed near the dock for the last boat going out to Azkaban.

He gazed out at the dark water as the boat left, and wondered how long the island would remain undiscovered by the Muggles. From what he'd heard, they were drilling for oil in the North Sea. How far would their explorations reach? Arthur Weasley had shown him an article about things called 'drones' that crept underwater like trained rats. Would the repelling charms have to be extended to the ocean floor? Would the Muggles notice their machines stopped working at a certain point and become curious?

Snape knew some witches and wizards were far too dangerous to go free, or had to be punished for their crimes, but he couldn't regret it if Azkaban had to be abandoned.

He remembered the first time he'd been on this boat. Moody had had him in chains and a body bind, as well as a muffling charm to stifle his protests. The boatmaster had spoken to no one, and was silent now. He had been a visitor once or twice before as well. Severus was almost glad of the nausea that forced him to hang onto the side and lean over, though a borrowed oilskin and a chanted Spray-Away charm kept the worst from him.

_There won't be any Dementors this time,_ he reminded himself. He tried to force his mind onto other subjects than his visit with Lucius to keep the cold dread away. Azkaban had been hailed as a sign of progress centuries ago. Before, many had gone through the Veil only to be discovered innocent later. Too late.

_They would have sent me through long before Dumbledore could rescue me. Hagrid might have gone through. As for Sirius Black—well, he ended up there anyway._ Terror numbed his hatred of the dog. Perhaps it had been cowardly to leave Grimmauld Place any time he saw Black had been drinking, but if he'd stayed, he would have been blamed for losing his temper, as always. _Potter will always blame me for his godfather's death,_ he thought gloomily, remembering how hard he'd tried to stay civil when begging the mutt to stay in the house. _At least Lupin was a witness to it, though I daresay he hasn't mentioned anything to the boy. Much easier for the wolf to keep in Potter's good graces by forgetting things. At least I'm not being defied in class to my face these days. A pity the school doesn't have a boxing team._

A sudden change in direction made him lose the tenuous control he had over his stomach, and his mouth dripped with bile after he'd lost his dinner. Fortunately, he had also brought a flask of hot tea. Rinsing his mouth with some helped.

At last they reached the tiny harbor which received new prisoners, change of guards, and occasional visitors. He surrendered his wand and the flask at the first station, but was surprised he wasn't searched. Just as well. A skin search would reveal the little surprise he had for Lucius. However, as soon as he mentioned he was here to see Malfoy, the guards left him alone.

One made a comment. "You were number 319, weren't you? Special Section, too."

"Yes." Snape nearly assumed the straight stance and bowed head for inspection.

"Must be nice to have friends," the guard—Robinson?—muttered, then stepped back.

How true. He kept quiet, though. He didn't have to cringe, but he needed to show these men respect. He already knew some guards liked to play, and loved to find an excuse.

"Pass," Robinson growled. "But we'll keep an eye on you." He flipped the charmed metal slab that would serve as his ticket for the next set of guards at the Potions Master.

Snape caught it, inclined his head, then moved on through the courtyard to the actual entrance. Fortunately the Spray-Away spell stopped the rain and some of the wind as well. He was pleased to notice a couple of centaurs as outside guards. They wore heavy weather gear on their human halves and let their coats go shaggy on the equine part. _Amazing! Moody actually listened to me! I suppose it had to happen sometime._ He was also glad Firenze had helped him make the changes needed to the potion he brought with him. And since he hadn't been searched, he wouldn't have to ask Draco or Narcissa to bring it and risk them being caught with the vial.

He entered the second station at the entrance and received an escort once he gave up the enchanted bit of steel which was his pass. Severus wished he could stop trembling as he walked down the hall towards Malfoy's cell. _There are no Dementors here. Moody isn't here either. Robinson and his wonderful friends left me alone. I am safe. They will let me go tonight, unless the weather is too bad, and then I will stay in guest quarters. I am safe,_ he recited to himself.

The silent guard unlocked the cell. Snape entered it, and realized he shouldn't be surprised to see his old friend in a small, pleasant room. "Lucius," he said, then was invited to sit on the extra chair on the other side of a table that ran the length of the room.

The door closed behind him.

Lucius Malfoy

Lucius Malfoy stood and invited his guest to sit. Severus looked even worse than he had last spring. His old friend was all bones, with even less flesh than usual, and seemed glad to get off his feet. No doubt Sev had fed the fish all the way during the crossing. Even his voice didn't sound as rich as it usually did.

"Severus, have a glass of wine."

Snape shook his head. "I won't be able to keep it down," he said. "I'm sorry I haven't visited before."

"I can see why." Malfoy poured himself some Montrachet. It was nice the Ministry allowed Narcissa to supply him with a few comforts. Then he remembered, and turned the last one quarter to the left. "Now we can speak more freely. You've seen this item in my study."

Severus smiled a little. Lucius prided himself that the other Slytherin rarely smiled for anyone else. "Good. I have messages for you," the Potions Master said. "Your wife misses you, and eagerly awaits your return. She has shown only faithfulness."

"I'm told she looks on you with great fondness," Malfoy teased. Despite the elf's allegiance to the House of Black, Kreacher saw everything that happened at the Manor.

"Perhaps she does, but I do not see it," Severus said. "I promised to keep her safe while you were gone."

Lucius smiled. Once he was out of here, he'd find a way for Narcissa to have what she wanted and to reward Severus for his loyalty. All eyes were on a pureblood women unprotected by her husband. No matter how discreet his beloveds might be, others would learn of their folly. So would he. Everyone's reputations would suffer. He was glad to learn he need not worry. "And so you have. Some thought I was mad to trust you with my son, and now with my wife, but I can't think of anyone more qualified to protect both of them. Others have not been so fortunate. Be sure I will remember your service once I am free."

"I don't do it for rewards." The solemn younger wizard looked offended.

"I know," Lucius said softly. "That's what makes you all the more precious. There are too many who can be bought by the highest bidder."

Severus bowed his head, obviously overcome by the compliment.

"How is Draco?"

Snape looked up, pride on his face. "He is well. He's becoming tall for a Seeker, so I'm looking for a private coach to help the Slytherin team with their tactics."

"That reminds me," Malfoy said. "I read an article in the sports section of the Prophet last year about the Mudlarks. The one they have is almost your height, and the writer had some interesting points about how their Seeker could compensate. Unfortunately, the name was a pseudonym, and nobody would tell me who it really was."

"I'll have to ask Madam Hooch. She probably knows who it is."

"In more ways than one!" They both laughed.

Snape cleared his throat. "I brought something for you I'd rather you kept quiet about. Your son said he wasn't searched, but I hid this rather well since they might have made an exception for me. Would you mind turning your back?"

"As if I haven't seen everything already!" Lucius said with a grin. "However, I don't mind, even if I think it's silly." It always amazed him how Severus pretended to so much modesty given their past history, but it hurt nothing to indulge the man. He swiveled himself around to look at his bed. Ah, what a pity the other Slytherin was clearly too ill to help him check its sturdiness!

"All right," his friend said after a couple of moments.

Malfoy faced forward. A small bottle stood on the desk, smelling of wool and potions ingredients. "Oh? What treat have you brought me to help while away the long hours?"

"Not a treat, just a standard Invisibility Potion. It's three drops per dose, as you should remember, so there should be enough for everyone."

Something was going to happen, at last! He quickly removed the vial and placed it behind the Chateau Lafite-Rothschild in the small cabinet. "When should I use it?" he asked carefully.

"I am not certain. I don't know what the signal will be yet. However, I should stay alert during the next several full moons. The attack may resemble one made by werewolves, and allow a certain Minister more support in her desire to register all Dark creatures. This, in turn, will drive them into our waiting arms."

Lucius beamed. "Neatly planned! I have also heard that our Lord has seen fit to reward you and bring you deeper into the fold. You've been worthy for such a long time." He reached over and caressed Sev's thin cheek. "I dreamed of you just a few days ago. I've missed you so."

"And I you." Snape's black eyes turned darker than ever, though it didn't seem possible.

"A pity I wasn't allowed to see you kill. I heard you were your usual efficient self at the ceremony. I really wish I could have seen that Cruciatus you showed our Lord last summer. I didn't know you could _do_ that with the spell."

Severus grimaced. "I didn't know it, either. See what happens when I let my temper get the best of me?"

"As long as it's in _his_ service, I doubt anyone will mind. I hope the old fool didn't hear about it and punish you for it, though."

"He wasn't pleased." Snape stared down at the floor.

"I don't see how you have lasted there so long. Now, really, I must insist you have a glass of wine. It will probably settle your stomach, not upset it. Since I know how you love being on a boat, you may as well enjoy the hour or so you spend here before you must return."

Sev reluctantly took the wine, which Lucius had discreetly fortified with a little Calming Potion from his private store here. He hadn't really expected Snape to visit at all, given the other wizard's terrible memories of this place. "I've missed you so," he said. "I won't ask you to risk being found in an embarrassing position, not with the guards outside. If you could take off that wretched cloak, though, I'll make sure you stay warm enough."

Snape removed the heavy outdoor cloak and laid it down on the floor. He still wore the many-buttoned Potions gear that was undoubted a second skin to the man by now.

Lucius waited. As he hoped, Severus began undoing buttons, one by one, slowly revealing the white linen shirt beneath. Unfortunately, he stopped there.

"Well, I'll have to make do with remembering what's underneath, I suppose," Malfoy said. He noticed the shirt hung loosely. Too loosely. His lover hadn't had any weight to spare before. "You're still not sick from what the rat and my idiot sister-in-law did to you, are you?" If they'd permanently damaged his favorite toy, he would have vengeance.

"No. I'm still undergoing tortures from the Swiss instead, in the form of that horrible potions regime they're inflicting on me."

"I see." Perhaps the Calming Potion had not been a good idea after all. Lucius had only a hazy idea of how some potions interacted, but knew some combinations could be deadly. "Should you be teaching this year?"

"No. But I serve our Lord best by staying close to the Headmaster's side, and overseeing the education of the new apprentices. Pettigrew has nothing to teach young Mr. Weasley, but at least he didn't throw the boy to the wolves the way Lestrange did to Miss Edgecombe."

"_What_?" Malfoy had heard nothing of that.

"After the ceremony was over, we were asked to stay behind and work out plans for your escape. The rest of the Death Eaters present were sent to the entertainment. I made sure my Slytherins did _not_ attend, but Bella was not so careful. Unfortunately, Miss Edgecombe was mistaken for a Muggle and was badly hurt. I spent most of last week trying to convince people neither I nor any of the Slytherin boys were responsible. I'm afraid a couple of them may still be under suspicion, especially after she tried to slice herself up in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. She still refused to say anything, as a loyal supporter ought. No pureblood maiden—well, former maiden, now—should have to endure such treatment!"

"I always knew Bella was an idiot!" Lucius snarled. He knew he was out of luck for tonight. Such incidents always bothered the Potions Master more than most. "The woman shouldn't be in charge of a used wine cork! I know our Lord thinks highly of her, but something must be done. Even if the silly brat was sorted Ravenclaw and was a member of that idiotic DA, she still saw the light and should have been treated with more respect. I hope there won't be any permanent consequences."

"No, I took care of that," his friend said with a sneer. "Pomfrey allowed me to compound the healing potion for the girl. It's a fairly standard mix for the circumstances anyway."

"I don't see how you manage there." Lucius shook his head. "A pity Draco wasn't her apprentice instead. She wouldn't hurt him as much, and you could still teach him everything he needs to know. You look worn to death, Severus."

"It can't be helped."

"Well, I won't ask for anything tonight. Just sit there, close your eyes, and relax. Pretend this room is one of the smaller studies at the Manor, and we're both making an early night of it. Yes, that's right," he added as Snape leaned back in the chair and let his eyes droop. "Don't worry if you fall asleep. I'll keep watch." At times Severus was all fire and passion, and others when the man only wanted to feel safe, something that could never happen at Hogwarts. _It took me long enough to learn it,_ Lucius thought, _but the dividends have always been sweet._

Snape's eyes were closed and his breathing became deep and measured. The wine and the Calming Potion were finally taking effect. _It will have to be enough just to look at him tonight. He nearly died almost a month ago, or so Draco told me. I believe it now. Even now he stirs my blood like no other. I saw the bronzes by the Muggle sculptor Rodin years ago—he's the one artist that could do justice to my Severus. When he is a hundred, he'll look much the same as he does now, while my own good looks will be only a memory. A pity Riddle thinks only of immortality for himself. His current state is not a good advertisement for it._

"I dreamed of you a few nights ago," Lucius repeated softly. "You were lying beside me, giving off heat like a furnace the way you always do, and both our Marks burned like coals. We'd just left the bath together, and your skin was like silk between the scars. Even your breath smelled like perfume to me.

"And then I woke up here, and I swear my heart was broken. Sometimes I'm still astonished you grew as tall as you did." His own breathing became faster as Malfoy remembered their past encounters. "You were such a tiny thing, even for a first year, when I first taught you how to please me." He spoke very softly now. He didn't want Severus to wake up, especially not now when he was so hard he thought his breeches would burst. He allowed his hand to wander below the table and caress the cloth that covered his growing erection.

"Oh, how you wanted my love then," he whispered as he quickly unbuttoned his flap. "You took to my bed like a fish to water. What a wriggly armful you were! I was so happy to show you what pleasure was like. I hated the Leaving Feast my seventh year, because I knew how difficult it would be for us to see each other again. But then your parents died, and you were mine again, at least during the summers and holidays. I've been tempted to write to this Longbottom person you whine about, and let him know how many things you melted in the lab at the Manor, I swear!

"I'm so glad Father listened to me," Lucius continued. "He knew before he died you were going to serve our Lord. I was so proud when I saw you take the Mark without a sound, though we all knew how much it hurt. Of course, those wretched Marauders did half my work for me! I found out how they treated you, yes, and Dumbledore too, even though you were too proud to tell me. But once you were Marked, it was even better for us." He took another deep breath as he stroked himself. It was much too easy to imagine the hard muscles underneath the white shirt and the dark pants, buttoned even at the ankle.

He remembered taking almost half an hour undoing all those wretched little buttons last year. Snape had been as eager as he was once he'd released the last one. For a moment Lucius held his right hand over his Mark and concentrated. No response. Ah well, it wouldn't be fair to inflict desire on the other wizard while he was too ill to do anything about it. _Once I'm out of here, things will be different._

He remembered other things from last year. Severus had finally come back to him after over a decade of absence. _I felt as if I danced on top of crusted lava that could fail at any time and dump me into magma,_ he thought. The Mark connection still worked, but last year Snape had fought it, trying to force his own will back. _How I enjoyed those fights!_ They had made up splendidly in bed after them. It was like poking a tiger between the bars, and hoping the claws would not reach between them. _I needed healing potions myself a few times, but it was certainly worth it!_ Ah, the feel of those sensual lips, and the delights of impaling himself on that bony arse! He missed Narcissa's tender arms as well. Perhaps when he returned he could arrange for all three of them to be in the same bed at once. And if his wife somehow conceived a darker child, then—well, Snape was a Potions Master and deserved an heir of his own. Narcissa could have the joy of rearing another child, while Severus could 'adopt' his own get as a successor. Draco would have to be told the truth, of course; the boy wasn't as silly as he sometimes looked, and would ask far too many questions otherwise. Yet by the time anything like that could happen, the Dark Lord would rule Wizarding Britain and would likely approve. Snape would likely be obliged to marry, of course, but Lucius knew where the man's true desires lay.

How glorious that night would be, all three of them mingled together! Both his sweets at the same time. He'd start with watching the two of them together, and then—

Lucius threw his head back in soundless triumph as he finished. Naturally he had no wand, but a handy rag cleaned up the mess. He'd put that in his fireplace. Too many unpleasant charms could be managed with his seed. He buttoned himself back again, though he would be better satisfied with being out of here and Severus in his bed where he belonged.

How he ached just to touch the man…but a guard could come in at any time. In fact, they were supposed to observe any meeting through a spyhole, even those with his wife. He'd paid them enough to put a stop to _that_! Still, it had been worth it, even with his friend too ill to act as anything more but an inspiration.

A knock sounded on the door. Lucius turned his lamp back to its normal position. "You must wake up, Severus," he said in a normal voice. "It's time."

Snape opened his eyes and stood. "I didn't meant to fall asleep on you. What a rude guest you must think me!"

"Be as rude as you like!" Malfoy said with a snort.

Then Severus looked directly at him, his black eyes hot. "I dreamed of you, too," he said in a voice that would seduce a saint.

Unfortunately, the door opened. Snape quickly put on his Potions robe, still unbuttoned, and then his weather cloak.

Now Lucius didn't know if his Sev had really been asleep or not. He'd be up, in more than one way, half the night trying to decide just how much the other Slytherin had heard him say. He hadn't made any promises about Narcissa out loud, or had he?

He laughed. "You bastard," he said to the closed door. "I suppose that's why I love you."

Severus Snape

He was lucky Malfoy had given him a Calming Potion along with the wine—even with the nausea from the boat trip still bothering him, his body might have reacted to the other man's charming recital otherwise. It had been a struggle to pretend to be asleep. _I ought to look through the magazine Filch gave me soon,_ he thought.

Snape walked back down the hall with a different guard for escort. He could not think of what possessed him to make that last remark. He'd felt Malfoy's attempts to pass on his lust through the Mark, but he'd been able to block it this time. Perhaps the stronger bond to the Dark Lord had made a difference. He wished his body would lose the habit of responding to anything Malfoy did.

At last he was on the boat again. Apparently the storm had moved south onto land. Snape was glad, though he knew he'd still end up hanging onto the side again. Watching the shadowy outline of Azkaban receding in the distance was one of the finest sights he'd ever known.

He hadn't been able to watch anything the first time he'd left the place. Severus had been told later he'd been in the cabin, Dumbledore by his side trying desperately to rouse him. _I was in the Dark Place then,_ he thought. He had vague memories of the old wizard hovering over him then, but nothing anyone said had made sense. It wasn't till he'd been in St. Mungo's for a week, or so he'd been told, that he had begun responding intelligently again. Albus had refused to allow him to testify before the Wizengamot on health grounds then, and had gone himself to speak when Karkaroff had been brought before them. By that time he was in Poppy's care again, and not allowed to take a step out of the infirmary till she said he could. _I know every crack in the ceiling in the place by now, either out in the ward or in the private room,_ he thought.

But every time he had to visit the place, there was a chance they would not let him go. There were times he had to risk it anyway, and this had been one of them. Lucius would have accepted the vial from Draco or Narcissa, but this way Malfoy had no doubt. And his old friend clearly had a very good memory. He would know who had bothered to see him once he was finally released.

At last he was on shore again, and free. He was soaked from the spray, but he didn't care. He really should have taken the time to button up his Potions robe, but he didn't realize so much would get through the outer cloak. Snape rested for a few moments on an old bench by the harbor before he dared to Apparate.

Once back in the Forbidden Forest, he realized where the storm had gone. Lashing wind and rain beat at him, and he shivered. All he could think of was to get to shelter and a hot bath. Normally he would have gone straight to the castle, but his strength was fading fast. When he reached Hagrid's hut, he knocked, hoping the half-giant would hear the sound over the fury of the wind.

At last the door opened. "Get in, perfesser," Hagrid said, pulling him inside. "It's right nasty out. Nobody told me you'd been sent for."

"Had to visit someone," Snape said, now shaking uncontrollably. His teeth chattered.

"And catch your death of cold. Off with those wet things. They can dry by the fire."

He didn't argue, but stripped and wrapped himself in one of Hagrid's oversized bathrobes. It didn't drag too much on the floor of the cottage, but he could have wrapped up half the Slytherin Quidditch team in it along with him.

His host put him in the chair closest to the fire. "Now sit, and hev somethin' hot to drink. No arguments when I put a drop or two in. Firewhiskey's the best cure for chills."

Severus drank the whiskey-laced tea as if it were one of his potions. "Thank you, Hagrid. It was so fine earlier this evening, I didn't expect it to blow up like this."

"This time of year, the weather does what it likes," rumbled the giant. "Been up north, have you?"

"You could say that." Snape knew Hagrid didn't care to hear much about the prison.

The huge groundskeeper sat, bowed his head, and sighed. "Well, you came to see _me_ when it was my turn there, Dementors and all…but you showin' up with a flask was mighty welcome, I can tell you that. And knowin' how much you hate the place, well, I din't expect it. So, who was it you saw?"

"Malfoy." All joy left him. True, there had been no Dementors there tonight, as there had been for his visit to Hagrid during Draco's second year. Yet he felt worse now.

"I'd say let him rot, but…well, you don't let friends go like that. Even nasty ones like him." Hagrid sat on his chair and stared into the fire.

"Where does Grawp stay in bad weather?" Snape wanted to change the subject.

"He likes it, the young idiot! But he's got a cave with more room than this for when it's really bad. Here, lemme top off your cup there."

Snape numbly held it out. The fiery spirit helped dispel the chill that threatened to settle in his bones and chest. Fang came over and lay his head on his lap. He'd been neglecting that part of Poppy's orders, and it was a comfort to have the silly dog shed and drool on him. "I came to your hut whenever I returned from visiting Malfoy last year, too," he said, letting his shoulders slump. "Or whenever I couldn't stand Grimmauld Place any more. I used up some of your jug then."

Hagrid was quiet, and looked down inside his mug.

"I know, I don't normally drink spirits. But I had to wash the taste of Lucius out of my mouth." Sometimes literally. He didn't know why he was confessing so much to the half-giant, only that it was right to do so.

"Why don't you drink, perfesser? Long legs like yours can hold a lot."

Snape stared into the flames. "People in my family drink too much. They don't stop. Trelawney was like that last year, no matter how she tried to hide it. I had to talk to her, even though she didn't listen to me till Umbridge was gone." He remembered all the times when Mother had been too 'ill' to do anything but lie in bed. Or the times when Father tried to make her stop, only to lose his temper or to leave again. "Sometimes I think I'm just as bad. When I drink, _I_ don't stop." It didn't happen often, but when he broke, he was as sodden as she had been.

"Do…do you think less of me?"

"I didn't even know you drank till I came back as a teacher," Severus said, as he understood what Hagrid was asking. "I've never seen you the worse for it. It wasn't till then I knew people _could_ drink, and stop when they had enough."

"What about the Malfoys?"

"Oh, they talk about how civilized they are! They lose their beautiful manners when they've drunk too deeply, though." Lucius certainly did. "You're the one person who made me realize it wasn't the alcohol, but what was in the people themselves. It was strange to me to see anyone who did drink heavily and didn't…didn't become someone else. But you're always the same."

"Aww…" Hagrid turned bright red.

Snape drank some more of the fortified tea. "I have to be at Malfoy Manor tomorrow night and pretend some more. At least Narcissa doesn't insist on putting anything but pumpkin juice in my glass. But sometimes…sometimes _someone else_ does." His hands shook with fear. "I know why he does it. That only makes it worse." He finished his cup. "You have no idea how much I would rather be here instead, trying to decide if Flitwick is bluffing when he whistles, or just pretending."

Hagrid quietly removed the cup and handed it back, full again. "Drink up, perfesser. You're not going anywhere tonight, 'cept back to your rooms, and you'll need to be warmed up proper before we go out in the weather again. Or bunk down here, Fang'll move over."

Severus closed his eyes and held the warm cup in his hands. "I hope I don't have to go anywhere else tonight. Sometimes my arm hurts so much when I'm summoned I wonder how much I need it. But it was so awkward when I had to wear that sling last summer, I know it's stupid to think like that." He drank eagerly, hoping he could stop thinking for a while. Just…stop.

Hagrid was silent. Then he spoke. "So, any plans for Christmas this year? I know it's early, but it's the best time of the year for some. Me and Dad would pull the decorations out the day after Halloween. We'd work on fixing the old ones up, or carve new ones if they were too worn out."

Snape blessed this attempt to change the subject. "I'm sure the Headmaster has it all planned out for me," he said acidly. Then he softened his tone. "I can only remember a few years when things went right for us. Mother would put the matryoshka up nine days before Christmas, and each day would let out one of the smaller dolls, till we were down to the angel, which came out on Christmas Eve." He sighed. "It was lost for a long time after they died. I didn't find it again till just a few years ago, in the back of a shop in Diagon Alley. And then only eight of the dolls were there. I still haven't found the angel one, but it was so small it might have been destroyed or lost by now. But she only did that a few times. Most years she was too—too sick to do anything. When I was older, I tried to remember the doll for her."

"What's a matry—whatever that is?"

"It looks like a big doll, but you open it up and there's another one inside. Then you open _that_ one, and so on, till all of them are standing next to each other. They're all different from each other, but they all belong. Come down to the dungeons, and I'll show you. I keep it up where the students can't find it, and the house elves know better than to touch it."

"Didn't your da take care of things when your mum was sick?"

"He was gone a lot," Snape said. He could trust Hagrid with the truth. "The family lost everything but a little cottage I barely remember because they were on the wrong side of the Grindelwald War. Father couldn't find a wife with a good dowry, and latched onto my mother when she and her house elf had to flee Russia. The Muggles called it the Doctors' Plot, but Stalin was really going after witches and wizards. Mother and Dushka were the only members of the family who weren't executed or sent to the camps. I suppose even the cottage looked like a castle to her after that. But Father wasn't happy with it. He tried every scheme he could think of to become rich again, and they all failed. We lost the cottage and kept moving, till we ended up on Knockturn Alley."

"But they have Christmas there, too," protested the half-giant.

"I know. One year it was good for us as well. Mother told me I was going to have a little sister, and Father found some potions work. We were happy…" Snape remembered smiles and laughter, instead of arguments and tears. And then, how it changed. "My sister…she didn't live long. I don't know why she died, but Mother was so sick. By that time Father had sold Dushka. From what I learned later, he also stole from the shop where he worked to help pay for the healer and the funeral, though of course he brewed all the potions himself." He closed his eyes, unable to erase the memory of the little white coffin with flowers and ribbon on it. Father had left them seeking other work and fleeing his former employer, and his mother hadn't been able to leave her bed. That had been the first time he'd walked across the street with less than he'd needed to buy Mother's 'medicine'. The old man had simply set up a tick sheet for them, and hadn't asked for anything else. That had come later. But that horrible winter had laid the foundation for everything else to come. If it hadn't been for the wastebin in back of Delmo's Tavern, they wouldn't have had any food, either, when the neighbors' patience had worn out. He'd received a few kicks for his trouble from the other boys for taking more than his share, but Mother needed to eat, too.

"Surprised old Mr. Bartholomew didn't ask for you," Hagrid said.

"He won't take them younger than six," Snape said. "Besides, I needed to look after Mother, and I wouldn't have been able to do that living with him. Father did return every once in a while, and things would go well for a few months. I don't know how they came up with my school fees and wand money, though. For a few years I thought Mother had pawned her wedding ring for drink, but now I wonder if she did it for me." He opened his eyes and saw his friend's eyes change as the groundskeeper realized the nature of the illness. "I finally found the ring in an old store about three years ago and redeemed it." Even though no woman would ever care to wear it for his sake. The whiskey had done some good, though; he'd been able to speak about all of this calmly, instead of breaking down completely.

Hagrid refilled his cup, this time unmixed with tea. Severus waved it away. He was going to feel vile enough tomorrow, with all this on an empty stomach and no Hangover Potions allowed with his regimen. "I'd better go back to the castle," he said regretfully. His clothes were dry by now, or would be as soon as he finished them with a quick spell.

Snape stood up, and instantly wished he hadn't, as the room began to sway. Hagrid steadied him, and helped him dress. _I have to stop talking,_ he realized. _I can't tell anyone what happened later—how his parents fought, how things became worse and worse, and how Mother and Father died. I'm so glad Flitwick took the worst part of that memory away._ "I think I would have died if I hadn't received my letter," he whispered. "No matter how bad it was here, it was still better than Knockturn Alley."

"Din't the Malfoys tek care of you after…" The half-giant had him sit again, and did up the stockings and boots.

"I ate well there. I had good clothing for once," Snape said flatly. "But I paid for it." Only Dumbledore knew how. And Moody. Then his stomach cramped and he had to lean over the arm of the chair and vomit. "Oh, crap, Hagrid, I didn't mean to make a mess." He pushed himself to a standing position again and dispelled the ugly puddle with a wave of his wand. "It's not your fault. I shouldn't have had anything but tea."

"I'll walk you over," his friend insisted.

"The air will clear my head. I'll be all right."

"Goin' with you anyways."

Severus was glad of it once they went outside. It was incredibly dark, cold and windy. He missed his footing a couple of times, and would have fallen without Hagrid hanging onto him. How odd his friend's touch never felt _wrong_ even when he had Malfoy on his mind. It felt strange to owe so much to someone who never tried to collect on it. "I am the world's worst drunk," he said as they made their way across the grounds to the castle. "Two cups go straight to my head and I can't even keep them down. On top of that, I'm certain Winky is waiting with another horrible potion. I _hate_ this, Hagrid! I keep leaning on you all the time when I should be able to take care of myself."

"Don' tek on so, perfesser. Who was it helped me with Fang and his medicine when he was so sick a couple of years back, and me with my finger too big?"

Snape didn't like being reminded of _that_ little procedure. He hadn't been able to discover any spell to put the capsule up where it needed to be, and Flitwick had laughed himself into a coma when asked for one. A wand, though the right size, didn't bend properly. Oh, well. The worming pastille had worked, and he hadn't had to repeat the procedure. Minerva had found out and twitted him, till he'd pointed out how her fingers were long and slender as well, and how he would certainly volunteer her services should there be a next time.

He heard a noise. "Wait a minute," he said quietly. "Let me check those rosebushes." He stepped into them, and saw the frozen couple cowering behind them. "Twenty points from Hufflepuff, and I should take ten more for bringing someone out here on such an ugly night." Snape laughed and splattered the wall behind the rosebushes with light from his wand. "Are all the inside places full?"

"Professor Snape!" squeaked the boy, who stood in front of his companion. At least he'd kept his clothes on. "Everyone said you were too sick to be on night-duty for a while!"

"Surely you know better than to listen to what everyone says? Go back inside and to your dormitory. I shall not detain you further. Oh, and Miss Cuthbertson, I would find a more resourceful partner before you catch your death of cold." He turned his head to allow her to button up, or at least cover her bosom in some modesty, then laughed again as the couple fled. "Oh, I have _missed_ that!"

"Glad to see yer feeling better, perfesser." Hagrid was smiling, too.

"Now I am. Let's head down to the dungeons." His latest spell of the megrims was passing far more quickly than it usually did, but it would be a long day before he admitted it to Poppy. Then again, that silly charmed book was no doubt doing it for him.

Besides, he was here and Lucius was in Azkaban. As they went inside, he reminded the half-giant to duck his head, as usual. Winky cheerfully greeted him at the door. Once they entered his private quarters, he sat down in the overstuffed chair as his legs gave way. He motioned Hagrid over to the couch, and reinforced the object with a quick charm.

The tiny elf returned with his evening dose. "Master is out late and is all wet," she complained.

"I'll dry out here," he said. "Master would like some dry toast and weak tea so I can keep this slop down. Master Hagrid would prefer a whole chicken, cold if necessary, several hot rolls with butter, and a tankard of ale to wash it down."

The groundskeeper beamed at both of them. "That'll tide me over for a bit," he said. When Winky disappeared, he peered around. "Haven't been down here for a while. Don't see how you stand it."

"It's safer to brew potions underground," Snape said, glad to talk of less personal matters. "The wards are stronger down here, which suits me fine. It's not like a prison to me, the way this place would be to you or to a centaur like Firenze." That reminded him. "When I was in the courtyard in Azkaban between the two checkpoints, I saw a couple of centaurs there. Now that I think of it, one of them moved like Bane. I can't see him taking on anything to help us dreadful humans. Was it really him, and if so, how did you talk him into it?"

Hagrid chuckled. "Easiest thing in the world. Moody says to round some up, so I went out towards their territory and asked for volunteers. Of course I din' get any. Then I sighed, and said it was just as well. _That woman_ would be ever so upset to learn their kind was workin' for the Ministry and all, and since the records were going to be backdated a month or so, they'd be missing out on a sack of Galleons, and…well, I couldn't keep them back after that!"

Snape rolled his eyes. His sympathy for Umbridge could only stretch so far. "I swear, she ought to be on the recruiting committee for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! I'm surprised I haven't heard her mentioned at any of the meetings that way. Fudge is just as bad. A good thing the Headmaster is on our side, or we'd really be in trouble."

"Oh, yes, Dumbledore's a great man," Hagrid said.

Winky appeared with the food and drink. The groundskeeper dug into his, while Severus nibbled at his portion and hoped it would stay down. He felt a little better once things settled, and Accio'd one of the jars up on a high shelf. This one appeared to be full of things best not mentioned, except possibly to curious students. He tapped the lid three times with his wand and hummed the first few bars of "The Weird-Looking Things With All the Eyes and the Potions Master's Daughter". The concealment spell dropped and revealed a large, brightly painted wooden doll with a hinge in back. He found the hidden catch and it opened, showing a different doll in more somber colors. He opened that one too, and continued till eight different toys were standing on the table next to him.

"Well, now, that's a surprise and no mistake!" Hagrid said. "More than meets the eye there. What does the last one look like?"

"The smallest one is about this high," Snape said as he measured out an inch, just below the height of the next one in rank. "It's not shaped the same, though. It's a tiny angel the rest are all protecting. Mother said…she said it was the most important part. I know what it looks like, but I can't draw that well. I'll give it a try if you like, though it's probably lost for good."

The half-giant reached over and touched the next doll up with surprising gentleness, probing its hollows with the tip of his little finger. "Might not be, you never know."

Severus heard a clock somewhere tolling midnight. He was vaguely surprised it wasn't later. "I should send a note to the Headmaster telling him I'm all right."

"I'll tell the gargoyle," Hagrid said. "He oughter to be in bed himself by now."

"It's time to choke _this_ down," Snape said, picking up his potion. He sipped it at first, and then just drank it. The sooner it was out of his mouth the better. He rinsed his tongue in the last of his tea. "Hagrid…well, I'm no good at this, but I was glad you let me warm up at your fire. If…if there's anything you ever want, you only have to ask."

"Aww…." The groundskeeper turned pink, then let out an enormous burp. "It's always there, you know. Fang, too, most of the time. The mutt misses you."

Snape nodded. He put the dolls back together, then charmed the set back into a jar again. He levitated it back onto the high shelf where it belonged. He was too old to play with such toys.

Winky came back in. "It too late to sit and talk! Master needs to get some sleep! Master Furry, you bad to keep him up this long!"

Severus nearly choked holding back laughter as he watched the tiny house elf shake her finger at the huge man on the couch.

Hagrid smiled down at her. "Don't take on so. Lemme finish up this one last bit and I'll let Sev'rus get to bed." He cleaned his plate, stood up, almost hit his head on the door lintel again, and left, still grinning.

Snape changed to night-clothes by himself, but once in bed, Winky patted his hand. "It's all right, Master. Winky tells if students are bad. Love you, Master."

"Thank you," he said. Maybe he wouldn't have nightmares about Lucius tonight. Maybe being with friends really did help.


	47. Chapter 47: Before Dinner Drinks

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Remember, "The Birthday Present" is nominated at the Multifaceted Awards! Voting till July 22nd—if you haven't voted yet, please do so now. In two categories—genfic and Tears (though I strongly recommend Borolin's "Lost and Found").

I also want to thank Snape's Night and Zafaran for brit- and nit-picking. I really do go through these things before I send them out, but you wouldn't think so... G>

Chapter 47: Before Dinner Drinks

Severus Snape

He slept much better than he expected to. The next morning he lingered over breakfast and read the werewolf book. Severus was actually hungry for the meal, which was a nice change. He wrapped up snugly for the Quidditch game, but was glad when the match between Slytherin and Ravenclaw was halted to be replayed later as the weather turned colder and brooms began icing up. By mid-afternoon he was parked in front of a roaring hearth and drinking hot spiced tea as he graded. Perhaps he was going to avoid acquiring a chill after all, even without Pepper-Up.

Then Albus showed up in his fire, and he remembered why he normally let the damn thing go out so often. "What is it, Headmaster? Hagrid said he would let the gargoyle know I returned with no problems last night."

"That's not it. There's been an unexpected development. Professor Lupin has received an invitation to Malfoy Manor tonight."

Snape blinked. That would complicate matters immensely. He had some plain speaking to do to at least one colleague and the werewolf would not like it one bit. He hated the thought of an amateur cramping his style. "I'll have to explain a few things to him before we go," he said.

"If you could come to my office, he's here right now."

"Of course, Headmaster." As Dumbledore left the fireplace, Severus put on his usual teaching robe. He was tempted to attend the meeting in the shabby lounger, but felt more secure in the black lab covering. It was a couple of hours before he had to change into more formal wear.

As usual, Albus had him sit closer to the wolf than he cared for. He recalled his promise to Madam Pomfrey to be civil, though, and didn't complain or even move his chair to a safer distance.

"I suppose I ought to explain." Lupin held up a creamy, embossed envelope. Snape recognized the color and style immediately. "I still do counseling for newly created werewolves. St. Mungo's owls me now when they have someone. We meet in a little group one evening a week in back of a tavern in Hogsmeade. Last week, one of them told me he'd been approached about a job. Obviously, he was quite interested since he'd just been fired from his most recent one." The wolf flushed. "On a whim, I told him to look into it, and let me know what the terms were. We have several people in similar straits. He came back to me late yesterday afternoon and said the man he spoke to was very interested to hear about our group. A generous amount of money might be available to us if we didn't mind going without a potion during the next full moon. Given few of my friends can afford it anyway, I doubt that would be a problem. I received this by owl this morning. I sense a connection. Since the Headmaster has filled me in on the Order meeting I missed, I suspect Azkaban will be involved."

Snape knew why the wolf had received the invitation this morning. Lucius must have sent an owl to Narcissa as soon as he'd tested the Invisibility Potion late last night. "I was at the prison yesterday evening," he said. "You will be going up against centaurs if you're involved, but I really hope certain others don't know that yet. Albus, Lucius took the bait. I'm sure he tested the potion as soon as I left. Too bad for him I tested it with Firenze first. Also, there is definitely a breakdown in guard discipline concerning Malfoy. I wasn't searched, and I probably should have been given my legal status. He also had a better wine cabinet there than mine, and a lamp from the Manor which I know distorts conversations." Severus felt heat coming into his face because he hoped it still worked.

The Headmaster looked thoughtful. "Any hints for Remus, Severus?"

He turned his face towards the other teacher and tried to remain calm, even when the form of Lupin's wolf interposed itself. _That damn book! Why did I read it this morning?_ One werewolf was bad enough, but the thought of a pack of them running free under the full moon set his heart beating much faster than usual, especially since he would undoubtedly have to participate in the rescue attempt. "You should wear the best you have tonight. I am prepared to lend out a few things, as long as they're transfigured back when you're done." He couldn't believe he was saying this. "Most of all, you must be prepared to meet Pettigrew and not strangle him on the spot. His silver hand allows him to cast spells with a great deal more power than I recall him having in the past."

"This will have to do." Lupin appeared human again, and patted his patched robe. "You see, I will be quite tired of being poor and dependent on the charity of others."

"You do realize Mrs. Malfoy is spearheading the suit to have Black's will broken," Snape said.

"If Minister Umbridge has her way, I won't be allowed to inherit. Her new Act will also put pressure on the Headmaster to have me sacked as well. What I am paid as temporary executor isn't quite enough to maintain the house. Prices have risen since Sirius wrote his will. The majority of the estate goes to Harry as it is."

Snape nodded. "Good point. Of course, I hope you realize this raid will be used as evidence that werewolves can't be trusted. The fewer wolves who can find legitimate employment mean, of course, more who will seek jobs…elsewhere."

"I'm not altogether stupid, Snape!"

"I didn't think so. Not everyone is going to see through it, though. Your friends should be warned."

"That's reasonable. However, if my group joins, that means these others may not go to as much trouble to find other wolves who aren't as friendly to the Order."

Unfortunately, that was true. "Does it really matter?" he asked. "Once the moon is full, will any of you be able to restrain yourselves from your true nature?"

"They'll have to brief us before we go in, if this offer has to do with Azkaban. Surely the information will be of _some_ value." Lupin sounded quite exasperated now.

"You don't know what's involved," Snape said, trying to moderate his own tone of voice. "You will have to lie to Potter and his friends and make them believe you. If they find out what you're up to, you stand a chance of losing their regard unless they know too much. If you tell them too much in order to keep their friendship, one of them could talk out of turn and ruin the entire plan." _Most likely resulting in my death as a traitor under the Dark Lord's wand, but of course Lupin won't think _that_ part's important._ "If the other side learns of your true aims, you stand a chance of losing your own life." _There. He might listen now._

"You're not the only one who can make sacrifices for the Order, Snape!"

"So far I am the one most likely to stay alive in the process. However, I must admit they will certainly be tempted by your offer. They have always wanted a second point of view here to confirm what I say to them about the Order." Severus took a deep breath, and wished he hadn't, as now both Lupin and Dumbledore reeked of wolf. He let his hand slide down into his pocket and feel the cold smoothness of the mirror. _It's just that damn book again. I'm glad Poppy warned me about it._ "I must admit, you will provide an interesting distraction to them. But if you make this offer, you and your friends had best be prepared to follow through."

Remus bit his lip. "I know. I'll try not to become too upset if I see ah, certain people."

"It may just be a formal dinner," Snape said, staring down at the floor. He knew if he looked up he'd see two wolves in the room, not just one. "They don't know you well, except for Pettigrew. Even he will likely understand that the last time you met, you were about to turn and would have gone after any target. If you don't mind, he'll probably let you blame Sirius Black for your actions of the evening." Perhaps it was just as well he'd been unconscious at the time. Then again, if Wormtail had been sent to Azkaban that year, the Dark Lord might still be possessing animals and stray Dark Arts professors instead of plaguing the world. He briefly entertained himself with the thought of Gilderoy Lockhart in a turban. He cheered up thinking of how aggravating it would be for Voldemort to depend on _that_ mind.

"I hate doing that," the wolf said.

_Of course you do. _Snape continued. "If someone asks, though, feel free to mention how unhappy you are. After all, you aren't really a traitor, merely someone whose finances are lacking. There's another possibility." He forced himself to hold his head straight again, and was delighted to see both his conversation partners were human in shape again, if only temporarily. "Madam Umbridge may be there. How will you react to her?"

"I shall lobby against her proposal with my best Sunday manners to convince her that I, and my kind, could not possibly post a threat to anyone." Lupin raised his cup of tea as if he sat at the right hand of Merlin.

Snape nodded. "She'll like that. I can't stand to talk with her for more than two minutes without wanting to strangle her, but if you can do better, don't let me stop you. I have one last question. If we have…other guests, how well are you at hiding thoughts? You have Order secrets in your mind, too."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I've already tested Remus and he'll do quite well. Apparently his wolf protects him better than most realize."

"Good," Snape said. Of course he could always explain that he'd be little use as a spy on the Order if he couldn't convince anyone he was really allied with Dumbledore, but he was so weary of having to explain Remedial Espionage to the Dark Lord and his allies, never mind the Order, that he would just as soon bypass it this time. "What time does your invitation say, Lupin? We could always Apparate to the gates of the Manor together. I would have to appear unhappy with your companionship, of course."

"I know how difficult _that_ would be for you," Remus flipped back. "Mine is for seven-thirty."

Ah, the puppy had some teeth after all! Snape allowed a brief smile to appear. The thought of the wolf and his cohorts loose on the grounds of Azkaban still horrified him, but he had to put that away for tonight. "Mine is for six. Perhaps Narcissa wants a conference beforehand instead of afterwards. It would be nice to have an early night." He stood up.

"Remus, you may go," Albus said. "I want to speak to Severus for just a moment."

The wolf left. He looked as human as anyone just now, as did the Headmaster. Snape knew he was in for a dressing down for the temper he'd shown this afternoon.

"Have a seat," the older wizard said gently. "You're still tired from last night."

Severus warily obeyed. He hoped this wouldn't take long.

Dumbledore played with some of his lemon drops. "I…I just wanted to say that I am quite pleased how you're cooperating with Lupin. He spoke of your conversation yesterday, too, though I admit in the most general terms. However, you're quite right. We should have had a memorial for Sirius Black before now, if only for Harry's sake. I know this must be terribly difficult for you, and I wanted you to know that I realize it." He paused, then continued. "If at all possible, you will need to go to Switzerland for an evaluation soon. Lowenstein has been most persistent trying to set up an appointment, since you really are supposed to check in on a more regular basis. In fact, I very much suspect you will have a minor crisis with your regimen about the time of the next full moon. No doubt Tom will see through it, but since he's already said he's concerned about your health, it should seem reasonable to him."

Snape bowed his head, hoping Albus was right. He was so tempted to take that escape. It rankled to allow Lupin to take a risk like that if he wasn't going to be there, though.

"You've done a great deal already, Severus. Making sure Malfoy had the Invisibility Potion you modified, letting us know they want werewolves to be blamed, and the risks you may run tonight add up to a full plate. I know you'd rather be at the Manor without Remus to worry about. But the Order is a group. Allow us to do our part. We've put too much on your shoulders already. Besides, when the rescue attempt fails, it would be best if you weren't part of it."

Severus looked up to see no anger in the older wizard's face. _I am a control freak, as the Muggles put it. Of course, in Potions that's usually a good thing. Maybe if Remus can see what I have to deal with the rest of the Order will believe him. I hope he realizes I have to be a different person among those I spy on._ "I'll lay the groundwork tonight," he said. "I am still surprised he received an invitation. Narcissa enjoys interesting discussions at her dinner table, but she normally doesn't care to antagonize those like Madam Umbridge. However, since her regulations started us down this path, I can complain about the potions regime. No doubt the pureblood students have dutifully written home about the black ooze they saw in class or heard about later. I can use that."

"I thought it was a bad idea for you to stay here for the last expulsion phase, but I see how it's worked out." Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Your first one was also during a full moon, or at least just before it. I wonder if there's a connection?"

"Only a coincidence. I was already over it and back at Hogwarts before Lupin had to visit the Shrieking Shack. Lowenstein said I was close to it the week I was attacked through the Mark."

"But other people don't know that, do they?"

"It's certainly not in the literature. Madam Pomfrey thought it possible something in the Wolfsbane Potion itself might have brought on the last one."

Albus nodded. "It's still a fairly experimental procedure, especially the outpatient regime. I daresay you would only have to hint at it, and allow others to think of the connection themselves, especially with Remus there at the party."

That made sense. Once he made a few rude jokes at Lupin's expense, the brighter guests would undoubtedly figure it out. "Madam Pomfrey can leak some details among her friends at St. Mungo's, and corroborate the 'information' that way, since there is clearly an informant at the hospital," he added. "It's not like the Death Eaters to hire outsiders, although in this case the wolves will likely take both the brunt and the blame for the assault. However, if I learn something that indicates I need to be part of the prison rescue attempt, I will have to be involved anyway." _Probably to make sure the wolves don't suffer too badly by it, _he thought cynically.

"You'll have to convince me," Dumbledore said gently. "Going to Azkaban is very hard on you, even for a visit. Combine that with unfettered werewolves and it's a recipe for disaster. There are some trials you should not have to endure."

"I hope so," Snape admitted.

"I'm keeping you from getting ready for the dinner. Keep me updated on any progress of Mrs. Malfoy's legal actions, if any."

"I believe that's one of the reasons I'm being invited early," Severus said as he stood.

"Quite possibly. Despite our attempts to delay, and her lack of enthusiasm for either suit. I have heard distressing rumors that chancery is actually doing something with them."

"Rather unlike them," Snape said.

"Yes. A pity you weren't able to see all the faces of those at the last meeting. I suspect we would both be appalled at their identities." The old wizard looked tired.

"Goyle's mother was one of them." Too bad he hadn't been able to sacrifice _her._

The Headmaster nodded. "Let me know what happens. I will be at Grimmauld Place late this evening, as will some of the others. I'll see you there."

Snape nodded and left. Even Black's house was safer for him than Malfoy Manor. Winky helped him dress, though in somewhat different robes than for his last visit there. This time, his top robe was velvet black with accents of silver, with a few slashes to show the green silk shirt beneath. He had long thought himself freed from vanity, but he admitted he enjoyed the way the expensive clothing hung from his thin frame. With any luck everyone would pay more attention to his formal wear than to his scowling face.

Just before he left, he sent Winky to fetch Draco. His godson whistled as he walked in. "Professor! You ought to dress like that more often."

"Enough flattery," he growled. "Now, are you absolutely certain you're willing to make the switch to your aunt, if it can be worked out?"

"Of course," Draco said. "Don't worry about me, godfather, I can watch out for myself. Aunt Bellatrix doesn't frighten me."

"She should. I must tell you again she isn't as easy to manipulate as Minister Umbridge. She and your mother often fight, and you must not place yourself in the middle."

"It'll be safer for me than for Edgecombe," the young Slytherin said. "The next time she tries to kill herself she won't miss."

That was true. Snape had seen the stony blankness in the girl's eyes in the infirmary. "As you wish. I hope to have to be argued into it, however. I would hate to lose that favor."

"Of course. Anybody would. Are you sure she's worth it?"

"No. However, I am reluctant to abandon her to her fate. Nobody deserves Lestrange, or the kind of mother she apparently has. I have no idea how she survived last summer."

"It was only because of you, professor, that any of us did. She stood with us on that Friday night along with everyone else. I can play the suck-up nephew after that."

The Potions Master still didn't like it, but couldn't think of another alternative. It was not likely the Dark Lord would leave his beloved Bella without an apprentice of her own, given her current status in the Circle. "That will have to do," he said with a sigh. "I'll let you know what happened tomorrow morning. Try not to burn down the dungeons while I'm gone."

Once ready, he slowly rode his Cleansweep out to the edge of the wards, parked the broom high in the branches of a tree with a charm on it so he could find it later and it would be left alone, then Apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor with the invitation in his hand. Kreacher greeted him at the gate and passed him through, evidently on watch for the night. Snape went straight for the main parlor and was not surprised to see some of his fellow Death Eaters. Fortunately Lestrange was not one of them. He noticed Macnair and Pettigrew. A moment after his own arrival, Arvid Rosier walked in.

"So, how are things for our newest Inner Circle member?" Macnair said sardonically, helping himself to a snifter of brandy.

Snape was surprised that the huntsman was not yet one of them. He poured himself a glass from a bottle Narcissa left for him in the cabinet. It looked like wine, but was really dyed barley-water. Fortunately, no one else had tried it. "I'm still cleaning up the mess from last Saturday. Lestrange's idiot apprentice wandered off instead of being sent back to the school, and managed to end up hurt. I'm lucky I'm not under suspicion myself, but a few of the Slytherin boys are still trying to explain where they were. Fortunately for us, the girl is keeping her mouth shut, or we'd all be in trouble, but it's still annoying."

Pettigrew said, "Well, don't blame me. I was at the same meeting afterwards you were, and the Weasley boy left as soon as he could. He just doesn't have the stomach for that brand of fun yet."

Macnair's forehead glinted with sweat, though it wasn't especially warm in the room. Severus raised one eyebrow and gave him a gimlet stare. "Anything you'd care to share with the rest of the class?" He sat down and sipped his drink. He really hadn't expected this to be so easy. It was a good thing Lupin wasn't here, as he had to be a different person around these others.

"There, er, weren't any permanent effects, were there?" the huntsman said.

"Of course not," the Potions Master said with a sneer. "Pomfrey's no fool, and asked me for the standard healing potion for the silly bint. Naturally I made sure to add something extra."

Walden sighed and glanced away. Then he looked back and spoke in a low voice. "I thought she was a Muggle—I didn't see the cloak or mask anywhere. All she did was scream. It wasn't till the little bitch pulled out her wand and hexed me that I had any idea who she was. Then she went for something in her pocket and disappeared. I'd…I'd already finished and was thinking about seconds, or I would have watched her more carefully." He bowed his head. "Sometimes our Lord likes to er, ride along, but for once I wanted a bit of fun on my own. I thought with _him_ at the meeting there wouldn't be any trouble. It's not like I meant to hurt her the way _he_ likes to sometimes..."

"Quick off the mark, eh?" Snape said with a harsh laugh. "Well, if that had been all, it would have been easier to cover up. But the idiot tried to slice herself up on the floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and everyone knows it."

"They probably think she's the school broom by now," Pettigrew said.

"I hope not. I threw Zabini into the fray, and with any luck everyone believes the two are just being hormonally-impaired like so many others."

"Crap," Macnair said as he gulped down the rest of contents of his snifter and went for more. "Have you spoken to her mother yet?"

"No. I thought I'd leave that lovely chore to you," Snape said cheerfully.

"I refuse to saddle myself with some empty-headed adolescent, but I have a nephew who hasn't been contracted yet. I suppose if she's a Ravenclaw he won't mind her too much. He actually _likes_ Arithmancy—he's one of yours too, actually."

"Even better. I'll let you explain to Flitwick why one of his students is giving up her education before it's completed." The Potions Master smiled. Actually, in the last decade the rules had been relaxed to allow some married students to finish, but Macnair wouldn't know that. "I'm sure he'll understand."

"The little bugger'll disembowel me!" Walden growled. "I don't see why I should have be involved, then. You seem to have the situation well in hand."

He looked directly at the huntsman. "Then I suppose you won't mind telling Madam Lestrange about it, then, and settling matters directly with her. I suspect you'll find her even less sympathetic. There are nasty rumors about what happens to women prisoners in Azkaban, you know."

"What the hell _do_ you want me to do?" Macnair went white.

"I suggest an extremely generous contribution to her dowry for loss of maidenhead. I don't think she's been contracted already, and I suspect she won't become involved with any male for quite some time no matter what her mother tells her. Once she's of age she'll have access to the money herself. The girl's father was a trifle eccentric and thought his daughters ought to have opportunities of their own in these modern days. No wonder she ended up in Ravenclaw." He stared down into his glass. He wanted to hate Macnair. Yet there were some perversions even Lucius did not practice, and he was not surprised to find out the Dark Lord got his jollies from enjoying those of others. _I suppose I'm lucky Riddle didn't join either Lucius or myself during any of our meetings last year. But the girl should still have her chance for revenge, and I will still be delighted to help her._

The huntsman nodded glumly. "Why in hell didn't that bitch Lestrange see the girl off? I noticed you made your Snakes were out of there, though you have only two girls in your lot."

"I have no idea. Maybe she thought Edgecombe would have fun." He decided not to mention the possibility that Bella was not magically gifted enough to create a Portkey or Apparate someone else through the Mark. He was certain he couldn't use the Mark itself to the extent Voldemort did. _Then again, I haven't tried. I did establish the Second Bond with them the way Lucius did with me, but he wasn't able to do anything like that either. But did he ever try?_ "Now the girl's a weak point. She was in the DA last year, but was ejected for telling tales out of class. I was terrified she'd do the same to us, but she held firm instead. I certainly wasn't expecting it."

Walden snorted. "It was a bad idea to recruit her in the first place. That cow Umbridge learned all she wanted to last year, and that's the only thing we needed from the brat. It was a waste of time to Mark her."

"If she were properly trained, it wouldn't be. We don't have any other students in Ravenclaw, or indeed, in any other houses except for Slytherin just now—well, that I know about, anyway. I've suggested to her to make friends with that strange Lovegood girl, and find out what the Quibbler might publish in future. Students from the other houses will talk to a Ravenclaw when they won't to one of us, even if they find out about her and the DA. Once they discover what Umbridge did to make her talk, she'll find more sympathy." Snape didn't know the details, but he had his suspicions.

"She should have been your apprentice, not Bella's," Pettigrew said.

_Thank you, Wormtail. I hope you're brave enough to say so among the others._ "That is up to the Master, of course," Snape said. "Where is Madam Lestrange?"

"With her sister," the rat said. "By the way, I hope you're feeling better. I heard you were sick for a couple of days after our meeting."

_How very considerate,_ Severus thought. _I must be rising in the world indeed. _"That damn potions regime the Swiss have me on. I was just over the most recent throwing-up part I go through about once a month when I was summoned. Our Lord graciously gave me an Ennervate during the meeting, but you know what _that's_ like when it rebounds." There. He'd started with an off-hand reference to the expulsion phase, and how often it occurred. He could build on that, bit by bit, till the others could draw their own conclusions. He really didn't want to be involved with the escape attempt if it occurred during a full moon.

"That was a nice, clean kill you made," Macnair offered. "Neatly done, no wasted motions or showing off. It's the soft-hearted ones who hesitate and make a botch of things. Personally, I think a Crucio spoils a sacrifice. Lestrange enjoys herself too much, though I heard she managed adequately for the one she performed at the apprentices's initiation. Of course, I'm not saying you can't carry off a proper Cruciatus yourself, Snape. Pettigrew is still talking about the one you did last summer."

"Thank you. But our resident Gryffindor is far too modest." Severus lifted his cup to the rat. "You showed much more strength and control than I expected. I believe we may expect great things in the years to come from you, while your apprentice Mr. Weasley will be quite an asset down the line."

The small, rat-faced man blushed and looked down at his wine. It was easier than Snape thought to flatter the fellow.

"Now what's this I hear about someone else from Hogwarts being here tonight?" Macnair interrupted, looking less anxious now.

"Professor Lupin will be here later," the Potions Master said.

Pettigrew turned deathly pale. "Are—are you sure? I thought I'm supposed to be at dinner as well."

"I was surprised, too, when I saw the invitation in his hand. I thought he was well ensconced in the Headmaster's affections. Apparently he finds a teacher's salary insufficient recompense after all his sacrifices."

"But he was such good friends with Black!" Wormtail squeaked.

_No doubt he's remembering that touching scene in the Shrieking Shack that I was unconscious for. _"So he was. Black is gone. If Umbridge has her way, he won't be allowed to inherit anything from his dear _departed_ friend. The house and most of the property were left to young Mr. Potter, who does not really need either, even after the many years of devotion the wolf offered the dog. If Mrs. Malfoy has _her_ way, he won't see a Sickle of what Black left him either. Not that he cares much for silver, of course, but it's the principle of the thing." _Or the principal _"The Headmaster swears he's been lobbying against Umbridge's Dark Creatures Act. We've all seen how effectively. He does like his subordinates bound to him."

"Is it really true Dumbledore still has your finances in his control?" Arvid Rosier spoke, who had been silent all this time, puffing on his pipe.

"Unfortunately," Severus said, though he remembered the little bankbook from Switzerland. "Conditions of probation from Azkaban, and so on. No doubt Lupin is thinking clearly for once about his own future and deciding he should be in charge of it. He is also possibly under pressure from his ah, _friends_ at St. Mungo's who are in worse circumstances than he is at the present moment."

"Well done!" said Macnair.

"I had very little to do with it. I have always objected to his presence at the school, or anywhere near me, for that matter. Let's take my usual rant about werewolves as read. No, the wolf is simply learning he needs to look after himself and his own kind without depending on promises of others. Granted, he came a bit late to seeing past the old fool's plans, but at least he did. Even he can see the folly of pinning hopes on an untrained adolescent."

"Do you suppose he's trying to protect the boy?" Pettigrew asked.

"It's a possibility," Snape said. The rat was smarter than he looked. "It's not past all reason to believe he wishes to trade his services and those of his kind for Potter's safety. I have never understood why they make so much of the boy, but I'm sure you've all heard that at great length already."

"Thank you for sparing us," Walden said.

"You're welcome." Snape put on a long-suffering look. "I've been forced by circumstances to hold my tongue around the brat this year, but there are days I wish I could drown him in flobberworm dung. Given his incompetence in class, which he did _not_ test into properly, he may yet destroy himself without my intervention. One can only hope." Now he was _really_ glad Lupin's invitation was for later.

"I have news for you, too," Wormtail added. "Our favorite Minister will be at dinner tonight as well. We'll be under a glamour, of course. I do so want to see her face when she finds out what Lupin really is."

Snape laughed out loud. "I want to see that myself. She made a spectacle of herself at school last year. I swear even Hagrid lost patience with the woman. If Granger hadn't served her up to the centaurs, I think he would have."

"Word was she made up to you like anything, and fumed when you didn't take the hint," Macnair said slyly.

"Oh, Merlin, I'd rather dip it in that frizzy-haired Mudblood than Umbridge," Snape declared. "At least I'd be assured of intelligent conversation. Speaking of the little know-it-all, you've heard about my bet with Lowenstein and the Wolfsbane Potion?"

"A thousand Galleons," Pettigrew said, with round eyes.

"Right. And if we're going to have Lupin and his flea-bitten companions working for us, we'll need a lot more than I can possibly brew by myself. If I can teach some of those dunderheads to make it, it'd save me a lot of work as well as winning the bet. Draco is good, but he's busy being Quidditch Captain this year. I'll need that girl till the end of the school year, at least. She's quite eager, you know. Thinks it's wonderful to help that darling werewolf Lupin manage his time of the month."

Macnair rolled his eyes. "All right, I get the hint. Even though her family's Muggle and they don't do dowries any more."

"You'd have to kill her fairly quickly,' Snape said, "or she'd hex your balls off with your own wand. Dolohov almost managed to liquefy her insides, but she's over that, and not quite as ready as before to volunteer for Potter's idiot ideas. Killing her family…well, she'd be too upset to brew, and frankly, I hate losing my hole card. I want to see Lowenstein's face when he has to hand over that sack in front of everyone."

"You sound quite protective of her," Walden said with a sneer.

"I'm protective of those Galleons! Besides, I gave my word as a Snape I could teach them how to do it. I could manage without the Mudblood, but with her it's a sure thing."

The huntsman sighed. "I'm already in enough trouble for not keeping it buttoned," he said. "I am not looking forward to talking to that girl's mother."

"That's why I'm dumping it on you," Snape said heartlessly.

"Trouble?" enquired a high, hissing voice.

Everyone left their chairs and knelt. "My lord," their voices echoed.

"Would anyone care to explain the problem?" the Dark Lord asked.

Still on his knees, Snape volunteered, and received a grateful look from Macnair. It galled him to help a rapist cover up his crime, but the debt might prove useful later. He'd rather drop the situation in front of Bella, and let her anger dispose of another Death Eater who might be far too effective against the Order, but his role as a spy demanded some ugly tasks. It was more important to protect Miss Edgecombe than to avenge her just now. Besides, it was her right and not his to exact vengeance at the time and place she chose. He forced himself to use a dry tone of voice and began.

"My lord, Miss Edgecombe did not leave the meeting last Saturday before the entertainment began. I believe she removed her mask and cloak before departing to avoid being seen wearing them when she returned to Hogwarts. She was mistaken for one of the Muggle women and injured. I kept suspicion from falling on my apprentices, my lord, but Madam Pomfrey knows something dreadful happened. The girl will face no permanent consequences, save the loss of her maidenhead. The responsible party plans to pay an indemnity to increase the girl's dowry. Mr. Zabini is currently posing as a boyfriend to keep her reputation from deteriorating, as her suicide attempt went awry and the usual rumors began to circulate."

"She is not your apprentice, Severus. Why are you going to such trouble?"

"Without such care, it could become known several Slytherin boys were missing that night. I myself could come under suspicion. Edgecombe was forced to leave the DA because she revealed too many secrets. We are extremely lucky she has shown us more loyalty thus far, but either her or her mother could make a public fuss if they are not satisfied with any settlement."

"Quite logical, my Shadow. Even if either one were removed soon after, the words would remain in the air to poison our efforts. I am surprised Bella was so neglectful."

Everyone remained silent. Everyone in the room knew Madam Lestrange could be punished only by Voldemort. Snape decided to wait before making his offer to exchange apprentices.

"I must admit, I am surprised you haven't already hexed the offending party," their master continued. The pale, snake-like man glanced at the other men, then smiled.

"He has offered to make restitution of money and marriage to a younger family member, my lord," Snape said. "Such is the custom."

"I see. Once again it is a good thing we have you at Hogwarts. I only hope we can add to the number of those privy to the enemy's counsels."

Severus bowed his head, knowing he dared much to speak so frankly. "Lupin should be brought along slowly, my lord. He should be properly tested as well. I am not certain of his motivations. I do not know him well and I should not care to vouch for his reliability. I do not say this simply because of any personal history, my lord, since you already have one Marauder in your service. However, the wolf was close to Sirius Black and may be driven by revenge rather than self-interest."

"I had not thought a Gryffindor could be so subtle."

"My lord, a counter-example is in this room. Surely it took subtlety beyond compare to stay a member of the Weasley family for so long, unsuspected by anyone, after bringing the location of the Potters to your notice." It gagged him to praise Wormtail so loudly, but such flattery would likely pay dividends later. If Remus could not take the blood of Peter Pettigrew for the death of James Potter, he himself would have it for Lily's sake.

"I know the true worth of your words, Severus," hissed the Dark Lord. Snape looked up and was not comforted by the smile. "Very well. We shall watch Lupin carefully. If he thinks to become a spy for the old fool, he'll die horribly, but not before he's told us all he knows. I shall certainly let you assist with that for your timely warning, my Shadow.

"If he is merely concerned for the welfare of his pocketbook and his fellow wolves, then perhaps we shall come to an accord. But he will have to prove himself, as the rest of you have for me." Riddle surveyed all the men on their knees. Snape thought his master stared for a longer time at Macnair, but he could be imagining it. "Remember, all of you, that play comes after work and not before. Remember that our apprentices are to be cherished and taught, not harmed. They are our future, no matter how unpromising they seem at present. Rise."

Snape slowly stood, hoping his apparent unsteadiness could be attributed to drink. The others followed him.

"Now we shall go into the conference room," The Dark Lord said. "There is work to be done."

Macnair asked to beg off, no doubt guessing where Lestrange was. "I don't have the expertise you need, my lord."

"Stay anyway, and learn. The more all of us know, the greater our power. That is one of the reasons you were invited." Their master's tone brooked no resistance.

"Of course, my lord." The huntsman looked afraid.

Rosier came up to Snape as they went to the other room. "Speak to you in private later?"

"Certainly. Both your children are doing well, aside from a slight tendency towards frivolity I find unusual in children sorted to Slytherin. But if you have concerns, I'll be more than glad to go over them with you." He remembered his vision of the Rosier twins making ready to play Exploding Snap in an attic. How had they survived the hour or so before he'd put a knife in his Mark? Snape glanced over and was happy to see Voldemort was busy chatting with Macnair. _I must concentrate on Narcissa's legal actions,_ he thought.

The long table in the room down the hall was scattered with papers with seals and ribbons of various colors. Narcissa looked pale and tired, while her sister sulked in a chair across the table. Both of them stood as Voldemort and the others entered.

"Before we begin, I have a question for you, Bella," Voldemort said. "After you and Pettigrew took wand-oath to Snape in regards to the favor you owe him, and before the Inner Circle met alone, what did you do last Saturday night?"

"Oh, I can't remember…let me think." Bella fidgeted. "I know, I clouted that silly bitch Edgecombe for asking so many idiotic questions and told her to go back to the school."

"Did you help her Apparate back, or provide her with a Portkey? If the second, did you make sure she knew how to use it?" Riddle's voice was deceptively soft.

"No. Why should I? She should have gone back with the Slytherins. I know she did leave, she was gone when our meeting was over."

"She was your responsibility. Professor Snape should not have to watch over her when she is away from the school. Have you practiced any spells with her, or offered any kind of training?" Now his voice was slightly harder.

"No…why? Has she been complaining?" She bristled.

"Did you not hear she was mistaken for a Muggle at the entertainment? Or that she attempted suicide the morning after she returned to Hogwarts?"

Snape thought it was strange she hadn't felt anything. Lestrange should have had _some_ kind of link to the girl through the Mark from the beginning.

She glanced about wildly, her face growing red. "The stupid girl knew she was supposed to go back when I was done with her! Who would dare to touch my apprentice, anyway?"

"Most of the students don't have their Apparating licenses yet," Pettigrew observed, obviously sensing fresh blood.

Severus sensibly remained silent. Macnair slowly shifted position to take him out of the irate woman's line of sight.

"Shut up, Wormtail!" Bella hissed, and reached for her wand.

"Stop it, my dear," Voldemort said. "Your indignation does you credit." He put a hand on her shoulder.

She took a deep breath. "I suppose I should have asked for your assistance, my lord. But how did the girl manage to leave at all? "

"That is a good question, my dear, but not the one I asked you. It disturbs me you have given the girl no instruction so far. What little she knows appears to have come from Professor Snape, yet he has no authority over the girl."

"Yes, he does. I told him he could tell her everything she wants to know whenever she had questions while she was there at school," she said triumphantly.

"That is not the same, Bella," the Dark Lord said. "I wanted to test you and find out how well you wield the authority that ought to be yours. You have borne terrible burdens for my sake, and I love you dearly for your loyalty. Last summer you proved it again. Yet I cannot be pleased with the neglect of someone in your care."

"Then I shouldn't have had some mealy-mouthed girl too afraid to say her name for an apprentice, my lord! I asked for my nephew first, and you refused!"

Snape was surprised to see Bella so angry with Voldemort in public. Others might suffer Crucio for a minor flaw in front of all, yet the woman had always been spared before. _So she had wanted Draco for her own all along,_ he thought, now terrified of the idea. He was still amazed Lestrange dared to argue with their master, though.

"I thought since young Malfoy was Snape's godson that he should have the further training of the boy, my dear," Riddle said with a trifle more venom in his voice. "Are you certain Draco would be loyal to you?"

"Of course. I'm his aunt, and carry the same blood." Bella had a malicious look in her eyes. "And I would never hold the boy's welfare over someone else's head." She smiled at her sister and at Snape. Narcissa blanched, but remained silent.

So did Severus. _I'll have to do something else to help Edgecombe,_ he thought. _I can't allow this deranged woman to have any power over Draco._

Voldemort shook his head. "I cannot allow you do that, my dear. I suggest an exchange rather than an addition. Since Snape has shown more concern for the girl's welfare thus far, let her be his apprentice and Draco yours. However, I will place a Reciprocity Spell on both you and young Malfoy. If he comes to harm, you will suffer the same. I might add this protects you from any impetuous actions on _his_ part."

_Or mine_, Severus thought mordantly. He reinforced his mental shields beyond their already high level. _Surface thoughts only,_ he reminded himself.

"If he is harmed in any way, even if not by you, then you will feel it as well," the Dark Lord continued. "On the other hand, you are presumed able enough to protect yourself. I will be extremely unhappy if you make further threats or attempt to use up the favor you owe my Shadow through his godson."

"Oh." Bella bowed her head.

"The exchange will take place next weekend. Consider it in effect now. Let us proceed to our real business. Mrs. Malfoy, if you will summarize?"

Everyone took seats around the table and looked at a sheet of paper which lay at each place. Snape read it. "I am surprised the case regarding Black's will is going forward so quickly," he said.

"Some of my husband's money has gone to good causes," Narcissa said. "Perhaps his contributions in the past are finally going to be recognized. Also, some bureaucrats have the oddest idea they may end up sharing in the Black fortune should it fall into the right hands."

"Is there anything going on with the guardianship suit?" Severus asked.

"I have another paper on it, but thought we might want to look at this one first," she said, clearly in charge for now. "Guardianship law is similar to that governing masters and apprenticeships, which are similar. Harry Potter has a Muggle custodian, his mother's sister, but at best she is a Squib. Even though my cousin was a fugitive, he had a higher standing by our laws than she does. The reason I want you to be my representative for both actions is first, you can testify of your own experience how Malfoys raise those dependent on them, and second, I know you would have more fun thwarting Black's intentions than anyone else."

"Of course." He stifled a scowl. He wished he could tell any court the real truth about his treatment here. "The family is well-known for its generosity." If it weren't for Lucius, he would be more willing to speak what he'd learned about the Dursleys. Things had improved last summer, but the wretched Muggles were unfit to be in charge of any Wizarding child. _Narcissa may have changed her mind, but _his _presence means she'll be unable to protect the boy. She didn't say anything about her son being under her sister's protection rather than mine, either. If she can't exert herself for Draco, she certainly won't hesitate to throw Potter to the wolves._

Oh, he wished he hadn't thought that. As he sat at the table, everyone turned into the shape of wolves. Narcissa was a sleek, pale honey-colored bitch, while Bella was a black one with badly-groomed fur. Macnair was more like a mastiff than a wolf, while Rosier was a deep chocolate brown with a pipe in his paws. Wormtail was still more like a rat than a wolf, and had a silver paw.

The Dark Lord was a sickly-looking albino one with red eyes and white fur which had fallen out in places to reveal a leprous hide beneath. _His health is worse than anyone has said,_ Snape thought, trying hard not to panic. He quickly looked down at himself, and discovered he was still human—yet this time he could see the outline of bony, furred paws and slightly discolored claws, probably from Friday's brewing in class. Severus slid his left hand down into a pocket where he still carried a silver-backed mirror. The touch stung his fingers for a moment, which sent a jolt of fear into him. _It's just from reading the book,_ he reassured himself _Once I'm done it won't happen. I should have thought about the party before I opened the silly thing this morning._

Narcissa kept talking. He forced himself to concentrate on her words and not the chic way in which her fur had been trimmed. "I would like to establish a precedent," she said, cocking her muzzle back. "I don't know much about the home where Mr. Potter was raised, but it seems to me no Wizarding child could be raised properly in a Muggle one. If it could be established such a home is unfit because of that alone, other children in similar circumstances could be placed in families who would properly nurture their talents."

Snape blinked. He blinked again as everyone suddenly turned human again, or in the Dark Lord's case, as inhuman. Narcissa had been thinking deeply about this. He knew little about the home life of other Muggleborn students beside Potter. The way the boy was treated there would be grounds for removal by Muggle standards, let alone Wizarding ones. However, Miss Granger, just to name one, clearly had a much more supportive home. Some Wizarding families, including his own, would fail any test of fitness. Mr. Andreas, for instance, had to be discouraged from supplementing his income by appropriating the belongings of other students, or at least from being stupid enough to keep the items in his pockets. _I hope he'll listen to me how being a student here will pay off in much higher income during a lifetime than spending these years being a petty thief,_ he thought. "Unfortunately," Snape commented, "most Muggleborn students aren't identified till the letter is sent out. By that time a great deal of damage can be done." Potter had been undersized even for a first year, and neither James Potter nor Lily Evans had been short or thin. He should have remembered that.

"We all know where the book is," Voldemort hissed. "When we come to power, we'll have custody of it. Many families would have their minds eased if they knew from the beginning if a child had magic or not."

_How many Squibs will die early if the knowledge gets out?_ Snape wondered, and knew he wasn't the only one to worry. What would Hogwarts be like without the dedication of Argus Filch? Yet most Squibs, like Molly Weasley's accountant cousin, eventually ended up in the Muggle world anyway. Who could blame them? He cleared his throat. "Yes, my lord, it would make life much easier if everyone knew from the beginning about a child's potential. In fact, Squibs would be happier if they were placed in Muggle families, perhaps the very ones who would lose magically gifted children. Perhaps old legends of changelings involve that procedure in ancient times."

The Dark Lord nodded. "Though many Squibs end up with magical children, most families would rather not gamble that way. I like this thought, my Shadow. For one thing, Squibs are often from pureblood families. Their bloodlines can't help but improve the Muggles they'd become involved with."

Snape had often read about hybrid vigor in the breeding of plants and animals. He suspected most Squibs came from Wizarding families who neglected those teachings. Draco had been very lucky, given his background, as had many of his other students. He sometimes wondered how many of them had brothers and sisters who had died about the time they should have received their letters, but hadn't.

"So this case could be the beak of the hippogriff into the tent," the Potions Master said. "If Potter's home is deemed unfit for any reason, but mainly because his relatives are Muggles, then a precedent could be established that any Muggle home is an improper one to raise any child with magic."

"Precisely," Narcissa said, nodding vigorously. "I've heard rumors the Headmaster is covering up how dreadful the boy's family really is because he's afraid his own incompetence in keeping Potter there will come to light."

Severus tried to remain impassive. No matter how annoyed he'd been at Dumbledore's request to help last summer, he was glad he'd done what he could to help the household. He rarely saw Vernon Dursley's face, or his own, in nightmares lately.

Yet the Dursleys had let Harry live all these years. He doubted the same could be said here. Snape concentrated on the summary of the motion against Black's will. "Professor Lupin will be forced to formally oppose this motion, as he is the executor, no matter what other agreement you may end with. It would be thought exceedingly odd if he did not, especially since on paper he stands to benefit. Also, he will likely feel he must maintain a close relationship with Mr. Potter and may contest for guardianship on his own behalf. I suggest not straining his goodwill by involving him in any of these legal tangles. Intellectually he knows he and his fellow wolves must fend for themselves, but I fear he still suffers from a sentimental attachment to his old relationships.

"He may also help his fellow werewolves to find paying work, but decide he must remain aloof personally. He does feel strongly about innocent people being held unjustly in Azkaban, given Black's stay there, but he probably doesn't feel any of our associates qualify. If he requires an alibi, I will be able to give him one, since the Headmaster has assured me Lupin will no longer skip his potion during the full moon."

"What if you need one, Severus?" Narcissa looked concerned, though her sister snorted with contempt.

"I can establish one. It won't be hard to pretend the horrible potions the Swiss send me have once again made me ill."

"The two expulsion phases I know about have been during the full moon, haven't they?" she asked.

She could not have fed him a better line if they'd practiced it. "Coincidence. Besides, brewing the Wolfsbane Potion makes me sick anyway."

Other discussion followed, but nothing much was settled. Snape was glad they were concentrating on Black's will for now. The more time spent on it, the less was available to think over the guardianship motion. He interrupted a modest wrangle. "We had best stipulate Black's death and not ask for witnesses. They may go limp on us and decide that perhaps the dogfather isn't dead after all, and the will need not be probated."

It was obvious no one had thought of it. "But we can't—Lucius saw it happen, and so did my sister," Narcissa said. "So did all those children."

"Mostly Gryffindors, and minors at that. Unless we insist on Veritaserum, we could easily end up with a pack of lies from the lot," Snape said. "And who will be the first one to ask that of Albus Dumbledore? Remember, he _is_ an alchemist, so for all I know he gives _himself_ a dose of the stuff every day in his lemon drops. Frankly, that would explain a lot. If we ask for no proof of Black's death, and go directly to breaking the provisions of the will instead, I think we'd be a lot better off."

"That would mean we couldn't sue for guardianship, either," said Lucius's wife, whose pretty brow furrowed.

"True. We could always ask them to produce the mutt, but they could easily claim they have no idea where he was. The bad part of that is given he did go beyond the Veil, they would be speaking the truth." He may as well prepare them for the worst, though he wondered if Albus would snatch at the stratagem. It would certainly spike the suits before they had properly begun. He was glad he'd suggested it to Lupin.

The entire table looked alarmed. The only witnesses to Black's death at this table belonged to two people who wouldn't testify, or shouldn't, anyway. Given the sudden doubt that appeared in red and dark eyes, perhaps he ought to recommend the idea more strongly to Albus.

"My cousin Sirius, if alive, is still a fugitive from the Ministry," Narcissa said. "Even if we can't break the will, we could still sue for guardianship on the basis on his long absence, first in Azkaban, and then in hiding. Hardly adequate, when you look at it that way."

_This is not helping,_ he thought. _You aren't supposed to win this one!_ If the suit over the will was abandoned, all efforts could be concentrated on the other one, which was far more important. He had to distract them. "True," he conceded. "However, we may not have to give up either one. The courts are much better at recognizing the claims of female heirs, especially since Black left the majority of his estate to someone not connected by blood."

Bella perked up at that statement. Good. Perhaps he could distract her with pride, anger and greed, which worked on an amazingly large number of people. Merlin knew the first two always drew _his_ attention. He continued. "I need to take a closer look at the tapestry at 12 Grimmauld Place. There are other possible claimants, including the Tonks line, if the will is broken. However, if Mrs. Lestrange's claim is invalidated because of _her_ current legal status, we could use the issue to invalidate Black's will entirely since he was one at the time of his death. There are other possible claimants who believe they might deserve a share, though."

Narcissa sighed. Bella looked mutinous. The Dark Lord nodded.

A chime sounded in another room. A house elf came in. "Mistress, the other guests will arrive soon."

"Thank you," she said, and rose. "I fear time has passed more quickly than I thought. I am sorry we have accomplished so little.

Snape thought otherwise. He'd found out who was responsible for Miss Edgecombe's injuries, avoided having to speak to the girl's mother, arranged for an exchange of hostages without giving up his favor, and demonstrated the question of Black's will was more complex than it appeared. _I _do _need to look again at the tapestry,_ he thought.

Everyone stood and left the room, except Bella, who remained seated. She gestured at him to stay behind. "Now, what really happened to the stupid girl?"

"It was as I said. She stayed behind, was mistaken for the entertainment, raped, escaped, and made her way back to Hogwarts." He remained standing. A show of humility always pleased a member of the family of Black. Pity it had taken him so long to learn it.

"I could throw a manticore through that story!" she said with a snort. "If she was so bloody helpless, how did she escape and leave?"

"She hexed her attacker when he was…inattentive, quite likely just after he finished. I am not certain how she returned to Hogwarts. Ravenclaws tend to study ahead in their books, and she may have Apparated without a license." It _could_ be true. He wasn't about to tell Bella about the portkey.

"How do I know any of this actually happened?"

"You don't. Talk to her yourself if you like. I can arrange a private Floo, though the wards will not let you enter or her leave."

"Yes, and I'll get whatever story you have filled her with. I suppose old Poppy has all this in her files, though getting to them would be difficult."

"Madam Lestrange, I should be very surprised if you do not already have eyes and ears at Hogwarts already," he said with all show of respect. "In a week, my godson will be your apprentice and will be obliged to tell you all you would like."

She smirked. "He already does. Since you know he's going to be mine, you can't retaliate without asking for more trouble. I have received the most delightful letters from my dear nephew, too, which I was more than happy to show our master. You have been going easy on those wretched Gryffindors this year, and I'm sure we would all like to know why." Then her face darkened. "How do I know you didn't have her for yourself, and make her think it was someone else?"

"Why? I have nine apprentices I can do with as I like. As a teacher, I already receive offers from the truly desperate. Besides, I wasn't joking about those potions. If I had to use my wooden wand for first blood with a naked Muggle in my arms…"

She howled with laughter. "Won't Lucius be disappointed when he's rescued and discovers his favorite toy is broken? Oh, well, it'll make my sister happy." Bella shifted in the chair. "I can hardly wait to attack the place. I'm surprised you weren't clamoring to join in. Oh, wait, that's right. You and werewolves. Well, if you're too sick to have any fun when we attack Azkaban, just give me some names and I'll see to it they're taken care of."

"Robinson is still there. He recognized me Friday night when I visited Malfoy. I only wish I had a chance at Moody."

She made a face. "Mad-Eye broke you fairly quickly, didn't he? How did you manage a whole year thinking he was there at Hogwarts? I remember, the word came to us it was Crouch all along, and we laughed like anything. Well, till they walked Barty boy past all our cells and made us watch to see what he looked like after he was Kissed. But I remember Robinson, too." She looked thoughtful. "Oh, yes. I remember him well. You may have had a few broken bones from him, but his attentions to female prisoners were…more personal."

Snape decided to risk planting the idea in what passed for Bella's mind. "Remember, I was at the meeting after my initiation and sacrifice. So was Pettigrew."

Lestrange chewed her lip. "True. And our master has always been good at telling us if he wanted someone ahead of time. You probably made your little arrangement while you were here at the Manor, since it's hard for you to contact any of us at the school." She smiled, probably the same smile that the Longbottoms saw before they went mad.

"You must be certain first," he said.

"Of course. And here I thought you were part of the usual conspiracy to cover such things up. But you were always such a natural victim, Snivvy, I suppose you sympathize with the girl instead." She made a little gesture. "Well, my sister will be upset if we make everyone else late for dinner. Go along, now. I'll manage from here."

He bowed, hiding a smile of his own. Letting her believe he was weak made him much stronger, though the Dark Lord was on to his game already. It didn't matter. Bella would discover the perpetrator was Macnair and clumsily strike out at him. Voldemort would attempt to protect the huntsman, especially if Walden's assertion about being used the way he said was true. Since Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode knew to the minute when Edgecombe came back to the Slytherin Common Room, it would be easy for Draco to confirm the timeline.

More conflict in the Circle helped the Order. As he freshened up, he wished Malfoy Manor had a Room of Requirement. He could stand to blast a few Acromantulas just now so he could remain civil during the meal. Snape especially wished for this when he heard the high-pitched giggle which announced Minister Umbridge's arrival. Admittedly, his temper was soothed when he heard Lupin's warm voice greeting her.

Severus bathed his face in cold water again, took a deep breath, and readied himself for the next stage of this ordeal.

_It's showtime._


	48. Chapter 48: The Main Event

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Thank you, everyone, who's read "Folk of the Wood" and reviewed so far. I also want to thank Snape's Nightie, my Britpicker, and Zafaran, who picks up grammar and spelling when my brain drop them. At least I'm old enough to have something to blame it on.

Chapter 48: The Main Event

Severus Snape

Severus wished he could return to Hogwarts and rest. Yet the evening was only beginning. He went into the dining room. The other Death Eaters and the Dark Lord sat near the end with glamours on them. Pettigrew was furtive and shifty, though his appearance as a well-to-do tradesman seemed normal enough. Bella swaggered like the man she now resembled. Macnair would appear athletic disguised as a rabbit, let alone with the coloring of a member of the numerous Zabini family. Arvid Rosier came as himself, having managed somehow to stay off everyone's lists despite the exploits of his younger brother.

The Dark Lord now looked quite normal, but there was something familiar about him anyway. Then Snape realized Voldemort had returned to the face of Tom Riddle, though his coloring was presently far lighter in both hair and skin. His eyes were the same blue as Dumbledore's, and Severus was certain that was not a coincidence.

The other guests included Madam Umbridge, though not Minister Fudge, Professor Lupin, and a small group of other Ministry functionaries, including Percy Weasley. Snape stood by his place-card opposite that of Narcissa's, and waited for the ladies to be seated first.

"Professor Snape!" Umbridge trilled. "How delightful to see you. We missed you at the last dinner here."

He grimaced, then gave her a slight bow. "I suppose it is good for my health in the long run, but the potions now prescribed for me by the Swiss affected me badly at first."

Umbridge sat, followed by the rest of the women—Snape noticed Bella nearly sat, too, despite her current appearance—and then by Narcissa. Once the hostess was in her chair, the men felt free to follow. Snape noted he had the Minister on one side, while Lupin was next to Narcissa. A good thing he knew how to play with his food enough to make it look as if he'd eaten.

Introductions were made. Umbridge's eyes widened when Lupin's name and position were mentioned. "You weren't at Hogwarts last year," she said.

"No, though I was two years before that. You must forgive me for filling your spot."

Umbridge seemed surprised to find her conversation partner so soft-spoken. "Then why…"

"I am a werewolf, madam," Lupin said with a wicked gleam in his amber eyes. "But thanks to our esteemed Potions Master, I am no threat at all. I merely drink a potion just as the moon comes up and spend the night sleeping like a child.

"Is this true?" The Minister's face went red. "Narcissa Malfoy, I had no idea I would be eating at table with his kind!"

_There are worse things at this table,_ Snape thought. "Professor Lupin is quite right," he found himself saying. "He is quite competent and much better with children than I am. As long as he _remembers_ to drink his potion at the right time, there is no danger. He does lose a few days each month because the transformation weakens him, but then again, I have been ill fairly often this term myself." He could have kicked himself. If only he'd kept his mouth shut, Narcissa would have politely asked the wolf to take a tray rather than disturb such a prominent guest.

"Oh," said Umbridge. "I suppose the two of you are great friends."

"I wouldn't put it that way," the Potions Master said. "However, he certainly deserves the hospitality which Mrs. Malfoy has offered him. We all owe our hostess our gratitude for being here in the first place. Let us not disrupt her seating arrangements." He glanced down the table and hoped his cooperation appeared grudging enough. Judging by the happy smile on "Griddle" as Voldemort called himself tonight, he had scored a few points for it.

Umbridge began her interrogation of Lupin right there at the table, to which he responded with good grace and humor. Snape envied the man his manners. He would have turned half the silverware into poisonous ants under the same circumstance.

"And so, Madam Minister, save for a few nights each month, I and my kind are quite as human as everyone else. Professor Snape is attempting to train more people to make the Wolfsbane Potion so it will become less difficult to obtain. Most werewolves don't really like what happens to them," Lupin said with sadness in his eyes. "The potion offers them a way to remain home with their families, and reduces the number of future victims."

The Minister looked thoughtful for once. "But that's why my registry could actually help," she argued. "The Ministry could offer the potion to everyone on my list once enough of it is made on a timely basis for a subsidized fee. This would help those who aren't rich or well-connected enough to buy their own. A comfortable place could be established where they could stay for their…transformation, away from frightened neighbors. But the Ministry really needs to know who they are."

Lupin shook his head. "Only if the attitudes of society change, Madam Minister. It does little good to have the potion available each month only to starve for the rest of it. I am lucky to be allowed to teach at Hogwarts. Others have difficulty putting bread on the table, including those with children to support. We must seek treatment in secret at time from shadowy sources, or go without altogether, rather than risk losing a job. If there were a potion to stop the process, or keep the transformation from making one so ill, perhaps it wouldn't matter so much. But being a werewolf is more like having a chronic disorder than becoming a slave to the Dark."

The Minister was quiet, and picked at her food. Snape knew Lupin was right. Most ill effects from lycanthropy seemed to occur to those who fought the most against becoming a wolf, at least according to the book. Werewolves who had the opportunity to hunt or least chase their prey were often far healthier. Severus suspected Madam Pomfrey may have known about some the Marauders' moonlight expeditions, and turned a blind eye if they improved the wolf's condition.

Then he noticed something. Young Mr. Weasley, who had been quiet thus far, reached over to retrieve a salt shaker and accidentally brushed Madam Umbridge's arm. She didn't recoil, but she definitely withdrew. Snape wondered. Perhaps he had been an idiot last year not to take advantage of her badly-expressed affection for him, especially if Sprout's story were true. From what he'd heard from Firenze, Bane had been up to his old tricks with the woman last spring. Despite Moody's occasional comments, Mr. Weasley's virtue was likely quite safe.

Maybe it was only the trappings of romance that interested the Minister. _I couldn't have played that game with her last year anyway,_ he thought, _not with Lucius on my plate as well. But I don't have that problem so far. Given how _I _feel, I certainly wouldn't be tempted to overplay my hand either._

Lupin had finished talking. Snape modulated his voice carefully, aware of its power, and said, "Of course, the real goal is to find an actual cure. The potion used now is only a stop-gap to manage the condition. Unfortunately I've had little time to work on research."

She looked at him, and blinked. "Mr. Malfoy said you were wasted at the school," she said thoughtfully. "It must be terribly difficult to manage the regimen and teach as well."

"More brewers will be willing to endure it if they don't have to lose months at a time from their work," Snape said. "Many of them have families, too. There are times I find your new regulations annoying, but they are part of the cure."

Umbridge nodded. "Every time I went to your dungeons, I nearly choked on the reek. It can't be healthy to live in that. Then my assistant," she said as she glanced at her assistant, who turned a nice shade of pink, "found a study about potion makers. It was rather technical, but it was clear what they meant."

He gave a Glare of Death, Second Class, to Percy Weasley, then let it go. If the study was correct, his health would have been bad this year even without the Swiss potions. With Trelawney's prophecy giving a clear limit to his life, perhaps a few months as a lab rat would help point the way to better health for other brewers.

Severus hoped his place looked as if he'd eaten. Lupin, of course, had cleaned his plate. Dessert was a moist cake of some kind with bits of pineapple in it. He managed more of it than he had the main course, though that wasn't saying much.

Narcissa didn't believe in retiring while the men indulged in brandy and cigars unless Lucius insisted on it. Since her husband was still gone, she led them to the parlor for wine and a platter of biscuits while the house elves cleaned up the dining room.

Somehow he ended up talking to the Minister again, while Lupin appeared enthralled with their hostess. The wolf would not be the first to fall to Narcissa's charms and beauty, nor the last, but Snape hoped the Gryffindor would be sensible about it.

He felt just mellow enough from dinner to exert himself to be civil to Madam Umbridge. True, she was utterly incompetent as well as petty and vindictive, but he was uncomfortably aware how he shared the last two with her at times. _I'll just have to find another Hufflepuff to take points from tonight, or perhaps a brace of Ravenclaws. I will have earned it._

"You're different this year," Umbridge said softly to him.

Fortunately nobody was paying attention to them. He inclined his head, not expecting her to be so perceptive so quickly. He thought he was going to have to take out an ad in the Prophet to signal his change of pace. "I looked at the study myself," he said. "People have told me for years that I overreact, but I thought they were idiots. They didn't understand what it's like to have to keep those dunderheads from blowing the place up. I must admit, my head feels clearer than it used to after a couple of expulsion phases. Maybe the study was right."

"I mean, different towards me," she said. "You don't that 'I'm barely tolerating you because I have to' air about you." She looked down at her drink.

Snape was still keeping to dyed barley-water, and happy to do so. Telling her the truth the way he had Hagrid would not go over well. She would not appreciate his knowing so much about her. "We could all see you weren't really happy at the school," he hazarded. "However, Mr. Filch expressed great admiration for you. He and I have an excellent working relationship, and I felt obliged to give him a clear field."

"_Filch?_" she screeched. "That _Squib?_"

Give he'd never seen her perform a spell competently herself, Snape thought her protest sounded thin. "The Filches are a well-known family from the north of England," he said. "Argus has served Hogwarts honorably for decades. He agreed with you on many things last year." It felt odd to say so many kind years about people after years of slicing them to bits.

Umbridge looked thoughtful. How strange it seemed to speak to her as if she were a real person, and not the harried lunatic dripping with artificial sweetness who had inflicted herself on the school last year.

She sighed. "I wondered how he always managed to have tea ready when I stopped by," she said.

"He still speaks well of you," Snape said. "He would likely enjoy seeing an owl from you. Filch knows his place and is not likely to presume." There. That was the best he could do. If the idiotic woman failed to take the hint, Argus was better off without her. Dumbledore would laugh to see him play the part of matchmaker.

The Minister bit her lip. Then she glanced over at Lupin, still chatting with Narcissa. "He doesn't really look that frightening."

_Try having him come at you with jaws wide open, panting for your blood! _Then everyone in the room changed into wolves again, including the guests under glamours. He wished it would stop. Severus concentrated on Umbridge, seeing her as a plump, gray wolf with glossy, well-kept fur and a pink ribbon around her neck. _Oh, now really, I just can't take this seriously,_ he thought, though his hand crept into a pocket to touch the mirror again for comfort. Perhaps he was beginning to become desensitized, as the Muggles put it. He took a deep breath, and tried to pick up the dangling thread of the conversation. "Professor Lupin has been one since he was bitten as a child. I believe it frightens him. I have been reading the most remarkable book about them," he added, wickedly hoping she would ask to borrow it. "He dislikes showing any temper, at least in his human form."

"But you're still afraid of him," Umbridge said.

She was more perceptive than she looked. "I had a bad experience with one when I was sixteen. Perhaps you could say I learned to make the Wolfsbane Potion in self-defense."

The Minister nodded. "What are the long term effects of it? Werewolves are supposed to live a long time, but he looks older than he ought."

_So do I. How much of that comes from the poisons I've dealt with for so long? Not that it matters any more._ "I don't know. I don't know any werewolves who have taken it steadily over a long time. Perhaps there ought to be a study. The professor counsels new werewolves, you know. It would be easy to divide them into two groups, one which takes the potion regularly and the other not, with tests on a monthly basis. That would mean larger quantities of the potion than are currently available, of course. Also, we'd have to choose the subjects at random, even if some members of the control group would rather take the potion to ease their transformation." He could design that protocol in his sleep. "Frankly, I've tried some improvements on the formula, and think there ought to be more of them. I may ask Lupin to write up a thorough report on everything he remembers about his transformations and work on some of the more obvious symptoms, such as the pain that undoubtedly occurs with the change. It would be interesting to compare that with a Metamorphmagus making a more radical body change than usual." Miss Tonks's clumsiness was part of the syndrome. When one's physical boundaries changed constantly, of course one was going to lack coordination. "But for now I'm teaching the original to my students. I don't know how well things will turn out, but I do hope to win my bet."

"I wish you luck. Well, I have monopolized you long enough," she said, though her eyes looked wistful, in the now-human face of a plump, middle-aged woman. Then she left and approached another guest with an earsplitting girlish giggle that would paralyze a basilisk.

As he refreshed his barley-water, Percy Weasley came up to the cabinet for a refill of his own glass. "My condolences, professor," the young man said, his face quite red.

Snape doubted the Gryffindor had had more than a couple. Arthur Weasley reacted much the same way after his second pint. From what Severus knew, Bill held his drink better, but Charlie didn't. He'd never seen Molly worse off at all, though he'd heard rumors about her punch. Percy clearly took after his father in this way. If the gods were kind, nobody would ever know what the twins were like in their cups.

"You have to work with her every day," he said blandly. "At least at Hogwarts I could hide in the dungeons and give out points to those who warned me of her presence."

Percy nodded, then burped. The boy was far gone to forget his manners so. "I can't hide anywhere," he said. "I'm right in the next office. I'd rather be Crouch's assistant again even if he did call me Wetherby."

"You'd better have some of this." Snape brought a small vial of Sobering Potion out and put a few drops in Weasley's glass.

"Do I have to?" Percy said. He gazed dismally down at the liquid. "I can almost stand it when I feel like this. She keeps straightening my collar, you know, the way Mum does, even when there's nothing wrong. Moody said I was to play along and keep her sweet. But she's Mum's age, even if I liked her."

"If it's any comfort, I noticed at dinner that she doesn't like being touched, even by you," the Potions Master said in a low voice. "I doubt she'll take things further. The centaurs were…were not kind. No matter how she may have deserved it, such experiences change people. I believe all she wants is the show. Moody once courted her, though I doubt he told you. He did not make much progress."

"Yes, he did. I mean, he told me," Percy said, clearly trying to be precise. "He said I wasn't to press my luck. As if I would with _her!_"

Snape suddenly pitied the Minister. He'd known men who made fools of themselves over younger women, and how girls laughed among themselves at them. No doubt it worked the same way turned around. "As odious as she is, Weasley, she does have feelings. She is not to my taste, and is rather obviously not to yours. I find tittering and giggling annoying in first year students, never mind women her age. But if her affections are truly set on you, you have the ability to hurt her immensely. Her vengeance at being disappointed could well affect our particular mission, never mind what she could do to you personally. I'm certain you feel like an utter prat." Since they both bore the Dark Mark, the phrase 'our particular mission' was delightfully neutral.

"Pettigrew feels sorry for me, too."

Snape nodded towards the glass. "Drink it _now_," he said. "Not all our guests are quite what they seem. You must not be indiscreet here. If you must vent your feelings, speak to Moody. He and I are not friends, but he is very, very good at listening."

The young man took his medicine and made a sour face. Severus wondered briefly what young Weasley would say if he knew the man giving him this advice was besotted with his own mother. _He would probably think I was a fool for passing her by, since he undoubtedly believes I am close to her age, or older._ He briefly fantasized how different his life might have been like if he'd been older than Lucius or the Marauders, and if he would have been intelligent enough to look at the Hufflepuff girls as more than a single feminine mob. _I probably would have been as stupid as I was in reality,_ he concluded, _and focused on someone unattainable then, too._

He shook himself. He must not let his mind wander tonight. "When was the last time you spoke or met with Miss Clearwater?" Snape asked.

"Not for a year now." Percy's face was full of misery.

"Then owl her. You have nothing to lose." _Poppy must have increased my dosage of the mood enhancer quite a bit,_ he thought. Yet his thinking was as clear as ever. The Gryffindor came from a sentimental family; therefore, he missed it more than others being thrust into this world. If Miss Clearwater was not going to be helpful, it was best for young Weasley to learn it now and do his mourning privately, rather than brood too much. _My situation is quite hopeless and always has been, so I may indulge my feelings as long as I never speak of them. _Yet he had to Moody. It had been such a relief to express how he really felt for once—but he would not be so foolish as to do it again.

Weasley slowly nodded, his eyes focusing better. "I can't let the Minister know, though. If Pene—if Miss Clearwater wants to see me again, I'll have to hide it. If she brushes me off, the hag would _sympathize_ with me."

"Neither alternative sounds very palatable, I must admit," Snape said dryly. "I shall leave you to your courtship, Mr. Weasley. I wish you luck."

Percy grimaced, then looked down at his empty glass. "Try the port bottle," said the Potions Master. "It's actually dyed barley-water." He left to mingle as a proper guest ought.

Lupin was no longer in the parlor. However, Mrs. Goyle was. He quickly put on a blank face before sudden rage made him hex her. "Mrs. Goyle. How unexpected," Severus said. He should offer condolences on the death of her son, but somehow couldn't force himself to say the proper words.

She looked uncomfortable. "Professor. I'm glad to see you here tonight. I have heard your health is bad, and has been for the last few months."

"It is improving, but slowly," he said. "I have setbacks from time to time, which are quite annoying. I wish…I wish I could have spoken to you about your son last summer."

"Yes," she said, glancing around as if fearing being overheard. "I miss him, professor. I miss him more than I thought I would. When I went through his things the other day, I…well, I can't change things now."

Snape imagined he saw a hint of softness in that hard face. "We all have regrets, Mrs. Goyle," he said in a softer voice than before. It was just as well he'd been too till to attend Gregory's funeral. He was certain he would have done something others would have regretted.

"As you probably heard, his wand and his Beater club went with him. But I found this extra wand hidden away. It's hardly been used, I checked. I fear my son sadly neglected his supplemental schooling this summer."

"He was never good at homework," Snape said, and carefully took the wand. The only time Goyle managed any out of class was when his godson oversaw it, but he did not mention that. He did not want anyone inquiring into young Malfoy's dedication, especially now. The wand belonged to the bundle he'd bought in Knockturn Alley. As far as he could tell by touching it, the monitoring spell had died with its owner. He quickly put it into an inside pocket of his robe. He didn't know what use he could make of it, but he'd think of something.

"He tried to haunt the house," Mrs. Goyle continued. "But I ignored him till he went away. I couldn't stand to have him ask me why…"

"As for that, madam, only you can answer that. Obviously you must have done the right thing by ridding the world of a traitorous son, or you would not have been at the meeting last week or here now." He was not about to walk into a trap by seeming too sympathetic.

"I heard you were punished because you tried to protect him," the woman said, her mouth twitching.

"I believed we were all under Ministry attack at the time. As it turned out, I was wrong and our master had me chastised, as is his right. However, I should think it obvious I've been forgiven. If you are looking for sympathy for your grief, this is probably not the place to ask for it." He let a little of his hidden rage over Goyle's death show.

The woman turned away. She might be worth cultivating, however, though certainly not here and now. He could always owl her a note apologizing for his rudeness and see if anything further developed from that.

Snape scowled as he inhaled some cigar smoke and stepped outside for some fresh air, and some quiet. At first he thought he was by himself on the stoop by the kitchen, but discovered he was not.

Arvid Rosier puffed on a pipe. Snape nodded to him, remembering the man's wish to speak to him earlier. The Rosier parents visited the school every once in a while, generally at the Leaving Feast to collect the twins. He was curious how the children had managed their Sunday morning last summer, since his vision of them in the attic had not boded well for their survival. He dare not raise the subject, though, since it might have been their mother who had rescued them unknown to their father. His friendship with Arvid's younger brother had been one of the few bright spots of his adolescence.

"Snape," Rosier said, relighting the pipe.

"Rosier," he replied, taking in the somewhat cleaner air. The pipe wasn't as bad as the cigars inside.

'How are those idiots of mine doing this year?"

"Your daughter is happy as Chaser in Miss Bulstrode's place. Her studies are adequate. Your son's work is a trifle better. Both of them are on a little committee young Mr. Malfoy has formed to look into a dueling club. I believe they think it wise to cast their net a little wider this year, if only to embarrass the officially-sanctioned organization."

"Ah. Still just Potter's friends again in that DA?"

"Yes. Almost exclusively Gryffindor this time—not as many Ravenclaws are quite so eager since Miss Chang is too busy with being Captain and studying for NEWTs. A few Hufflepuffs from last year returned, but no new ones have volunteered. Without Madam Umbridge there, the threat does not seem so immediate. I protested, of course, but to no avail. However, I have somehow persuaded Professor Lupin that special lessons for only a very small portion of the school were unfair, and he may do some coaching. If the membership includes a larger representation of the school than the DA, he will feel much happier about it. Miss Edgecombe will be the first non-Slytherin member, one reason I was so insistent on seeing justice done for her. I hope her presence will induce other students from her house, and from others, to be part of such a group."

"And of course nobody will notice the students who are actually running it are all apprentices," the older man said with admiration.

"One hopes not." He knew he was babbling a trifle. Arvid Rosier had a right to ask some questions other people did not.

"Too bad we didn't have a head of Slytherin back then who was so careful." Rosier puffed hard on the pipe now, and looked tense.

"Dumbledore continues to favor the Gryffindors as he did during the days of the Marauders," Snape said. "It's beginning to bother others besides Slytherin. You should have been there a couple of years ago. It was terrifying how quickly the mood of the school turned against Mr. Potter after those articles in the Prophet."

"Yes." The older man chewed on the stem a moment. "Too bad my brother Evan wasn't there to see it."

"Nor is Charles Wilkes," Snape said, thrown back into memory. Two old memory compartments opened he thought were closed forever. He was the only survivor of that group, at a price he would never stop paying.

"I swore I would never forgive the Ministry for the way he died in Azkaban. I swore I would never forgive whoever turned him in to that lunatic Mad-Eye."

"Crouch," Snape said absently. "Moody, for all his sins, would have kept Evan alive, even if, if Evan didn't care for it much." His hands shook and phantom pain shot through his fingers. For a brief moment he was back in the cell, dully answering everything asked him. "It was Crouch who had Evan." Moody should have taken custody of the younger Rosier brother, though his memory of that time was vague. He supposed he should be glad of that. At least Charles Wilkes had died quickly while attempting to escape.

Arvid looked at him sharply. "For a while I thought it was you who had talked out of turn. We all knew how much Moody liked his fun."

"It might have been," Snape said softly. "I don't remember some of what happened. This is not the place. I will be glad to meet you at another." He had not thought to see this ancient bill presented, but it was quarter-day right now.

Rosier stared out into the gardens and tamped his pipe on the rail. "I always wondered why the Great Bumblebee took so much trouble to move you out of there the day you were scheduled to be Kissed. I wasn't the only one. Then Malfoy made you godfather to his son, and some of us felt he wouldn't have done that if you couldn't be trusted, no matter what Karkaroff said about his trial. 'No more a Death Eater than I am', is what he said Dumbledore testified."

"I…I am useful," Snape said. "The Headmaster is the sort of player who thinks a decade ahead." He would love to see everyone as wolves again compared to the nightmare he was in now. Now part of him was trapped, not in Azkaban, but in the old wizard's office under that fiery-hearted wand. "However, I do not forget my obligations. I shall need a few days to attend to affairs. Perhaps next weekend?"

"Won't be necessary," Arvid said, as he looked down at the floorboards of the stoop. "You see, we have a lot of wards in our attic. Some old things up there…well, you know how it goes in the old families. That lunatic Weasley would confiscate the lot just so _he_ could play with the toys, never mind the blasted Muggles." The other man took a deep breath. "Last summer both me and Elspeth woke up knowing someone was in the place. Turned out to be the twins. We made it there in time. Then their Marks began hurting, but they didn't want…didn't want to die any more. After an hour or so of that, everything stopped and they were fine. We found out a bit later what it was all about. I lied to Mrs. Lestrange when she Floo'd us." He stared up at the sky, his face unreadable. "Mrs. Goyle must be a very strong woman. I'm afraid we don't meet that standard. If the apprentice bond is half what they say it is, I don't wonder you had trouble."

Severus breathed a sigh of relief. "I shall counsel both your children about their loyalties," he said. "I haven't heard a word from either one unfit for our lord's ears." Especially since he had yet to go to one of the 'committee meetings'.

"I rather hoped you would help. And I am sorry for bringing up old times. We have a new man at St. Mungo's who's been looking at some of the sealed records, and found yours. By the time he was through ranting, those of us in charge of that aspect of affairs were…well, we were a little more appreciative of how difficult it will be for any of us should we fall into Ministry hands. Especially since you weren't talking to anyone for a bit when you first arrived at the hospital. I thought it best to let you know not to worry about the debt. In fact, I owe you."

Snape was astonished. It wasn't like any Death Eater to be quite so frank. "I hope to be worthy of your trust, Mr. Rosier."

"I expect you will. I'd hate to face the same sort of punishment you did for trying to protect them. The children never spoke of it, but they had nightmares for a while. You could have offered them up to save yourself, but you didn't."

"They were part of the group that formed to assist me when I, I was unwell," Snape said. "You can be quite proud of them. I owe my apprentices quite a debt."

Rosier grimaced. "Perhaps not as much as you think. Some of us older ones with families aren't as active in the movement, but we still keep an eye on things. With you gone, my two might end up with the rat or with that madwoman. We're glad someone intelligent is at Hogwarts to keep an eye on things as well. We all know the old stories, and frankly, you're the only Head of Slytherin who's done a decent job for almost a century. At least the students you turn out speak well of you. They've seen you argue right back at the Headmaster when nobody else will. I'd certainly hate being in the middle of things the way you are. How you managed when Mad-Eye was there I have no idea."

"Trust me, I haven't forgotten what he's done," Snape said in a chill voice. "And even though his son was one of us, I do not miss either Crouch."

Arvid began puffing on his pipe again and smiled. "I'm sure you've found out a lot about the family, with their little house elf in your care. How on earth did you get her to wear that blasted lab jacket?"

"I informed her it was equipment, not clothes," Severus said. "Unfortunately, she is so young she doesn't know nearly as much as an older elf would have."

"I was here in July and had to listen to that horrible Kreacher rant about how the other side treated you," Rosier said. "I have to admit I wonder why you haven't shaken the dust of both sides off your feet and gone to ground."

"I have thought about it," Snape admitted. "But not now, not so close to victory." _Whose_ victory he left unspoken. "Be certain I will care for those in my charge. Slytherin is my first priority till I am commanded otherwise."

"Can't argue with that." The other man gazed down at the coals in his pipe bowl. "Lestrange said you were too soft to be part of the Inner Circle, but after watching you last week, I can't agree. I'm glad you have a sense of proportion about the children. Do whatever's needed to protect them. Elspeth and I owe you one."

Snape had hoped the ordeal forced on the twins might open Rosier's eyes, but that obviously wasn't the case. It had been years since he'd thought about his friends and how they'd died. Fortunately his answers had been ambiguous enough not to raise doubts about his loyalty. "I'm surprised you sent them to Hogwarts, frankly."

"Better in your charge than Karkaroff's. At least you're competent and clearly not a coward. He didn't even die very well."

"No." Snape remembered how the former master of Durmstrang had pleaded for his life, and then attacked with a knife before being finished off with a single Avada Kedavra. _I've never asked forgiveness for that death. Since the bastard tried to kill me first, I've always called that one self-defense._ Yet…and yet, Igor hadn't wanted to return to the Circle. Was that really such a crime? Wouldn't he run, too, if he had no obligations and thought he could make a success of it? He sighed, and bowed his head. One more spirit to contact, though he would have to be careful about it. Poppy was on to him.

"No one questions your courage, Snape, not even that madwoman Lestrange. I must admit, I don't know anyone who thought you would have turned out to be a teacher. Pity the lot have poisoned you, probably including mine. At least that's what the rumor is." Rosier's tone was light now.

Severus matched it. "I wish it were a rumor. The vile glop the Swiss force on me is almost as bad as the disease. I think it's a waste of time, myself."

"Don't you have to stay at a clinic for it?"

"I'm an experiment. Lucky me." He took another lungful of clear, cool air only lightly flavored by pipe smoke. "I've skived off from the party long enough, I suppose."

Arvid Rosier nodded. Snape hoped the man didn't go around comparing notes with any of the other parents of his apprentices. Fortunately, the Zabini family rarely formed a part of the British pureblood circle, while Narcissa would never endanger Draco that way. He was lucky not to be accused of either incompetence or treachery for hiding the names of the students whose loyalties were doubtful. Just Goyle had been bad enough. What would the Dark Lord do if he ever found out the truth? _I will have to attend a committee meeting soon and lay down some rules about how they must present themselves to their parents._

Once inside, he searched for Lupin and for young Mr. Weasley. Neither one was used to Malfoy hospitality, or had any clue about the danger he was in. Narcissa played much the same game he did, though for higher stakes with her son at risk.

He had to pretend to be sorry Minister Umbridge and her assistant had already departed. Lupin wasn't in evidence, either, and that bothered him. Surely the wolf would have spoken to him before leaving. Narcissa came up to him in the parlor and said, "Oh, your friend from Hogwarts is discussing possible employment for his fellow werewolves with some of the er, other guests in another room. I don't think they should be interrupted."

"I wish I had known." Snape held a barley-water drink in his hand, though he hadn't taken a sip yet.

"Well, I was asked to keep you away," she said. "They wanted to speak to him privately, and to be honest, we all know what you think of him. I appreciate the way you behaved at the dinner table when Madam Umbridge was, er, a little upset, though. I certainly didn't expect you to speak in Professor Lupin's defense like that. I must admit, I never expected a werewolf to have such a genteel way about him."

"I didn't want your seating pattern upset," he said. _Another one fooled,_ he thought. Yet no matter how Snape disliked the werewolf, nobody deserved what Voldemort was capable of. If Lupin cracked, the secrets of the Order were at risk. Dumbledore must be out of his mind. _I hope we both leave here alive._ "How much longer do you think the interview will last?"

"No more than a half hour, I should think." Narcissa glanced up at a clock. "I was also asked to remind you that you were promised some entertainment you would enjoy for once, but I suspect you're too anxious tonight."

"How well you know me," Snape said. How cruel to have Narcissa be the bearer of the news as well. "I'd rather discuss the guardianship case. That is the important one, really."

"I still think Mr. Potter would find the Manor more to his taste than some dreadful Muggle home," she said, taking him at his word, as they both sat on a couch with an obvious distance between them. A few guests were still circulating.

"Quite likely. For the short time he would be allowed to enjoy it." He rather hoped someone reported his blunt observation. Now the Headmaster's determination to keep the boy hidden with the Dursleys actually began to make sense, but Snape still found it hard to believe Albus had let his Golden Boy to be so foully treated over the years. He was used to the old wizard letting Slytherins take their chances, but to see such neglect of a Gryffindor, and one so favored at school as well, continued to surprise him.

Narcissa bowed her head. "I've wanted more children over the years," she murmured. "I know you complain about the ones at Hogwarts, but even borrowing them for a bit must be better than having only one."

He'd heard this before. "You wouldn't think so if you had to supervise them as much as I do," he said, knowing what she really wanted to hear. "I'll protect him, Narcissa. I swore to do so when he was three weeks old. I haven't broken that oath yet." Despite how annoying young Malfoy could be at times, Draco was his only chance to have a child of his own.

She smiled faintly. "No. You haven't. I don't like him becoming Bella's apprentice instead of yours, though. Even with _his_ conditions, she'll try to hurt him if only to get at us."

"I told Lucius some of what happened already last night. Even from Azkaban he has influence, if nothing else."

"He'll just think it was time Draco toughened up."

That was true enough. "I will still do what I can," he said. "She can't meddle with him during school hours, and even _he_ probably won't allow interference that would ruin Slytherin's chances in Quidditch this year."

Narcissa smiled. "I know. Perhaps I worry too much."

_No. You don't worry enough._ "I still have a favor with your sister. I will gladly use it to protect your son. I was just afraid I'd have to exchange it for that idiot Ravenclaw girl."

"Shhh!" Narcissa held a finger close to her lips. "Don't give anybody ideas!"

He smirked. He was about to say how some of the guests wouldn't know an idea if it danced on their heads and sang "I'm a Little Teacup", when he saw Lupin walk into the main parlor. The wolf looked the same, but Snape had tests he'd like to make on the Dark Arts teacher before going back. He stood, thanked Narcissa for her hospitality, then made his farewells to the _other_ guests, who now entered the parlor as well.

He discovered he was rubbing his hands together, the way he had for a long time after they'd been healed after his return from Azkaban, and forced them down to his sides.

"I'm sorry you can't stay," said the disguised Dark Lord. "But you need your rest. Take this. I hope you can make use of it." Voldemort handed him an envelope holding a slip of paper. No doubt it was a portkey.

Snape bowed and thanked him. He had little enthusiasm just now for any sort of 'entertainment'. He'd visited Lucius the night before and a week ago his hands had been soaked in the blood of an innocent woman. Miss Edgecombe had been raped. All that now blocked physical desire. Besides, he knew a full report of any visits that nature would be sent to the Dark Lord—unless the Ministry made one first. He had best be able to perform. He and Lupin left the Manor.

Remus Lupin

He felt as if he'd been beaten half to death from the inside. He'd suspected who his new employers might be, and when he saw Snape bow to the light-haired man with blue eyes earlier in the evening was certain of it. _I did have to volunteer, didn't I?_ he thought. _Severus tried to warn me, but there's nothing like reality._

Lupin had barely kept his temper the moment he'd scented Pettigrew. Only concentrating on Minister Umbridge had kept him from howling like the wolf he was and ripping the rat's throat out in front of everyone.

Once he and Snape were past the main gate, they both Apparated to the street in front of 12 Grimmauld Place. The Potions Master waved him to a half. "Lupin. Let me check you for a few things before we go in."

"The secrets of the Order are still safe," he said, feeling affronted.

"Lots of people have thought lots of things after leaving _him_," Snape said grimly. He pulled his wand out and performed a few of the usual spells. "Well, you're not under the _Imperius_, nor do you have any hidden compulsion spells I can find. The Headmaster is better at this. He should have a look at you as well."

"I must admit," Remus said, "that I felt odd a few times as if someone were trying to place charms like that on me."

"The standard ones generally don't work on werewolves, but not many know that. The binding enchantments that do work have to be placed during the dark of the moon, and that's not for another week."

"Done some research, have you?" The attempted humor clearly fell flat.

Snape grimaced. "It has been a temptation. But if there's anything wrong I can't see, Mad-Eye should detect it even if Dumbledore isn't inside tonight."

"Er…just one question before we go in," the werewolf said. "Are you ah, seeing Mrs. Malfoy?"

The Slytherin blinked for a moment. "Not the way you're probably asking me. She is a friend, and that is all." Then he glared at Lupin. "If you hurt her, or cause Lucius to hurt her, I know potions that require material from werewolves. She's been through enough."

"I have no intention of hurting anyone," Remus said. Underneath the perfume, she smelled like honey and ivory. Most people who wore scents did so badly, but Narcissa Malfoy's had only enhanced her personal odors. Pale blonde hair and fine, chiseled features now attracted more than anything else. "You compounded the perfume she wears, didn't you?"

"Yes," Snape said. "But she is far safer being faithful to her husband, no matter what he does. It's not fair, as a certain know-it-all would say, but it is still true. Keep it buttoned, wolf."

"I don't have a chance anyway," Lupin said, suddenly a bit jealous of the Potions Master, who apparently had every right to see the woman whenever he liked. "Just forget about it." He roughly thrust his key into the door and let them both in. Both of them were silent walking past the portrait, not wanting to set the woman off.

Only a few members of the Order were there. The Headmaster, Moody, and Shacklebolt sat in the parlor, while Remus heard Mrs. Weasley humming in the kitchen.

Snape reported on what he'd learned, including the interesting precedent that might be established if Potter's guardianship moved to the Malfoys. Then he laid out his theory of how both motions could be stymied altogether. "If we maintain the pretense Black is still alive, but merely missing, we would technically have seven years before he could be declared dead. Even dating from his escape from Azkaban, that would give Mr. Potter time to reach adult status and inherit after the end of that time."

Dumbledore sadly shook his head. "I wish I had thought of that before I sent his will into the goblins for probate," he said. "Once done, it cannot be retracted save by the living presence of the person involved. Since Sirius is dead, not even Polyjuice would work. It was a splendid idea, Severus, but too late to do any good. Besides, Mrs. Malfoy would only pursue a guardianship motion on the grounds of his absence and neglect even ifMiss Tonks couldsuccessfully impersonate him."

"If you'll excuse me, I need to go upstairs to take a look at the tapestry," Snape said.

"I have made a diagram of it already," the Headmaster said, and handed a paper packet to the Potions Master.

"I wish I wasn't automatically disqualified," Lupin said, unhappy he couldn't contribute anything to the discussion. _Harry would be safe with me. _Then he remembered the Shrieking Shack, and how his neglect had nearly contributed to the deaths of three students and an unconscious Snape.

"You aren't the only one," the dark-haired Slytherin said, unfolding the paper and putting it on his lap. "Potter would be better off with Filch than with the Malfoys. Headmaster, I still don't understand why you don't propose yourself for at least an interim guardian."

The elderly wizard looked unhappy. "I don't have time to be one, not the kind the boy needs. I could be accused of trying to cover up my own neglect if anyone finds out what the Dursley household is really like. I have been guilty of it, not just with Harry, but with other students as well. Veritaserum might be used for some of the testimony, and some ugly things could come out about my own conduct."

Lupin had no idea what the Headmaster was talking about. Everyone knew how deeply Dumbledore cared for his charges, although leaving Harry with the Dursleys could look bad. Then he remembered one person in the room who might think otherwise, and glanced at Snape. The taciturn Potions Master had no hint of resentment in his expression, though.

"They wouldn't dare," Snape said. "It would be used on the side I represent then, and Mrs. Malfoy knows too much about her family for that to be allowed. However, Sirius Black had other relatives in the female line." He smoothed the paper with his hands.

"Dora is too young," Shacklebolt said, who had been silent till now. "Nobody can complain Muggle ancestry left her with too little magic. She'd do her best, of course, but I don't know if she wants the job. And she's unmarried. That makes a difference, even these days."

"Pity she keeps turning you down," Lupin said. "A married couple would be perfect." The Metamorphmagus girl had made a play for him once, but had finally accepted his word that he wasn't ready for any relationship so soon after Black's death. He'd been consumed with exhaustion from his friend's presence and then with guilt at feeling some relief when his friend was gone, and no fit companion for any young girl, however experienced an Auror she might be. He'd been quietly happy when she'd turned her attentions to Shacklebolt instead.

"What about her mother?" Moody growled. "She retired from society when she married, but this could be a good time for her to come back. We could even make the point the boy would be happier in a house with someone who knew the Muggle world."

Snape looked up from the paper. "Possibly. She may not welcome the Order's intrusion on her life. Miss Tonks doesn't talk about her parents very much. We have a better candidate, though. Granted, she's on here with a broken line, but she meets the other qualifications."

Lupin took a deep breath. "Of course. Mrs. Weasley." How had he forgotten her? "She'd already die for Harry, and as the wife of a Minister couldn't be faulted on social grounds." He remembered something from last year that could be a telling point if presented properly. Besides, Arthur was some sort of cousin as well, though on the other side of the tapestry from his wife.

Everyone nodded, even Moody. "Can't think of anyone better," Mad-Eye sniffed. "Surprised you mentioned her, Snape."

The Potions Master made no answer, but folded the paper again and handed it back to Dumbledore. His face was empty, but he rubbed his hands together in his lap as if they hurt him.

Moody looked down at his feet. Lupin wished he knew what was going on. Some days there was no reasoning with the old Auror, and that was before he'd spent most of a school year inside a large chest providing material for Polyjuice Potion.

Remus lifted his nose and proposed a break. He knew he wasn't the only one finding it hard to resist the delicious odors emanating from the kitchen, even though he'd eaten well at the Manor. _Best to gain flesh and health while I can,_ he thought. _Who knows when I'll be poor again and forced to eke out three weeks' worth of groceries over a month?_

He sat down along with all the others and filled his plate. At first he was too distracted by the food to pay attention, but as the meal proceeded he noticed Snape's personal odor was slightly different than usual. _Perhaps it's just all the potions he's taking,_ he thought at first. He could still sense the acrid hint of fear as an undernote, but Remus was used to that around the man. The only time it had been absent had been last summer, when the Potions Master had been too ill to be afraid. _I should have noticed it at the staff meeting just before school,_ he thought ruefully, remembering how Poppy had let everyone, especially Firenze, learn why Severus was so frightened of werewolves.

But the hint of musk that flared whenever Mrs. Weasley spoke to the Slytherin was too obvious to ignore after the third time.

_The really strange part is that her scent is a little different too. Normally it's vanilla mixed with buttermilk, but the cinnamon—well, the only time I smell that is when she's around Arthur._ Of course, that meant she changed close to him, since he was sitting nearby, but Remus knew he'd just be flattering himself. Besides, Molly looked directly at Snape when the change happened to her.

Severus didn't flirt, not even in the casual way Dumbledore or Moody did with the plump, red-haired woman. His face and body language were carefully neutral. Nobody would suspect a thing without being able to catch the changing smells. He was also eating, slowly but steadily, instead of playing with his food the way he had at the party.

Dinner was over, and Remus felt replete. Despite putting away his share at Malfoy Manor, he knew he had been on trial there, and digestion was not easy that way. Here, though, he was as safe as he could be at Hogwarts.

Albus said as Molly began clearing the table, "Please sit down, Mrs. Weasley. Let the dishes wait a few minutes. Harry needs a new guardian after Sirius Black's death. We had hoped to delay matters till he was of age, but it doesn't look as if we can. Narcissa Malfoy has filed suit to break the will and to obtain wardship of Harry. Both suits are making a truly unfortunate degree of progress. We must find our own candidate. If necessary, we can find another safe house, but we can't risk the boy ending up at Malfoy Manor."

Molly sat, held her cup momentarily in mid-air, then briskly set it down. "What does Narcissa really think about all this?"

"She must appear to pursue both cases enthusiastically. She made several important points about them before dinner, which I believed surprised some of those around her," Snape said. "She has always wanted more children, and I don't think she would harm the boy if given a free hand. However, she knows better than to think she will have one. She agreed tonight to allow her son to become her sister's apprentice without any objections. If she is afraid to speak up for Draco, she is certainly not going to do so for someone else."

The plump witch looked sad. "Oh, dear. I hope we have someone else in mind."

"You, Mrs. Weasley," Dumbledore said. "We can think of no one better."

She smiled, looking stunned and happy at the same time. Then her face fell. "Me, in court? I won't know what to say."

"You will have assistance," the Potions Master said. "I am Narcissa's representative."

She narrowed her eyes. "And what happens to you if you lose?"

"That is not your concern, Mrs. Weasley. Mr. Potter cannot fall under the power of the Malfoy family. He would not live long."

She nodded, but it was clear to Remus she hadn't forgotten her question. No doubt the answer was obvious. "Very well," she said gently. "I suppose I'll be asked if I'm going after Harry's money."

"Yes," Snape said. "However, there are ways to draw up the papers to avoid that appearance. If your husband can't find any samples, I can. I must also warn you I will have to speak to you as though you were unfit. However, you will know most of the questions in advance." His voice was harsh, unlike the calm tones he'd used to speak to Minister Umbridge.

"I certainly know better than to take what you must do personally," Molly said. "I can guess some of the objections already. I have too many children to care for in the first place, never mind adding another one. They'll say I'm after the money for my own even if the papers won't let me or Arthur see a Knut of it. Oh, yes, and we're both horrible Muggle-lovers." She took a deep breath. "You could take a stab at making me a woman of immoral character, too, though I've never looked at another man since I married." Her face went red.

Remus had no idea what Mrs. Weasley was talking about. Apparently Snape did. "I don't think you'll find many Hufflepuffs willing to testify about your social life at Hogwarts." A hint of color appeared in the Potion Master's thin face.

"Dolly might," Molly said unhappily.

Snape nodded. "You will also have to read things about yourself, and about Mr. Potter in the Prophet. Mrs. Malfoy must appear to take this case seriously, because I am utterly certain Lucius does. A great deal of money will be spent on publicity. I suggest counterattacking with interviews in the Quibbler and on the wireless. You must not lose your temper."

"Bold talk from someone like you," she said.

Remus noticed how the two of them managed to shut everyone else out. Moody sat back, placid for once, Shacklebolt simply listened, and the Headmaster watched the whole scene with a speculative look in his eyes. The werewolf felt like offering the old wizard one of his own lemon drops. _No doubt Snape will get a lecture about Mrs. Weasley like the one he gave me about Narcissa._.

The Slytherin raised one eyebrow. "I should say, you should not lose your temper unless you do so deliberately. Narcissa can turn on the warmth in public, but she is unlikely to do so with those she considers tradespeople. This time, wearing your emotions on your sleeve could easily be an asset in comparison. However, they can backfire."

"Won't Harry have anything to say about this?" she asked.

"In the Muggle world his testimony would carry much weight, especially at his age. However, his opinion is considered irrelevant in ours. It's…it's quite complicated, and you must not lose. I suggest you begin lining up witnesses to attest to your character. You will need them. I'll have to lead a smear campaign against you that make Miss Skeeter's attacks on Mr. Potter look like nothing. Your husband and other children will also be targets. If you cannot face this prospect, let us know now and we will look for another candidate."

'I would walk through fire for Harry, and so would Arthur. Percy's the only one who'll be embarrassed." Molly looked unhappy.

_Percy has his own problems,_ Remus thought, after having watched the boy at the dinner.

"And that is what is truly important," Dumbledore interjected. "Severus, please give your report. Mrs. Weasley deserves to be filled in on more aspects of our work than she has in the past since she will be taking more responsibility."

Snape nodded. "I arrived an hour and a half earlier than Lupin did. I discovered the identity of Miss Edgecombe's assailant. Recompense will be made. I offered Madam Lestrange enough hints later, as she was not present at the time, for her to find out who it was herself. She was not happy her apprentice was treated in such a fashion. Arrangements have been made such that the girl will become my apprentice and young Mr. Malfoy will become his aunt's." He sat back, his face rather stiff.

_Obviously, he's not happy about that part,_ Lupin thought. Dumbledore had told him about the situation, and he had been careful to allow the girl to participate less than usual in class without making a fuss over it. _Severus was right to insist that the boggart testing be private._

The Slytherin continued. "The suits to break the will and for Narcissa's guardianship are both going forward faster than anyone anticipated. It's not like the goblins to take less than a year, never mind this quickly, for probate. One can only wonder why the guardianship is receiving so much attention, especially since Mr. Potter comes of age next summer. It may be wise to ask Mr. Weasley to sound matters out with Minister Fudge, if he can do without arousing suspicion."

"Since we're going to file our own suit as soon as possible, there's no way he could do that," Molly said. "I mean, without the suspicion part. Corny will just want to know how we found out about the Malfoy suit in the first place."

Shacklebolt looked up. "Your Bill works for Gringotts, doesn't he? Couldn't he accidentally come across the suit over the will and ask about it, since he knows Harry already? Once he hears the Malfoys are involved, it won't take him long to talk to his friends and supposedly find out about the suit that way. For one thing, it'll protect Percy from being thought a gossip. Umbridge can be spiteful. I know things are…aren't right with him, but still…"

Molly nodded, looking troubled. "You're right. I just wish he could come home. Professor Snape, did you see him there?"

For some reason the Potions Master shot Moody a brief glare, then nodded. "He is still not comfortable with some of his social duties as Madam Umbridge's escort, but managed them adequately. Once the dinner began, most of the business was over, at least for me, though Ispoke with Madam Umbridge afterwards without shrieking at her once. I was also able to talk with a parent of one of the children affected by the loyalty spell this summer."

"Which one?" Dumbledore asked.

"Arvid Rosier. We chatted about old times, and he claimed to owe me a debt. I fear he still does not realize precisely what he sent his son and daughter into, despite what happened to their Uncle Evan." Snape's face was hard and set, and he flexed his hands as if they hurt him again. This time Moody chewed his lip instead of looking down at the floor.

The Slytherin took a deep breath, then put his hands back in his lap. "Mr. Rosier and I spoke on the back stoop, since he doesn't care for cigars much either. When I returned, many of the guests had already left and Professor Lupin was in a private interview. When he emerged, we left, though once we were outside I briefly scanned him for the usual. Most of my business was carried out before the dinner actually began." His shoulders slumped.

The Headmaster said, "You should return to Hogwarts now, Severus. I'll fill you in on everything else tomorrow, including Lupin's report. You had a late night visiting Lucius in Azkaban yesterday, and you need to rest."

"What did Lucy have to say, anyway?" Moody interjected.

"Mostly about old times," Snape said blandly, though his mouth twisted. "But he has an Invisibility Potion that doesn't work as well when centaurs are watching for some strange reason. I must have made a bad batch."

Molly clapped her hands. "Oh, now, that was clever! I'll bet Firenze didn't mind helping with _that._"

"No, he didn't," the Potions Master said with a brief smile. "In one way, it would help us if the guardianship hearing took place before any escape attempt. Narcissa Malfoy is resourceful, but Lucius can be brutal, and I would rather not see any alternate claimants in danger."

"Can't be helped," Mrs. Weasley said. "We're on the better dead list already. Might as well be us, rather than dragging in someone else who only wants to be left in peace. Now go along and let Winky look after you. You have a hard enough time being polite to _us_, it can't have been any fun with that lot."

Snape rose, nodded briefly at all of them, and departed through the Floo.

Lupin wasn't used to seeing the man so docile. "I'm surprised he left with so little protest," he said once the Potions Master was gone.

"So am I," said Dumbledore, with a worried look on his face.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," shot Moody.

Molly Weasley briskly removed the plate from Mad-Eye's place and took it over to the sink, though it still had food on it. "He didn't answer my question about what would happen to him if we won," she said as she began to clear other parts of the table.

"Let Snape worry about that," Moody said.

"We tried that before," she said. "He nearly died of it."

"Fussing over a man not your husband could cause trouble, and you don't need any right now, not if you want Harry," Mad-Eye retorted. "Never mind what the other side would think of it. If anybody there thinks he's going soft on you, or has reason to, then he really is screwed."

Molly bit her lip, then put her hands on her hips. "Well, these dishes won't clean themselves. I don't miss Kreacher, but he did a lot of work around here none of you seem to have time for these days."

Remus knew when he was being thrown out of a kitchen and left, as did the other men. He gave the rest of the report as they sat in the parlor. _I'll tell Snape later. Albus has a lot on his mind these days. _"I managed a bit of song and dance for Minister Umbridge, who was outraged at first that I ate at the table like a real person. She calmed down fairly quickly, though, after Snape and I spoke with her. Afterward dinner, I saw him talking to her again. Very little shrieking, from what I heard of it, by either party." He saw the Headmaster smile at the joke. "I didn't see him with Percy Weasley, but I was circulating myself. I don't blame Snape for heading for fresh air once the cigars came out. I choke on them, too. Before he returned, I thanked our hostess for such a nice dinner. Then I was invited into another room away from the rest of the guests. I didn't recognize anyone there, but they were all wearing glamours. I decided it would be rude to attempt see beneath them."

"Fatal, too," commented Moody.

"Quite likely. I was asked if I wanted additional employment. I answered that I did. I tried to give the impression I was tired of being poor, and especially tired of living on the charity of others. I indicated I would not like any extra work to conflict with my present position at Hogwarts, but let them know I have werewolf friends without that problem." Lupin took a breath. "Then I was, ah, scanned. Fortunately the Headmaster prepared me for the possibility. I didn't know it would hurt so much, but I, well, dropped down to the part of me that is a wolf even with the moon not full. Dementors can't read animal minds, either. That's how Sirius was able to escape. I suspect they may use a form of Legilimency themselves."

"Right, that's interesting, now what else happened?" Mad-Eye sped things along.

"Well, they appeared a bit surprised when the spell let up and I re-emerged. By the way, one of the supposed men was really a woman. There's no mistaking the scent. The gentleman who actually conducted the interview had the oddest _musty_ smell."

"Would you know them again?" Shacklebolt asked.

Remus concentrated. "Yes. Yes, I would. Especially that one. It's somewhat reptilian, and I don't like snakes much. And no, Moody, Snape doesn't smell like that all. Sorry to disappoint you." Of course, he'd known Pettigrew immediately.

"Did I say anything?" The old Auror tried to look innocent and failed completely.

"It's a pity I wasn't there when you were supposedly teaching. I would spotted the impostor immediately, if I'd known you better before then," Lupin said.

"Not with Polyjuice," the Headmaster interrupted. "A duplicate body emits a duplicate scent, or so I've always understood."

"But that potion has a characteristic odor of its own." Remus was certain of it. "If he drank it as often as everyone said, I certainly would have noticed it. It's hard for me to tell if someone has taken it only once, but if I had been near him while he was actually drinking it, I don't think I would have missed it."

Moody looked thoughtful. "Albus, didn't you tell me it was Snape who was suspicious first among the staff?"

The Headmaster reluctantly nodded. "I thought he just hated you being there. Later, though, he was able to add enough detail I watched you—er, Crouch Jr.—more closely."

The retired Auror grimaced. "And here I am back at my old game of telling everyone not to trust him. It'd serve me right if that blew up in my face again."

Remus suppressed a smile. Moody had only spoken his own thought.

Dumbledore looked at the clock and sighed. "What did you agree on at the Manor?"

"Nothing, yet. They seemed to be pleased with my responses. I suspect an offer will come fairly soon. I have too many friends who would take the money even if they knew who it really came from." Remus knew he'd never reach that point, but others had families.

"If the Ministry learns about any escape from Azkaban involving werewolves, Umbridge will have more support for her Registry and for sanctions through the Wizengamot. Your friends won't be able to find jobs at all, and Albus will be under pressure to sack you," Mad-Eye said.

Lupin already knew it. "There are enough werewolves besides my group that You-Know-Who would find some to take his money anyway."

"You'll need more dueling practice," Shacklebolt said, who had been quiet all this time. "And so does Snape. If nothing else happens, let's schedule it for next Friday afternoon as soon as classes are over."

The werewolf remembered something. "I have something else scheduled for that time. Saturday afternoon would be better, if that works with your schedule, just as soon as the Gryffindor game is over. One of the teams at school found out I've written a few articles on Quidditch under a pseudonym and want a bit of coaching. I never played much, not the way James or Sirius did, but I certainly observed a great deal. I'm quite flattered to be asked, really."

"Next Saturday it is. Let's hope Snape is up to it, but if he isn't, it'll be one on one." Shacklebolt yawned.

Remus smiled. Yes, there was a war on, but Quidditch _still_ came first. What Dumbledore was going to say when he found out the team he was helping wasn't Gryffindor would be interesting.

Shacklebolt left, as did the Headmaster. Lupin felt a strange reluctance to do likewise, even though his duties out of class were relatively light. All last year he'd lived here, and it was quite relaxing with the portrait quiet. _And with Sirius quiet, too,_ he thought with a surge of grief. _I must speak with Mrs. Weasley soon about a memorial service._ He took deep breath of air. Wait. Something else was missing, too. "Where is Buckbeak, Moody?"

"Charlie's looking after him in Rumania," the older wizard said. "Molly drew the line at the hippogriff, saying she had enough wild beasts to look after, not counting her own at the Burrow. Well, when she put it that way, we had to do something."

"Good. Hagrid was in enough trouble when it was at Hogwarts, though I wanted to smack young Malfoy when his fussing forced his father to send Macnair over." _And now I'm going to help the spoiled brat. How times have changed!_

"I don't suppose the team you're helping is one with a too-tall Seeker," Moody grumbled.

"You must have read the article I wrote last year about the Liverpool Mudlarks," Remus said blandly. "Clark is a skilled player, but can't keep his loops as tight as he'd like with his height. His Reserve can't find the Snitch without a Revealing Charm _and_ a Sneakoscope, and so the Larks decided to stay with who they have for now. I suspect they'll be bidding for Harry in just a few years."

"The boy wants to be an Auror," Mad-Eye said with a smile on his face.

"For now. We all know why. Once he has a chance to discover what he really wants, he may decide differently. I give him all the help I can, but there's a limit to how far I can neglect the others. Some of those students almost didn't survive the loyalty spell last summer. I know how much you hate the whole house when Tonks isn't around to slap some sense into you, but really, Moody, if _Goyle_ could have a contrary opinion, surely it's possible for other Snakes, too."

"The fact he apparently had coherent thought to begin with amazed _me_. Snape used to froth for hours about the stupidity of both those oafs. He said Legilimency didn't work on either one, because there was nothing there to read. Damn, I hate it when I'm wrong about people."

Molly Weasley came in with a teapot and two cups. "Sit up as long as you like. _I'm_ going to bed, in my own home for once." She went over the fireplace and disappeared into the flames, leaving a bright flare of cinnamon behind her on the air.

"Poor Arthur. He won't sleep much tonight."

Remus smiled. "I doubt he'll mind. In fact, I envy him." He sipped his tea.

"All right, who is it? Our fair hostess or the Damsel in Distress?"

"Pardon?"

"You're not the first, nor the last, to want to rescue Narcissa Malfoy from that prick of a husband. She's kept Snape dancing attendance on her for years now."

"He says there isn't anything like that between them."

"And you believe him?" Moody slurped some of his own tea.

"Yes. Smell tells me a lot. It doesn't change around her, at least not the way—oh, forget it." He'd said too much. Snape deserved some privacy.

"You mean Mrs. Weasley. The greasy git did everything but throw rocks and pull on her pigtails tonight."

"Which I found surprising. He was much smoother around Minister Umbridge."

"He doesn't care about her," Mad-Eye said. "So, his scent changes, does it? Somehow I don't find that surprising."

'I thought you'd be angrier," Lupin said. He decided not to mention how her odor had changed. She was obviously a faithful woman, given her decision to go home to her husband. No doubt she believed any desire she felt came from missing Arthur.

"I'm just surprised he wasn't nastier," Moody said. "If you hadn't guessed, I wouldn't have said anything about it. A man ought to have a few secrets."

"Except from you, of course. How did you find out?"

"None of your business. But it makes sense now. She's wanted Harry for her own for years, and Snape is going to risk his life for it. I always thought he had a stronger sense of self-preservation than that. Of course, we could all end up surprised. But I don't plan to tell the Headmaster unless he asks outright. Snape had his mind raked over the coals by both sides last summer. He should be on the third floor at St. Mungo's."

Remus recalled how frail the Potions Master was even before the injuries that had nearly caused the man's death. Flitwick wouldn't say, but was clearly upset over what had happened, when the two of them had discussed the changes in Snape's Dark Mark. "I hope he didn't leave out anything important that happened to him at the party," he said. "When he talked about the Rosiers, he stretched his hands as if they pained him."

Mad-Eye colored bright red. "That was a bit of my work," the older wizard said, after a swig from his flask. "Rosier died under Crouch's wand, and took his time about it, too. I threatened to do the same, though I didn't mean it, and er, did a few things with Snape's hands to get his attention. That was a mistake, mind you. Once he saw his friend with most of the skin missing, he went into a funk and paid no attention to things at all, no matter what er, happened."

"I can't believe Albus would hire someone like that!" Lupin was appalled.

"He hired _you_, didn't he?" Alastor snapped. "Harry comes first, and has to. No matter how sweet the old man talks around Snape, Potter comes first. I wish I hadn't been in that chest for the year I was supposed to be there. The boy hasn't gone bad yet from being the apple of Dumbledore's eye, but from what I've heard he threw fits from missing it last year."

"It was a little more complicated than that," Remus said, wanting to defend Harry.

"I'm sure it is. But from what I heard from the other DE's, Evan Rosier was Snape's friend, and a real one at that. That's why I doubt his loyalty, Lupin. Just what has the Order done for him but send him into danger and despise him for it?"

The werewolf raised an eyebrow.

Moody flushed red again. "I know, I was part of it. You and Molly were the only ones to treat him civilly last year, aside from Dumbledore, of course. Imagine what Potter thought of it. Probably cheered Riddle on when he caught that vision of what happened to Snape last summer."

"Snape's Dark Mark has changed since he joined the Inner Circle," Lupin said, wanting to leave off _that_ subject. "Flitwick and I are looking into ways to alleviate some of its effects."

The older wizard shook his head. "Can't be done."

"We have two Death Eaters in Azkaban who barely survived the loyalty spell for the two of us to practice on. No one should be bound to You-Know-Who after death, don't you think?"

"So that's why the Inner Circle members are so hard to crack. We had a hell of a time keeping them alive whenever we captured one the first time around and tried to make them give up their secrets. That's interesting. If the dead ones are still linked to old Tom, as well as the living ones, that explains where he drew the strength to keep hanging around even after his original body disintegrated. I bet he's promised all the dead ones new bodies in exchange. Judging by what he's wearing now, I doubt they'd be too thrilled at the prospect. But if he becomes healthier, or finds a better body to live in, he could bring some of those dead ones back. Right now I think he's too busy keeping his current form from disintegrating."

Remus had a horrible thought. "I wish Harry had worked harder at Occlumency."

"Shit. So do I." Moody scowled. "The Headmaster is teaching it this time, so Potter might actually listen. I never did understand why Snape was given the job. No matter what his loyalties, he was a dead man if those lessons went on much further. The boy's head was a sieve last year. No wonder the bastard threw a tantrum over the whole thing. Potter whined all last year about the nasty evil Potions Master whenever Albus forgot to put a stop to it, while Tom would roast Snape over a slow fire if he didn't give the right answers. That was a disaster waiting to happen. He probably thought he was being set up to die. If I had the training of that boy, I wouldn't put up with half that nonsense."

"I told Harry he needed to apologize for snooping into the pensieve and actually pay attention to his lessons," Remus said. "He didn't listen to me, of course. Not with Sirius egging him on to give Snivellus what he deserved."

Moody nodded glumly. "And yet Snape slanged those blasted Dursleys half of last year. I didn't believe him at first, but once I checked out the house I did. I heard the boy had a present of a pensieve last summer stuffed like a goose with good memories.

"Yes. Harry asked me about it. From what he said, it was mostly his mother and father as students in it, as well as their wedding."

"I didn't think Snape _had_ any good memories." The old auror looked morose.

"He has fewer now." Lupin picked up the tray with the cups and teapot, and took everything to the kitchen.

"Oh, hell," Moody said when he returned. "I won't say anything about him and Molly Weasley if you won't. Albus is too old to understand a lot of things these days. Snape is risking a nasty death by suggesting her as guardian for Potter, because she's the one most likely to win. Molly's capable of cooling down any man if he steps out of line. Remind me to tell you what she did to our beloved Minister of Magic at a Christmas party some years back. But you mind your manners around the Ice-Maiden. Lucius _will_ kill you, whether he's in Azkaban or not, if he thinks anyone is poaching on his territory."

"Then why is Snape still alive?" Lupin had hoped the other wizard had forgotten about Narcissa.

"Lucy thinks he owns them both, body and soul. Won't he be surprised some day! You could be caught in the crossfire, though."

Remus shrugged. "I've only seen her once, at least to speak to. I do have some sense."

"Especially with Black not around. I know you miss him, lad, but he would have encouraged you to go after her."

No doubt that was true. "Well, I should return to Hogwarts now. It's been a long evening, and I'm going to spend most of tomorrow grading essays."

"Er," Moody said hesitantly. "Snape said Percy Weasley was there, but not much more. Did you see the boy?"

"He looked all right to me," Lupin said. Percy hadn't seemed terribly happy, but who would be, working for Umbridge? "After dinner his face was red the way Arthur's is when he's had a couple, but he and the Minister left while I was being interviewed."

The older wizard nodded. "I'll speak to him about that. He should probably stick to pumpkin juice the way Snape does at those functions. His brother Charlie is the same way."

Why did Moody care? Was Percy actually their contact in the Ministry these days? It would make a great deal of sense. His break with the family could be just a ruse to allow him to hear more from sources not friendly to the Weasleys. He decided to pretend to not notice. "Merlin knows what the twins would be like if they drank. I don't want to find out."

The retired Auror laughed. "Neither would I."

Lupin went through the fireplace to Hogwarts and closed the connection for the night from his end. It could be opened easily enough, but he was certain Moody was taking care of the Floo at Grimmauld Place as well.

He greeted Filch, who was making nightly rounds, was reminded of when he needed to take his next shift, and went to bed.

Remus knew he would dream of Narcissa Malfoy.

Severus Snape

He was glad and sorry at the same time to leave Grimmauld Place. Seeing Molly raised desire in him, though he'd thought it impossible after his illness to feel anything of the sort for a while. Once he reached his quarters, he knew he was much too tired to actually do anything. His longing for the woman had settled down to a comfortable glow anyway.

Winky helped him put away his party robes, then left his final potions for the night as she went off humming to her pallet outside the door to his rooms. He showered rather than bathed, as he was tired and wanted his bed.

Then he drank the potions in his bedchamber. _Oh. I forgot it was Saturday night,_ he thought. Lowenstein was continuing to load the dice, so to speak, and now his body was on fire. Severus found the magazine Filch had given him. The picture was a temptation to any man, but the reality of the warm, plump woman he'd seen tonight roused him far more. For some reason she'd had the scent of cinnamon tonight along with her normal one, probably from cooking. He lay back in bed and fondled himself. He didn't know whether to curse Lowenstein or bless him for making his wand so ready tonight. What it would be like to be held naked by those round arms and bury oneself in that lush flesh—

He sighed in contentment, and a quick spell removed the mess. No doubt he should make a visit to Diagon Alley sometime in the next few weeks, or he might be overly tempted by the promise the Dark Lord had made to him. It was wrong, too, to remember the long red hair tucked away in a pocket of one of his outer cloaks. Besides, it took a couple of months to brew Polyjuice. He had enough to do with teaching the Wolfsbane.

Severus ended up going for a second helping imagining him giving into temptation and having her next to him, or at least someone who looked exactly like her. At last he was finally relaxed enough to sleep. _Of course she doesn't want _me, he told himself. _She only wants Harry, the way everyone else does. Well, why not? He must be kept away from the Malfoys anyway. Why shouldn't the boy go to someone who loves him?_ A part of him still blindly insisted it would be nice if someone wanted _him_, but he was used to suppressing it. _Besides, all of Hogwarts turned out to show they did want me,_ he reminded himself. _It's not their fault I am so greedy. Perhaps—perhaps when the hearing is over and she's won, Molly will remember me sometimes and be a little grateful. I won't be there for it, of course, but she…she asked. She cared._ Oh, yes. He knew what the Dark Lord would do to him if the hearing went the wrong way, and he was not likely to survive it. _If only we can drag the damn thing out till Potter is of age!_

Delay was his only hope now.


	49. Chapter 49: Guardianships

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 49: Guardianships

Severus Snape

He lay in bed the next morning with no desire to leave it. Even after visiting the bathroom he didn't want to dress or to attack the new pile of essays. Snape especially didn't want to visit the Great Hall and eat breakfast there. For one thing, he'd rather finish that silly werewolf book today, and he wasn't up to seeing people as wolves. Perhaps it was a good thing—Umbridge with that pink ribbon had inspired only a wish to laugh rather than any fear—but for once he wanted to pace himself.

Winky was happy to bring him a tray and his morning potions. Once he'd done what he could with the lot, she fetched him some formal writing paper from one of the drawers in his office and a quill. He wrote a quick thank you note to Narcissa for her hospitality first. Severus then gritted his teeth and forced himself to pen a brief apology to Mrs. Goyle for his lack of sympathy, of which he did not mean one word.

After that he had the cheerful little elf check the cupboard in the room just off his office for chocolate-making ingredients for the first year students this afternoon. He didn't want to neglect them, the most vulnerable students. _I want to go back to having Sunday dinner with Draco,_ he thought. _He's going to need all the help I can give him once he's Bella's apprentice._ Snape briefly wondered which staff member was going to be there for his weekly session with Dumbledore. Last week had been hard, but he suspected it would have been much harder without Flitwick's presence.

He lay back down in bed and was almost asleep again when Winky sorrowfully woke him. "Master Headmaster wants to see you," she said. "I say you too sick?"

"No, just tired," he said. The Potions Master slowly dressed and went to the old wizard's office. He gave the gargoyle that week's password and entered.

"Please, sit down," Albus said. "You look exhausted."

"I am," Snape admitted as he lowered himself to one of the chairs. "I was approached at the party by both Arvid Rosier and Mrs. Goyle. Keeping one from being suspicious about his brother's death after all these years, and refraining from strangling the other was a strain. We won't even discuss forcing myself to be civil to Madam Umbridge."

"And having to see Malfoy the night before as well," the Headmaster said. "I'm glad you were able to have a nice visit with Hagrid after, though."

"It's said firewhiskey is a tonic for snakebite," Severus quipped. "I suspect throwing up on his floor isn't the worst thing his pets have ever done to the place. Remember the year he smuggled in the dragon's egg?"

Dumbledore nodded. "This won't be long. Harry is coming up here soon and we'll need to discuss the case. I wish I had thought of Mrs. Weasley myself. Weren't you a bit hard on her?"

"She shouldn't become involved without knowing the possible consequences. I'll have to be worse in any confrontations, if only to confirm my supposed loyalties. Lucius will probably map out the publicity campaign from Azkaban. I'll have to use what influence I may have with Ms. Skeeter to keep the worst out of the Prophet. Madam Umbridge will likely be very important. She knows much about Mrs. Weasley's social life prior to her marriage to Arthur."

"Yes." The Headmaster looked uncomfortable. "Professor Sprout tells me she discussed the woman with you."

"I would not use that sort of blackmail on the Dark Lord," Snape said angrily. "If anything else, her conduct now makes a great deal more sense. I shall endeavor to find other reasons for her to remain silent about her former roommate. However, it may be impossible to keep all of Mrs. Weasley's past friends quiet." From what the Head of Hufflepuff said, he suspected they were numerous indeed. Hogwarts always had at least one young woman rumored to be much more popular than all the rest during any given time, whether truthfully or not. _I hope Miss Edgecombe does not gain that reputation as well. Miss Brocklehurst has been able to keep the talk down about her through reforming her manner of dress and some fairly lethal charms practiced on some of the worst gossips,_ he thought. He feared Molly had not cared what names had been laid on her. A brief interrogation of the portraits after his talk with Professor Sprout had led to simpering looks and blushing faces in regards to Miss Prewitt, as she had been known.

Albus nodded. "I'll see if she can find her wedding invitation list. Nearly all of Hufflepuff was invited, along with a number of young gentlemen who left a few years prior."

"Oh, she didn't invite all of them," Severus said with astonishment. "Surely Arthur would have objected."

"Perhaps he wished to parade his chosen status." Dumbledore grimaced. "It certainly would not have been to my taste. The rumor at the time, though, was that nearly everyone invited actually attended. Young Mr. Lovegood, in fact, was one of the groomsmen at Mr. Weasley's side. He didn't marry till five years after, if I recall correctly."

Snape was lost in admiration. He had attended the Potter wedding, but only because Lucius had forced him to. "Well, it's a place to start." The only reason he would allow past claimants to attend any wedding of his would be to kill them all with greater efficiency.

"You shouldn't be personally involved in silencing anyone," Dumbledore said. "Your methods would be more effective than anyone else's, but word would get back to the wrong parties."

"I could always appear more interested in digging up dirt than suppressing it."

The Headmaster smiled. "We do have others in the Order with legal experience, Severus. You need not plead the cases of both sides. Just letting us know what Narcissa and her friends are up to will be enough. I will admit a few practice exchanges between you and Mrs. Weasley will be good for her. If she can hold her own, she will likely come off better in court."

"I dare not pull my punches in any of them."

"I know. It would be for the best if Arthur or her children were not present. They are very loyal, and would object even though you mean only to help the case. I will make sure Harry isn't present either. I had hoped Remus would work harder with the boy, but aside from a few comments about Sirius Black, he hasn't. Fortunately Mr. Potter has progressed well enough in Occlumency that it's safe to tell him a few things. I am pleased to see the antagonism between the two of you has diminished considerably, but I still hope for an actual relationship someday."

_If the hearing is soon, there won't be time,_ Snape thought bleakly. _Especially if Molly wins. She was the only one who asked what would happen to _me_. I must be grasping at straws, hoping Sybil's wretched prediction is right after all._ "I _have_ stopped obsessing about the boy being the source of all evil," he said dryly. "If the Malfoys win, his chances of survival are as slim as my own. He ought to have the experience of a real family, and Mrs. Weasley has wanted to provide it for years." _Yes, Harry Potter always comes first. Again. I should be used to it by now._ "If she becomes his Wizarding Guardian, is the Burrow strong enough to stand up to attack? Its location is known."

"There is more to the place than most people know," Dumbledore said. "It has lower levels, much like Malfoy Manor. Molly and Arthur don't like them much, and have closed them off. The ghoul in the attic also provides more protection than people think. Unfortunately, this also prevented the children from having normal indoor pets aside from familiars which were either quite mobile or more than they seemed as well. I should have realized how extraordinary it really was for Scabbers to live there so long. At worst, Molly has access to her home village, which is somewhat more distant than most believe. Lancre is a nice little place, but has repelled nastier invasions before. In fact, its current queen was quite brutal in dealing with a most unpleasant set of high-elves."

"Ah." Snape blinked. "I thought Mrs. Weasley was a member of the Prewitt family."

"She is, but mostly because of her mother's second husband. Her family situation is rather complex on both sides, actually. Also, Grimmauld Place will be available at need. If the Weasleys must transfer there permanently, I wouldn't give much for the chances of any leftover Dark influences."

"Neither would I," said Severus. "The ghoul would fit right in, for one thing."

The door opened and they both looked towards it. "Well, Mr. Potter, good morning to you. Lemon drop?"

Harry Potter

He entered the Headmaster's office late Sunday morning and saw Dumbledore's desk full of papers and the Potions Master sitting in a chair. His heart beat faster. _Do I have to start taking lessons from Snape now?_ Harry knew it was going to happen eventually, but didn't want it to be this soon.

"Well, Mr. Potter, good morning to you. Lemon drop?" the elderly wizard asked.

Harry absentmindedly accepted one and sat down. "Have I done something wrong?" He couldn't think of anything recent, but the Slytherin always had a complaint. He looked different, though, and for a moment he couldn't think why. Then Harry realized Snape was sitting back in the chair instead of bolt upright. He didn't understand why it bothered him.

"No, Harry, you're not in trouble," the Headmaster said.

"This time," the Potions Master added, but without his usual venom.

The Headmaster cleared his throat. "You are, however, in an interesting legal position with the Ministry."

"What else is new?" Harry let slip. Then he quickly glanced at Snape. He was trying not to show too much cheek this year, to anyone, but this morning he couldn't help it.

Dumbledore snorted. "You do have more than your fair share of run-ins. First of all, your godfather's will has been properly filed."

"But he died last spring!"

"Which is difficult to prove with no body, despite a number of witnesses. Goblins are notoriously hard to convince. It is unfortunate in some ways that we were able to do so. Also, his legal status needed to be clarified." Snape stretched out his hands and flexed his fingers. "He has been declared innocent of your parents' death and those Muggles who were killed by Pettigrew. That had to be done before his will had any validity. Since you have no current guardian to represent your interests, however, that part of your interesting legal dilemma now rests in Probate Hell."

"That's a weird nickname," Harry said.

"That is the actual title of the department," the teacher said with a scowl. "Pity the will can't stay in it forever, or till next summer. At the very least it could have stayed in Ministry escrow along with the property itself."

"That, I fear, is my fault," Dumbledore said. "I suppose I should have waited to petition them about his innocence till later."

Harry didn't understand why the Headmaster looked unhappy. Wasn't it a good thing for the truth to come out about his godfather? Now, he understood why Snape did. Once he'd thought about what Remus told him about the Shrieking Shack, the Slytherin's antagonism made more sense. It was like knowing Draco would never be punished for anything the blond Seeker had ever done to him. Ok, some of it, anyway—turning Malfoy and his two goons into slugs _had_ been a lot of fun. He uneasily wondered what they thought of how Fred and George hadn't been punished for what they'd done to Montague, and decided he didn't want to think about that.

"Why?" he finally asked. He might actually hear some answers for once.

"Because you currently have no guardian," Dumbledore said. "However, let's concentrate on the will first. 12 Grimmauld Place has been left to you outright, along with some other property and the contents of your godfather's vault. A few other personal bequests were also made, including a sum to be left to Professor Lupin. Unfortunately, a number of other claims have been filed against the estate by various relatives."

"Who filed them?" Harry thought the Malfoys probably led the pack.

"Why, I did," Snape said smoothly. "I was appointed as representative for Mrs. Malfoy this summer, in the absence of her husband, to look after her interests and those of her son. She is petitioning to have the will set aside and the property equally divided among the family, despite their own exciting legal status in some cases."

_Bella!_ Harry thought. _I'd rather die than let any of my godfather's stuff go to her!_ Then he smiled. "Is there any way to give Mrs. Malfoy just the portrait?"

The Headmaster choked on his tea, while the ghost of a smile played on Snape's lips. The Potions Master shook his head, looking regretful, then continued. "However, none of these actions can go forward while you lack a guardian. I suspect you would rather not involve your Muggle relatives."

"Got that right," Harry muttered, though he could sell tickets to Uncle Vernon going up against goblins. But he'd never see the property again either way it went. "Isn't there any way to delay everything till next summer when I don't need one?"

"I, for one, would be delighted," Snape said flatly. "Unfortunately, Mrs. Malfoy has also filed a petition for guardianship on the grounds of relationship to the deceased."

"No! I'd rather let Uncle Vernon do it!"

Dumbledore set his teacup down. "We are not quite that desperate. Your Aunt Petunia would have a better claim anyway, since she is your mother's sister. Her lack of magic might be a problem, though. We do have other alternatives."

"What about you, sir?" Harry looked at the ancient wizard behind the desk.

"I am still extremely old. I have already been accused of overstepping my position to protect you. I would only add my name to the petition if there was truly no one else."

"Remus?"

"The Ministry would not accept a werewolf," said the Potions Master.

"Fudge, you mean. He has trouble accepting what time it is!" Harry had seen Fudge look at Snape's Dark Mark, and _still_ come out with a denial of Voldemort's return in the Prophet.

"However true, Harry, Professor Lupin would have grave difficulty in such a petition. Professor Snape would be obliged to mention his personal experiences, while I would have trouble preventing word of what happened in your third year from coming out. Mr. Pettigrew witnessed the transformation. Though I am still glad you did not allow Black or Lupin to kill him, his memory of events could be used against your godfather's friend." The Headmaster inserted another lemon drop into his mouth.

"Is there some way to add extra to what Sirius left Remus? I know he hates being poor."

"He is the executor and already familiar with the terms," Dumbledore said. "Allow him some pride."

Harry looked at Snape for a moment. The Potions Master shook his head. "You _are_ desperate. Given my current position as Mrs. Malfoy's representative, it would be an extreme conflict of interest. My own legal standing with the Ministry is interesting as well."

"Tom could put your teacher under severe pressure to turn you over to him, Harry. Let's just say for the record it was considered and rejected," said the Headmaster. "I don't think he would be a bad choice if things were otherwise."

Harry sheepishly realized he must trust the greasy git more than he used to, and felt his face going hot. He certainly wasn't going to tell Ron about this part of the conversation! "What about Professor McGonagall?"

"She would be a good choice," said Snape. "However, someone from the Black family tree would likely have the best chance. I wish Miss Tonks were older, or that her father wasn't Muggleborn."

Harry lit up at that idea. Tonks as his guardian would be a blast! But she wasn't that much older than he was. "Who else is on the tapestry?"

Both of the adults in the room looked as if they wanted to say someone, but didn't. _So they want me to play guessing games till I pick the one they want. Well, fine. I'll pick the one _I _want. I know she wouldn't mind._ "Wait," he said, trying to see the huge cloth in his mind. "I remember. Wasn't Mrs. Weasley on there?"

Snape's face lit up like he'd just caught the Snitch for Slytherin, while Dumbledore beamed. "Her connection to the Black family is perhaps not the most respectable, but it certainly exists, and reinforces that of her husband, who is second cousin from a different side," said the Potions Master.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. Was _everybody_ in the Wizarding World related? And what had happened to all of his family, anyway?

"The next time you are there, look more closely at the cloth. Her name is connected with a broken stitch, not a straight one. It's certainly not her fault her father's liaison with her mother was unofficial, but such things are frowned on in most pureblood families. I am surprised Mrs. Black didn't destroy that part of the tapestry as well. However, such relatives are usually considered cousins and no closer, despite the actual blood relationship."

"She's my godfather's half sister?" Harry hazarded.

"Yes," Snape said. "As I said, the pureblood family use the term _cousin_ for such people. However, that still gives her equal standing with Mrs. Malfoy in the family as far as closeness to Sirius Black is concerned. Since she's older, her birth likely predates her true father's marriage to the unforgettable Mrs. Black. Such _cousins_ generally have a higher status than those after a Wizarding marriage. Indeed, depending on what Black's father promised Mrs. Weasley's mother, and what papers were signed, Mrs. Weasley might have had a claim against the Black family for a great deal more, though a son would have had better luck."

Harry wished Hermione were here—she would have had something to say about Snape's last statement! "Oh, Mrs. Weasley would be perfect! But um, will this cost her anything?" He didn't want to see the couple beggar themselves.

"She would pay anything to be allowed to take care of you, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "And I know what you would like to do about it. But she can't appear to benefit from being your guardian, or even from petitioning for the right."

"But could I appoint her as a representative? I could cover some of her costs then, couldn't I?" He had only a hazy idea about it. If Snape could take money from the Malfoys, then why couldn't Mrs. Weasley benefit for once?

"You are still a minor and any representative would have to be appointed for you with the permission of your guardian," Snape said. "Your representative in court and your guardian can't be the same person, either. This is to protect someone of your age from losing your inheritance to someone less scrupulous than the Weasleys."

"However, you would certainly be allowed to do some Christmas shopping for them," said Dumbledore. "Of course you might run a bit short and need to drop by Gringotts. As long as Mrs. Weasley doesn't actually touch money from your hands…"

"You will be of age soon enough, and able to do with your money as you like," the Potions Master said. "As long as no actual coins pass, you could buy her a year's worth of de-gnoming services, for instance. You should avoid excessive gifts till after any hearing, or it will not help. You must avoid the appearance of being pressured for your money."

Harry nodded. That actually made sense. He still found it hard to believe that Snape was being so helpful! "So if I overpaid for Christmas presents somewhere else, and the people I bought them from happened to want to do something nice for Mrs. Weasley, then nobody would pay that much attention?"

The Potions Master actually let his lips curve up into almost a smile. "I should warn you, Mr. Potter, that items from the twins are generally forbidden at Hogwarts."

It was really scary how he and Snape were thinking in the same way. "I hope the hearing is over by Christmas," he said. "I could buy a lot for the whole family then!"

Snape's face went blank. Dumbledore nodded, and said, "We can have the papers ready for the Ministry first thing tomorrow morning. Severus, I need to speak to Harry by himself now. Please rest."

The Potions Master, now as sour as ever, rose and left the room without another word.

Harry ventured a question. "Why did he change so fast? Should he know all this?"

The Headmaster closed his eyes. "He told me about Mrs. Malfoy's suit as soon as it was filed. I hope you noticed he was pleased at your choice of Mrs. Weasley. We would be totally unprepared for this if he had not told us, Harry."

"Oh." It was hard to stop being suspicious of the Slytherin. _No wonder seeing me puts him off,_ Harry thought. _He's always being kicked aside for anything I want. Remus didn't say so outright, but looking back it's not hard to see. I'd be tired of people hating me if I were him, too. And maybe he thinks we're all like Professor Lupin and just waiting to screw him over, and only being polite to his face. Especially when most of the time it's true._ Slagging off Snape was one of the popular evening sports in the Common Room, though more people left for their studies than usual this year whenever it started. _Hermione's done that for years. I guess she's tired of having to listen to us being stupid about him all this time. Even Ron is starting to be bored with it._

"Your preference in guardian will count for something, Harry, not just as much as we all hope it would. It might be best to choose a backup just in case."

That frightened Harry. He could imagine all sorts of reasons why he might need one. "Well, Aunt Petunia wouldn't be so bad as long as Uncle Vernon stayed out of it," he said, imagining her going up against the portrait.

"That…that would be difficult even with her blood relationship to you," Dumbledore said. "We need someone from the Wizarding World. Mrs. Weasley will have some difficulties, even though she is a Minister's wife. I don't doubt her willpower, but it might not be enough to overcome Malfoy influence even with Snape assisting us behind the scenes."

Harry considered the possibilities. He'd rather let Uncle Vernon sell 12 Grimmauld Place to a developer before letting the house go to the Malfoys. "But I don't really know that many people outside of school. Mrs. Figg is a Squib, and that probably wouldn't help her any. Since Professor McGonagall is my Head of House, shouldn't that count for something if they won't let Mrs. Weasley be my guardian?"

The Headmaster nodded. "She would be a good one, Harry," he said, then wrote something down. "No lessons today."

"But I need them, sir."

"You realize, of course, that the more you learn with me, the sooner you'll begin taking them from Professor Snape again."

Harry looked down at the floor and scuffed one heel. "I know. This summer, when Ron wanted to practice being Keeper, he had me throw Bludgers at him and yelled at me when I didn't throw them hard enough. Remus was right last year."

The elderly wizard looked grave. "What did he say?"

"He said I should go right back and demand to take more lessons. He said they were too important to let Snape kick me out like that." Harry was momentarily torn by grief. "Sirius…Sirius just laughed. He said I was better off. But I wasn't. _He_ wasn't. And now he's dead. I keep wanting to blame Snape, but…but once my godfather knew I was in trouble, maybe not even you could have made him stay at the house. The only way he would have done that is if nobody there said anything and let him play with Buckbeak." He chewed that over for a moment. "But I bet Kreacher would have told him, the little rat! He lied to me!"

"Before you take lessons from Professor Snape again, you might tell him that, as well as an apology for snooping into his pensieve," Dumbledore said gently.

"I know. But I'm not really that sorry for that. He's the only one who ever tells me the truth around here, at least about my dad. Everyone says he was so great and wonderful, but he was worse than Malfoy. I sort of wonder what else nobody is telling me, you know? And nobody ever says anything about Mum, not even Snape. It's like they only existed to get me started and that's all they were good for. It's only in the old photos Hagrid collected for me and the memories Sn—I mean, Professor Snape gave me where I can see them as people."

"Professor Lupin could talk about them for hours if you liked, Harry."

"Right, and I'd get the same line from him. He told me a few things, finally, about what him and his friends were really like, but you could see he didn't like it. He told me himself he wanted to look good to me when he told that tale in the Shrieking Shack. I just keep wondering how much he still isn't telling me. I mean, he keeps saying how he tried to be friendly and all that, but there was a kid in Dudley's gang who pulled that one, too. I couldn't trust him either." It had been a long time since he'd thought of Piers' little brother, and how talking to him a few times had distracted him so he'd failed to see the rest showing up to play. "I didn't say anything about that to Remus. Maybe he does sort of feel bad about everything, now that my godfather isn't around. And I know he likes me a lot. He's a great teacher, too, and I like the extra lessons he gives me." He paused for a moment. "He said something about how Snape was jealous of all the attention I got, too, especially from you, or at least he hinted around at it. But it is always about me, isn't it? Maybe Snape was happier this morning because you were nice to him, or something, but as soon as I walk in he knows nobody really cares about him at all, they just want him around to help me. Wait," he said. "As soon as I said something about the hearing being over before Christmas, he soured up again. Why would that bother him?"

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "He is Mrs. Malfoy's representative, Harry."

Harry knew he was missing something, probably something big, _again_. "Well, it would probably be better if I was 17 now anyway. Why can't I use a Time Turner a lot the way Hermione did and get older that way? Maybe I could learn what I need to faster, in case _he_ doesn't want to wait any more."

The Headmaster blinked. "I hadn't considered that. Unfortunately, the Ministry is quite a stickler about the calendar. Also, intense use on that scale would also affect your health. You might regret the lost time later on."

"I want there to _be_ a later!" He took another lemon drop from the bowl in front of him. Cedric wasn't much older than he was now when the Hufflepuff had died. Goyle…Goyle was probably the same age he was right now. His mum and dad hadn't lived to be thirty. Neville's parents might as well be dead, and Sirius…his godfather was dead, too. It wasn't fair! The vital Gryffindor was gone, and the Potions Master was still around. Of course, so was Remus. _So is Pettigrew,_ he thought, _mainly because of me. If I had let my two friends kill him, Voldemort wouldn't be all the way back yet. I guess I was really stupid then. _"I want to live, Headmaster," he said. "Hermione said she had to keep a book where she wrote down where she was that year when she had the Turner, but I could do that, too. How much time do I really have?" For a moment he was furiously angry at the old wizard, who had had so much.

"Not enough," Dumbledore said softly. "I must think this over, Harry."

He was delighted to hear that. If the Headmaster didn't have the Turner or couldn't get one, he would have said so. "Well," Harry said more calmly. "I'd better use some of it for this next lesson, then."

"In that case, I'll be glad to give it," Dumbledore said with a delighted smile.

It was a hard one. At the end of it, though, Harry felt like he was holding his own. Tucked away inside a memory, he was usually safe from the huge wave the old wizard sent his way, especially if he surrounded himself with a mental wall of glass. He knew it wouldn't break, either—Uncle Vernon sometimes watched really boring industrial programs on the telly that showed certain kinds of glass standing up to bullets. He always felt calmer, too, once he'd put that up around him.

"You must be careful to remove the glass when we are done with these lessons, Harry," the Headmaster said once they'd finished.

"But it helps at night. I don't have nearly as many nightmares now as I used to," he argued.

"You pay a price for it."

"Yeah. And look what happened when I didn't. I don't get to be ordinary, remember?"

"You still have to be human, too."

"I can do that later. But I have to have the time to do it first." He didn't know why Dumbledore looked so sad. First they told him he had to master himself, then they changed their minds when he started to become good at it.

"Others have been badly affected by pushing away their emotions for too long."

Harry shrugged. From what he'd been able to see in the Occlumency lessons last year, Snape had had lots of things wrong with him before anything else had happened. "It's not like I'll have to do it for the next twenty years, or something like that," he said. "And I have friends to blow off steam with." _Plus I never had the whole school against me for the whole time I was here, either._ He remembered a couple of teachers had tried to stop Dudley when he was younger, at least till Uncle Vernon had had a couple of words with the school head. _I wonder if Snape ever had anybody who wasn't a DE try to help him before he joined?_

The Headmaster looked out the window for a couple of minutes. _Crap! I hope he wasn't listening in!_ Harry thought. He loved the old wizard, but not as much after last year. Maybe he was supposed to not depend on any one person to always be there. Maybe he expected too much of anyone. _I wish he would be my guardian,_ he thought. _But maybe it's better for me if he's just another teacher, and Mrs. Weasley is the one I depend on for the mushy stuff. It would be a nice change to go to a real home from here. Last summer was better, but even I know better than to count on it always being like that._

Dumbledore sighed and faced him again. "Let's work with the Pensieve and the memories inside them again. There are still many things you need to learn.

That was hard, too. Seeing memories in a Pensieve made them both more and less real. Harry saw more of what was actually going on, but a lot of the feelings associated with each one weren't there. Yet when he put one of his memories back inside his head, it was back to normal.

The memories Snape had given him were a little different. The Potion Master's emotions were gone from them as far as he could tell. When he tried putting the wedding one inside his own head, though, they were more real, like the sound and color had been turned up. That let him hide in a memory he'd already used before without it being worn out too much.

He tried explaining it to the Headmaster, who seemed to know it already. Then Harry figured out something else. "Does it work that way for bad memories, too? If I took something like that out and then put it back in, would it be just as nasty as when it happened the first time?"

"Yes, Harry. That is one of the problems with using a Pensieve to examine one. That's why some courts don't always return all the memories when testimony has to be taken by Pensieve when a crime victim can't speak. It may seem like theft, but that has to be balanced against the ability of the victim to endure the original trauma." Dumbledore sipped one of his eternal cups of tea. "Some people try to empty too many memories. But I digress. You did quite well today."

Harry flushed at the compliment, but tried not to let it go to his head. The better he did, the sooner his lessons with Snape would begin. He didn't feel nearly as angry as he usually did thinking about the Slytherin these days anyway. Hermione had told them all about potions overload, whether anyone had wanted to hear or not. Sometimes he still remembered his vision of what Voldemort had let Lestrange and Pettigrew do to a heap of black robes that had stopped screaming. _I wonder if he's ever sick of saving my life,_ Harry thought. _I've never thanked him for anything he's ever done. I always hated him so much for being such a git I must have thought he didn't deserve it, or something. _"I wish I knew what I could do," he said. "Sna—I mean, Professor Snape has done a lot, and I know he didn't want to."

"I suspect Tom's head on a platter would be welcome."

"Yeah, but everybody gets that one," Harry said. "He ought to have something that's just his. Remus said I'm already giving him a lot of what he wants just paying attention in class for a change. But it doesn't seem like enough. I know how much it meant to be to have something besides Dudley's rejects. If you have any suggestions, it would help."

"I'll think about it," Dumbledore said.

Harry heard the faint sound of the dinner bell and made his excuses. As he headed down to the Great Hall, he thought about it. With so much gold in his vault, he could buy pretty much anything for the Potions Master, if only he knew what to get. Hermione would suggest a book, he knew. Ron…Ron would have too many ideas, and most of them would get them all in trouble. Fred and George would sit up nights dreaming of the possibilities.

As he ate, he tried to make a list in his head and still came up blank. After he finished his plate, he went up to his room and tried to make sense of his Potions homework. The team was going to meet later this afternoon. If he went over things first, he would know what he needed help in.

Life was so much easier when the Headmaster was perfect, Snape was horrible, and someone tried to kill him only once a year. He sighed, and stared at the book. Harry supposed it could be worse. He could be the one who had to read all the essays being turned in. Just writing them was bad enough!

Argus Filch

He was enjoying a rare leisurely cup of tea in his office when he heard the knock. "Come in," he said. The caretaker was glad to see it was Snape. For once the Potions Master only wanted to sit, instead of being on the warpath. "No complaints?" Argus said, fixing the dour Slytherin a cup.

"No." The young wizard slumped in his chair and drank his tea. He looked worn out.

"Those Swiss potions trying to kill you again today?" Poppy had told him quite a bit, and her face had said a lot more, when he'd asked why Snape was off night patrol this year.

"They'll have to stand in line."

Ah. It was going to be of _those_ rants. "Longbottom tried to blow up the place again last week? Any messes left behind?"

Snape took a deep breath. "No, he's actually holding back a bit this year. Most of them are. It won't last, of course, but I can still appreciate it as long as it does."

"Heard you were out again last night." Nobody talked to him much about the _other_ business, but Filch had gleaned a good deal from the house elves, especially Dobby.

"Malfoy Manor. Minister Umbridge was there. I was forced to be polite to her."

Filch didn't say anything. He tried to not be jealous of the way the woman had made eyes at the Potions Master last year. He realized Snape had not given her any encouragement, but it still struck him on the raw to hear about her sometimes.

"In fact, I told her she could do worse than a respectable Squib who has served Hogwarts all these years," Snape continued with sardonic light in his eyes. "She's not to my taste, Argus, and I hope you don't mind me saying so. You'd be much better for her. I have to tell you, though, that Percy Weasley is her assistant and…well, she hasn't made a fool of herself in public yet, but she isn't thinking straight just now."

Argus gritted his teeth. "Her own roommate's son! What is the world coming to?"

"On his part, he feels he has to go along, but his heart's not in it. It won't last a year, I wouldn't think. Of course we've never seen an older wizard make a fool of himself over a pretty face. Remember the time Flitwick thought himself in love with that model in Witch Weekly?"

Filch spluttered. "Oh, he gave us all a fine show there for a few months, didn't he! I must admit, you've done a much better job at hiding yours."

Snape raised one eyebrow. The caretaker continued. "Oh, now, surely you noticed the main spread in the magazine? Just like that Malfoy woman, only with a bit more flesh on her."

The Potions Master colored. "I actually liked that issue for the ad in back...ah, the red haired woman…"

"Oh, _that_ one!" Argus laughed. "Nobody has dared to ask either Weasley about it. Arthur lets Molly do what she wants, and God knows I don't blame him, not with that much cream on his chin, but there are limits, and I don't want to find out what they are." Then it dawned on him just how much a Slytherin his friend really was. Much easier to let everyone think he was secretly mad for the blonde stick, when he was really enthralled with someone else, or perhaps no real person at all. No doubt life was much safer for Snape when people made assumptions.

Well, he wasn't about to pry. As long it was clear the Potions Master had no interest in Dolores Umbridge, he could fall in love with Molly Weasley, or that frizzy-haired Gryffindor, or Minerva McGonagall for all he cared. Still, it couldn't hurt to lay out a few conversational lines. One never knew what fish might be caught. "It's too bad the only girl in your year you cared a fig for ended up with one of the Marauders," he said. 'No harm in having a taste for redheads, of course. I remember when I caught Miss-Prewitt-that-was in the closet with the Quibbler boy with her blouse off. Now, the Bulstrode girl's set is more impressive, with her that size and all, but what I saw of Molly's back then seemed _friendlier,_ somehow." Ah. That shot had gone into the gold, judging by the way Snape suddenly found his tea so very interesting. Either that, or he was meant to think so.

"The portraits sniggered half the day once I started them on her," the Slytherin said morosely. "You would find this out soon in any case, so I may as well tell you. There's a suit out for guardianship of Potter since the dog fell through the Veil. I'm representing Mrs. Malfoy. However, Mrs. Weasley will soon be entering a suit on her own behalf."

"And you had to sit there and spill your guts about everything you're doing, just to keep the brat alive. Again." Just as well Snape kept him posted on things. Dumbledore had been kind enough to keep him on after Dippet died, but rarely told him the time of day.

"Comes with the job," his friend said. "Mrs. Malfoy had an interesting theory about Squibs, too, which I thought you should know."

"Oh, I can guess that one! Find one of us who can't. If Mudbloods aren't good enough, well, there are lots of stories of what happens to purebloods who don't get a letter."

"Actually, this one makes sense. She thinks if everyone knew from birth who's put down for Hogwarts, then Squib babies could be raised as Muggles and Muggleborn witches and wizards could be raised by magical ones. You're one of the few Squibs who has stayed with us. The Prewitts have a cousin who's a Muggle accountant, and they aren't the only ones. Of course, it's a good thing that idiot Longbottom _did_ end up with some magic—you wouldn't believe what his Uncle Algie put the boy through to force it out."

Filch grimaced. He'd been through that mill himself, and had nearly died of it before his kin had given up. "The old changeling routine, eh? Well, if it's done right and the babies matched up properly, it might work. But I keep hearing rumors of some tests the Muggles can do now to make sure their little darlings are really related to them. Not just the old blood tests Poppy could get around without her wand, but new ones. I've a cousin who works in a hospital out there and keeps wanting me to take over their janitor department."

"I'm surprised you haven't done it," Snape said.

"Nah. Mrs. Norris wouldn't last six months out of a magical field, not at her age," Argus said. "I admit, it drives me mad to see all the little brats so proud of their magic and just wasting it on stupid pranks…at least you do most of your own cleanup down there in Potions. Transfiguration and Arithmancy aren't so bad, but you should see what happens in Charms some days. Flitwick _tries_, but he doesn't think about my problems the way you do. Never mind the roof repairs every time a Bludger gets loose from the field. Madam Hooch always apologizes handsomely, mind you, but that doesn't put on new shingles." Admittedly, the occasional kiss on the cheek from her sent him up the ladder whistling, so it wasn't really that bad. "But you know, her idea isn't all that bad. There's more than straw on that pretty head of hers."

"She would also like to raise Mr. Potter to adulthood, too, and she won't get _that_ either," the Slytherin said flatly. "The others who heard her idea liked it, too, but _someone else_ said nothing. I suspect he has his own ideas on the subject."

"I suppose he does," Argus said. He saw how his friend slumped in the chair. "Well, should I put you down for a nap, or send Mrs. Norris to Winky to do the same? Your choice."

"I _hate_ feeling sick and tired all the time." Snape grimaced, no doubt hearing a bit of whining in his own voice. "Here's all right."

"Come on back, then," he said, standing, and holding out an arm to help his friend up.

The thin man rose, one hand on the arm of the chair, then staggered along with Filch towards the rear of the office. _Won't be the first time or the last,_ Argus thought. _It always amazes me when students show up for detentions rather than skiving off to the infirmary, but even I can't work them too hard when they're really sick._ A small cubicle formed by the folding walls of the castle held a sturdy cot, used for ill children to lie down on while he fetched Madam Pomfrey, and sometimes for himself when he was too tired to drag himself back to his own quarters after a hard day. As Snape lay down, Argus remembered him as a student who never ate enough to keep up with his bones, nor probably ever would. He'd tried to tell the Headmaster what those Marauders were really up to, sometimes with Poppy to back him up, only to be dismissed for having no sense of humor.

He was about to walk off when the young wizard said, "Have you ever tried the Root of Magic Potion, Argus?"

Filch's face went hot. "Yes," he said gruffly. No doubt all those like him spent a few Galleons foolishly that way. Once tried, it was no use taking it again. Either it would work or it wouldn't, and in his case it hadn't.

"If you bought it from Nora's, all you drank was barley water and a rather nasty purgative. She's been fleecing Squibs for a century that way. The real thing is a bit tricky to brew, and I'd need Hagrid's help for a few of the ingredients, but it doesn't take as long as you might think. I couldn't warrant it'd work, of course, but it would be an honest potion and no fraud."

"No rush," Argus muttered. "You shouldn't be brewing at all, or so Pomfrey says."

"Yet here I am," Snape answered dryly from the shadowed cot. "And I should start soon…I don't know if there will be a guardianship hearing or not, or how soon, but I can't depend on knowing the timing…I'll start it no sooner than next weekend if I can find the ingredients by then."

The caretaker thought it through. Of course Mrs. Weasley had to win. Even a brash Gryffindor with no manners didn't deserve what the Malfoys could do to him. Then he remembered. Snape was representing the lady of that house. What would _someone_ do to him if he lost? Maybe it would make what happened to the Slytherin last summer look like a love-tap. "That--that would be a kindly thing to do, even if it doesn't work," he said. "And if it does, I'll bless your name forever."

"At least someone will."

"What has the Potter brat done for you to deserve this?"

"Not much. His _loving family_ raised him in a cupboard smaller than this space…" The dark voice softened. "He was, maybe still is, the family house elf there. Of course coming here went to his head, and I was an idiot not to see it."

"Dumbledore couldn't have known!" Filch knew how the Headmaster cherished his favorites, though he'd never been one.

"Yes. Yes, he did. Potter blew half the office to pieces when he found out…maybe he does have enough power to dispose of my former master after all. I'd like to be here to see it…"

"Ah. I'd let him paint the halls red and gold for that," Argus said, "_and_ let him sign his name. I've heard the stories about what your old friends want with Squibs. The Muggle world would look good compared to the nastiest ones." The rumors he'd heard involved immediate death for any above breeding age, and three chances at magical children for the rest. Of course, any failures would be executed, including any children produced who had no magic. Snape hadn't said much a year or so back when he'd mentioned that one. The few Squibs who stayed in the Wizarding World weren't terribly well organized, but tended to keep in touch anyway. Some of them had ways of listening in to what their pureblood relatives had to say in private.

"Then find a way to run. I know someone in Knockturn Alley who does papers for the Muggle world. Go find that hospital, even if you have to leave the cat behind."

"Maybe I will," the caretaker said thoughtfully. But only if his beloved feline could come with him. He waited for a reply, but only heard a tentative snore, then a loud one.

Filch went back to his office and freshened his tea. Mrs. Norris came by for a treat and a pet, then was sent to tell Winky where her master was. He wished the Headmaster good luck against You-Know-Who, but thought the old wizard had brought half his troubles on himself. _I remember Tom,_ Argus thought. _Dumbledore was taken in by the boy the way everyone else was, no matter what he says now. I was apprentice to old Mr. Haskins then, and saw everything, though even then I knew better than to say much. Albus turned against Slytherin as soon as the boy showed his true colors, and hasn't let up since. That made the Snakes easy pickings. Oh, yes, it's really brilliant to take the students the Hat bloody well _chooses_ for ambition and make sure they know from the start only Gryffindors count. _

_I wonder sometimes if Riddle isn't getting revenge on Slytherin itself. How Tom must love making all the purebloods bow to him after being their butt for most of his time as a student here! I still don't understand why he's so hard on Snape, though—a person would think he'd see the Potions Master went through the same thing as he did. Oh, damn, I hope Snape is right about the Root of Magic potion. If it wasn't a real one I drank at Nora's then maybe there's still hope. Wouldn't my family stare if I ever come back with a wand in my hand! _

Filch thought about what he'd seen in the past few decades. _Being one of Dumbledore's favorites doesn't seem to help any of them much. James Potter is dead, and so is Sirius Black. Lupin scrapes by on charity, and the little rat, by all accounts, is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's lowest servant. Snape was the apple of Albus's eye, and look at him now. I don't understand how Albus can abandon people the way he does to move on to the next. If Snape were my son, I'd be as proud as Merlin. Young Potter is today's favorite, and I'll warrant he won't make old bones either. Maybe I ought to be glad I've never been one. Some days I think the Headmaster will outlive us all._ He glanced back towards the cubicle, hoping selfishly that the young wizard would live long enough to brew his potion.

_I'd best enjoy this quiet moment while it lasts. Won't be many of them this year._


	50. Chapter 50: The Order of the Phoenix

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

A quick note on the previous chapter: Just a reminder that Lancre is within the universe of the Discworld, which is owned and operated by Terry Pratchett. The brutal high elf attack repelled by its queen (Magrat) and other members of the 'kingdom' was detailed in his book Lords and Ladies, which also featured Molly Weasley's grandmother Nanny Ogg.

And again, thanks for Britpicking and whatnot to Snape's Nightie, and for comma hunting and Bad Phrase Noticing to Zafaran. We now proceed to our regularly scheduled chapter.

One brief comment: If Molly is a slut, whatever do we call her boyfriends? Oh, yes, studs. Can't forget about that double standard, can we? Five points from your house, Mr. Shadowcub, and a half hour's detention at the end of Miss Granger's wand. Harumph.

Chapter 50: The Order of the Phoenix

Albus Dumbledore

He was both happy and sad—happy that Harry was going to find a family he really deserved, and sad that once more Snape would pay the price. When the boy had mentioned Christmas, the Potions Master had reacted as if being kicked by a centaur. He had been so much better for most of the session, too. Albus could _feel_ the easing of tension between the two.

But he knew better than to blame Severus for not wanting to hear how short his life might be. For his own part, he had tried to explain as much as he dared to the boy without being too blunt. Some day soon, Harry would sit bolt upright and understand what he'd been told, and feel it more deeply for not having it spoon-fed to him. _I thought surely after his vision this last summer he would finally begin to understand the real risks Snape is running for his sake. In fact, he did make the connection between the loyalty spell and his own reaction to it, and how horribly Snape was punished for protecting those in his charge. But he has yet to extrapolate forward. On the other hand, he did see the parallels in his own life to those of Snape. At least Remus has been talking to the boy. _Dumbledore made a note on a report Moody had given him that morning on what Lupin had said at Grimmauld Place last night after everyone else had left. The discrepancy between what the wolf had said he'd told Harry and what Harry remembered was minor, really, hardly worth mentioning. He suspected Moody had left out parts of the conversation on his end, too, but if Mad-Eye didn't think they were important, they probably weren't.

But that only distracted him from the main issue for a few moments. He would have to speak to Severus this evening at their usual Sunday evening session. The younger wizard must feel free to express the truth and not just shut it up again from fear or because he thought nobody really cared.

He glanced up at the portraits in his office. Old Esmerelda was having her tea, but the rest were more or less asleep, though it was late even for a Sunday. "I don't suppose you could tell me where Professor Snape is," he ventured.

"My friend Susie saw him entering the caretaker's office," the former Headmistress said. "And looking badly in need of a lie down, too."

Dumbledore was well aware Filch didn't approve of all he did, but was so strongly loyal to Hogwarts it didn't matter. "Good. I'm glad he went to talk to someone, instead of holing up and letting things fester." He was happy Snape had gone to Malfoy Manor last night; if his foolish notions about unrequited love had any substance, seeing Narcissa had probably been some comfort. No doubt shrieking about Potter to Filch would help the younger wizard today.

Now he needed to _do_ something for the Potions Master. Talk was well and good, but could only go so far. Snape risked severe punishment if he saved Harry, but wasn't allowed to protect his own. It was time something was done about that. He wrote a quick note and sent it by Fawkes. Even Moody would trust a message delivered by the phoenix.

The Floo chimed. Magister Lowenstein's head appeared in the fire. "You wished to speak to me, Headmaster?"

"Yes. His second expulsion phase was a week ago. It went well, or so I was told by Madam Pomfrey, but he is still tires easily. He didn't teach for two days last week. Fortunately he's beginning to allow himself to rest." He hoped.

"Of course. I am surprised he teaches at all, even with time off. The samples were well prepared, and have told us a lot. There are many, how does the phrase go, 'fatigue toxins' in the last batch. He is doing too much, even with the rest breaks in your new Ministry regulations. Where is he now?"

"I believe he is having a quiet cup of tea with a sympathetic friend. I would have to check a book he's charmed that our mediwitch keeps in her office, but I dearly hope he is finding an outlet for the stress he endures dealing with some of our students." He took another sip of tea. "I hope you saw the note I sent about the problems we may have to resolve during this process. Being a Potions Master is hazardous, and not just from the fumes he inhales. If he is injured in class, I would like to have more options than the short list of compatible potions you already gave us. Professor Flitwick is learning more charms for emergency use, but potions are the backbone of the medical profession." Dumbledore remembered the utter helplessness they had all felt when Severus had been so badly hurt.

Lowenstein cocked his head. "And of course there are those other problems you cannot discuss with me, such as what caused his injuries last summer. It would be easier for all of us if he comes to the clinic more often than that."

"I know," Albus said. "I hope to send him to you for his next expulsion phase. When do you think it will be? The last two have been near the full moon."

"Oh, yes, you have a werewolf there, and notice it more. It is coincidence. Perhaps the strain of brewing Wolfsbane may do something to start it, or something in the potion itself. I wish he did not have to, Headmaster. The lack of sleep for one part of it is not good for him, and the phase becomes harder for him. This makes other duties more dangerous for him, as being tired is bad for the judgment."

Dumbledore nodded. "I wish to schedule his stay at the clinic for the next one, then. I have asked entirely too much of him." _In more ways than one._ "I have to admit, he is controlling his temper much better than I expected." He would have to write the editor of Potions Monthly and see if she could cover Snape's classes while he was gone.

The Magister raised an eyebrow. "Now, that is a surprise. After the toxins have been removed, of course, I have seen several brewers become calmer and easier to live with, along with improved health. During the process itself, they were unpleasant indeed, though my staff has many methods of coping with such people. He must have been ill indeed for any improvement to begin this early."

_Or maybe Severus is still afraid of me,_ the older wizard thought with a pang of remorse. "Perhaps having a fuss made over him has eased some inner insecurity," he speculated. "The mood enhancers to alleviate the side effects of the detoxicant could be helping with an underlying problem."

"I wish you had sought help for him earlier," Lowenstein said, looking grim.

"So do I." How ironic that the Potions Master was finally receiving proper treatment, only to know his time was so short.

"At least he is being helped now," the Swiss wizard said briskly. "How long does the Wolfsbane potion remain fresh? Perhaps he can make it shortly before he leaves, and we can see for ourselves what his reaction to it is. The next full moon is in the middle of the week near the end of this month, so you shall have to arrange for another to teach his classes. And I shall look into other potions he may require for…accidents. No wonder so few schools teach Potions as a required subject any more."

"Late October, then," the Headmaster said, and closed the Floo. He looked at his calendar, a slowly revolving wheel of the seasons. _I want Severus out of the country if Tom tries a rescue at Azkaban this next full moon. Lupin will have to be on his own for once, instead of us depending on Snape to rescue him if something goes wrong the way it could have last night. I suppose it could be considered an early birthday present, or part of one. _

The Potions Master would be thirty-six a week or so after, on the 9th. _What can I give a man risking death, and little time or health to enjoy much of anything?_ Albus remembered the forced cheer of other birthdays, and how little Snape had appreciated his efforts. _I suppose I was trying to make him have a good time so I'd feel better about forcing him to teach here. When was the last time I asked what he really wanted for himself? I don't dare try that now. I can't give him any of it, even if he trusted me enough to tell me the truth. _

In fact, the dour Slytherin was lucky this year he didn't have to teach on the anniversary of his birth, since it was a Saturday. This was also true of the rest of the staff, but he did try to arrange some kind of holiday, however short, for any member of the staff celebrating another candle. In Potions it was more difficult to interrupt Snape's strict timetable. _How frustrating it must be for him this year to see it go down the toilet because of his health,_ Albus thought. The only reason the younger wizard had agreed to visit the clinic, though his condition really demanded his presence there, was because he'd finally reached his limits. Dumbledore knew the combination of Dementors and werewolves would be more than he could handle himself. _And I was never a prisoner in Azkaban, not even for the few months Snape was there. Neither have I ever been nearly eaten by a werewolf. Most of the year where the Dementors were here I wore a Ministry medallion just like everyone else. _

He shied away from thinking Severus had only one more birthday after this one to celebrate before it was too late. _I have to find a way to show him how much he really means to me. I have to find a way to show him I won't always choose Harry or everybody else over him. Only two more birthdays, two more Christmases, two more Leaving Feasts left to him. If we can't help him by then, he faces eternal bondage to that horrible Mark. Oh, if only Sybil had kept quiet. At least I would have had some hope, though he doesn't._ He remembered the fear in her eyes, instead of a wish to seem important

Albus morbidly speculated on what sort of funeral Snape would have. Would it be a hurried hole-and-corner affair, with only himself and Moody attending? The Auror would not count the man dead till Severus was safely Incendio'd into ashes, and then only if he had helped do it himself. Or would it be the long-delayed tribute the Potions Master deserved, only far too late for him to enjoy it? Either way, Dumbledore knew with a sinking heart that he was probably going to outlive the contentious Slytherin and be there to see his body depart this earth. He remembered Cedric Diggory's ceremony, and how it had torn the heart of his mother and turned his father's into stone.

_I should have gone to young Mr. Goyle's funeral, too,_ he thought. He'd received an invitation, but had been too worried about Severus to leave. Yet the boy had died at Voldemort's whim just as much as the Hufflepuff had done, though the hands could have belonged to his own mother. His presence might have shamed Mrs. Goyle.

But he hadn't even thought of going. Snape's apprentices had been left helpless with their master so ill. _I did not lift a hand to aid them, even when they risked their own lives to pull Severus back from the edge of that dreadful shore. Even now I allow Harry to exclude them from his DA for the sin of being Slytherin._

The old wizard smiled to himself a moment. He suspected what Lupin really planned with his 'Quidditch coaching'. _Those children I made hot chocolate for aren't evil. It's wrong for me to let the other houses believe I think they are. One present I can give Severus this year is to show him I care for those in his keeping as much as he does._

He sent Dobby with a note for Draco Malfoy. Slytherin wasn't playing today, and the boy could spare an hour from his homework. Reports from all his classes said he was working much harder this year. Dumbledore suspected the young man wanted to make his professor proud of him, rather than in fear of what his father would think should the know-it-all outdo him again.

In a short time, Snape's godson walked through the door. His manner was polite, but blank. "Is there something I can help you with, Headmaster?"

"Yes. I wanted to thank you for helping your godfather last summer. He was very near death when you and the others intervened."

Young Malfoy's eyes widened, obviously wondering how much he knew. He remained silent.

Dumbledore nodded. "Please have a seat."

"Of course, sir," said Draco, though he looked a trifle paler than usual, and complied.

"Lemon drop?" Albus offered. He took one from his special bowl and gave it to the boy.

"Thank you, sir." His guest politely took and ate it. His mother had trained him well.

The Headmaster made trivial conversation to allow time for the minimal dose of Veritaserum and mild relaxant in the sweet to take effect. After all, alchemist was only another name for Potions Master, though at a higher level. No doubt Severus had begun dosing his Slytherins after guessing what was in the lemon drops. "I know the names of all the apprentices, Mr. Malfoy, and have a good idea of their true loyalties. I can only hope, along with your master, that someday all of you will be of the same mind."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to worship Potty's arse the way half the school does." Draco looked stunned at what came out of his mouth.

Albus hadn't expected the boy to be so frank so soon even with the treat. No doubt he had desperately wanted to talk to someone he could trust. "Language, Mr. Malfoy," he said mildly. Harry had said far worse things to him with no penalty. "No, I don't expect you to become friends with those you've fought with for so long. I have tried to force it with others and it did not work out. I am simply very happy you have decided not to worship Riddle despite much inducement to do so."

Snape's godson looked relieved. "Kreacher said the professor was in trouble a lot last year because he wouldn't suck up to Sirius Black, and nobody stood up for him then except the Wea—er, Mrs. Weasley. But Mother told me that Potter might end up at the Manor. She said I would have to behave myself if that happened."

"Trust me, Mr. Malfoy, that is a fate we are all trying to avoid," Dumbledore said dryly. "I want to offer my condolences on your friend's death. I know I am a trifle late, but better that than never. I also wish to apologize for my neglect of other Slytherin students over the years. I had forgotten, you see, that they are children, too."

The young man blinked. "The firsties haven't talked of anything else all week since you made chocolate for them," he said. "No matter what you say at the Welcoming or Leaving Feasts about unity, we all find out there's only one house in Hogwarts, and that's Gryffindor. Is that really going to change?" He pressed his lips firmly together, as if realizing he'd said too much.

The Headmaster hated seeing students afraid of him. "I hope so," he said. "We all need to stand together, or we surely will fall. You and your friends are in a great deal of danger, the more so because you yourselves are divided. I wish there was a way in which all of you could agree."

"I…I don't know," Malfoy said, now clearly appalled at being so honest. "I don't know who really believes and who's just afraid. I can't talk about this to Pan—I mean, Miss Parkinson or Vince. Avery and Nott come from families who are real believers. I don't know what Macnair thinks. I don't think anybody does. But they all helped, even um, the other ones, when my godfather was so sick."

"I know about Miss Edgecombe and Mr. Weasley, too," Albus said gently. "I must admit, I am pleased at the way you have grown up so quickly this year."

"I have to. Father's in prison, and Mother doesn't know what to do. But I'd be dead without her. She could have been like Greg's mother. Or she could have sat back and let it happen. She lied to Father for me…" Draco paused a moment. "But I can't tell her too much. Some of the house elves are bound to him, the way Dobby was, and Kreacher is there now, too. And I can't go crying to my godfather all the time, not like I used to. The Dark Lord is killing him by inches, even though You-Know-Who says nice things where my aunt can hear them. I wonder if _he_ does that so she'll hate the professor more. He never stops her from doing anything she likes, either, sometimes right after he's said he won't let her hurt Snape any more. And then…" Malfoy went deathly white. "Then I found out more about my father."

"What was it?" The Headmaster's voice was gentle, though the old wizard rather hoped Lucius had been discreet.

"I can't tell you, sir. It wouldn't be right to have…to have people know about this."

"If it's about Professor Snape while he was a student…" Oh, Merlin, surely no man would brag of _that_ to his son!

"If you know, why didn't you stop it? Why doesn't anybody stop _anything_ around this place?" Draco screamed as he stood up, his face red now. A small, engraved glass bowl on a top shelf shattered into pieces, the same way it had last spring around Harry. "Father said it was still better for Snape then. He said the Marauders tortured the professor for years once he wasn't there to protect him." He sat down, his shoulders slumped. "I…I was like them myself last year when Umbridge was here. Merlin, what a prat I was! But I never did anything like what happened to Montague. What is _wrong_ with this school?"

Dumbledore sighed. He was afraid he knew the answer lay in his mirror. "Many things, Mr. Malfoy. I think we depend too much on magic to tell us when something wrong is going on. We also look the other way when it fails." _I have looked the other way for entirely too long, even when I knew exactly what was going on._ "I think the same is true of the outside world as well. We are also in a time of war just now, which makes things worse. For some things…for I have no excuse at all. Maybe I've been Headmaster too long, or should have never become one." Now he wondered if he'd picked his last lemon drop from the wrong bowl. Yet the Slytherins had been lied to for far too long, and had given up believing in anything. Perhaps truth was the only cure.

Draco bowed his head and covered his face. Then he let his hands drop and looked up again. "Professor Snape is still sick, and it isn't just the potions," he said in a toneless voice. "He isn't as angry as he used to be, but everyone knows it's because he's too tired. Oh, Merlin, I wish he'd yell at us again. I wish he'd stalk the halls at night and terrify us all the way he used to. We all felt _safe_ knowing he was looking after us. I'm so scared, Headmaster. I know I have to help look after him now."

"You aren't alone," Albus said. "I'm watching over him, too. So is Winky. So is Hagrid. Even Professor Flitwick has stepped in, while Madam Pomfrey has always been a great help. All the staff members here at Hogwarts know what danger he is in. We had to, or he would have died the morning after you and your friends gave us enough time to help him. If you ever see a table in his quarters with er, assorted items on it, well, that was part of the spell. Professor Snape has been overworked for years, and the return of the Dark Lord nearly killed him. The regimen the Swiss have put him on is wearing him down, but we are trying to make it possible for him to rest more. That's why you're here today. If he fails, I want you and your friends to know you have not been abandoned. My door will always be open to you or to any of them. I suggest using caution, of course. That's why I sent Dobby for you rather than Fawkes. I know what could happen to any of you if you are suspected of disloyalty." He took a breath. "However, I can't stop caring for students in Gryffindor either. They have problems of their own, which you do not need to know about, and I'm certain you understand why."

Young Malfoy nodded. He was no fool, no matter how he had behaved over the years.

Dumbledore continued. "I can let you know that I do see the effort the members of Slytherin are making this year. Madam Hooch has wondered out loud how long your cleaner play at Quidditch will last. A few members of the staff are making bets as to which team will take up the slack in the fouls department. I am happy so few are playing pranks in Potions this year from any house. Anything going wrong could have a terrible effect on your godfather's health, because of the possible interactions with his treatment. No one has ever tried to teach while taking these potions before. You saw him a little over a week ago."

"I know. That black stuff looked horrible. And then being summoned, too. Hagrid… He knows a lot more than he's letting on, doesn't he?"

"Yes. Your own danger will be increasing soon. Severus is quite worried about you becoming an apprentice to Mrs. Lestrange."

"He keeps warning me about her. She and Mother argue all the time, and I know better than to put myself in the middle. But Um—I mean, the Minister, she was crazy too."

Dumbledore sighed. "Your aunt is quite different. You know better than I do what she is capable of."

"I know! I _saw_ what she did!" Draco's voice cracked. "But not against _family…_"

"Sirius Black was her cousin, Mr. Malfoy. If she is convinced you are a traitor, you may end up wishing for a similar fate. Miss Edgecombe was her apprentice, and I suspect you have already heard of what happened to her. Of course, if You-Know-Who discovers your true loyalties, your godfather's life will be at risk as it was before."

"Then why am I here?"

"Because you know the truth," the Headmaster said inexorably. "You already did, or your mother would not have needed to stop you from committing suicide under the spell sent out through the Mark. You're not afraid to miss your friend, who did die. We can help you. And in turn, of course, you can help us. I don't think I have to explain Professor Snape's position to you. His work will be made easier if some of his own house are able to help him."

"If he's so important to you, then why was he treated so badly last year?" The boy seemed genuinely curious. "Kreacher was pretty clear on that."

_Because to me any Gryffindor, such as Sirius Black, is clearly more important than any Slytherin, even one so valuable as Severus. _"That was my fault," he said. "It has worked better for us than it probably should have, but it was still wrong." _Easy to say that now with Black out of the picture._ "Now you realize what the stakes are, I must ask you to take an oath. It is one your godfather has taken already, so you are following in his footsteps. Eventually, I would like to see all your friends take it, but only if they realize the possible consequences."

He summoned Fawkes. The phoenix fluttered in, landed on Malfoy's shoulder, and trilled his happiness.

Draco looked stunned at first, then tentatively stroked the shining feathers. Fawkes rubbed his head against the young man's neck. He relaxed and smiled.

So did the Headmaster. "Take out your wand."

The boy did so one-handed, still petting the phoenix with the other. It was a bit unfair to enthrall young Malfoy this way, but it was really for his own protection. Moody would never accept another Slytherin besides Tonks unless Fawkes could vouch for him.

Dumbledore showed his own wand. "We must touch them, tip to tip," he said.

Draco obeyed. This was for the best, though Albus wished Mad-Eye was here by now. He administered the oath for a new member of the Order. Young Malfoy repeated the words with joy in his heart, judging by the light in his eyes. For once there was no dissimulation in him.

A brilliant glow surrounded them both, much like the one that had shone around him and Severus that horrible night not long before the Potters had died, though not quite as bright as the one in the infirmary just before the beginning of school.

Fawkes dropped a feather on the table. The Headmaster pointed his wand at it, and it dissolved into a glowing mist that settled over the young man's head and disappeared. This was new. Dumbledore breathed in a small portion of the cloud himself and felt heartened. One by one, each member of the Order would receive this grace, both old and new.

"It tingles…" Draco said in a soft voice.

"Any other member of the Order will be able to identify you with a simple spell. I should warn you now that breathing this has…has other properties for those who change their minds." Miss Granger's hex on the Edgecombe girl had not gone unnoticed. Yet it was only fair to offer a last warning. Also, a visible mark was susceptible to detection by the enemy. "You will remain in ignorance of most of the other members for our own protection, and for yours."

Malfoy grimaced. "What I don't know they can't Crucio out of me."

"Precisely. Not everyone is as strong as Professor Snape. We don't ask it of you. However, that being said, you need to be interrogated by one of our own. I believe in your loyalties, Mr. Malfoy. It would still be best for you to convince one of our most suspicious members of them." _I wish I could have done this for Severus before it was too late. Phoenix Breath would kill him now. _Then he had a horrible thought. Becoming a member of the Inner Circle might have killed the younger wizard anyway if he _had_ undergone this ritual.

Moody came into the office as if on cue. Albus hoped he had been listening and had waited for the proper moment to enter. "You could have waited to administer the oath until I showed up, Headmaster," the retired Auror growled.

Draco became pale. Dumbledore suddenly understood why. "Mr. Malfoy, it was not this man who turned you into a ferret and bounced you off a wall. It was Barty Crouch, Jr., who did so while taking Polyjuice. Moody was that man's captive all that year and is completely innocent of doing you any harm." He'd thought the whole thing hilarious, though McGonagall had been quite upset, especially when young Malfoy's grades in Transfiguration had fallen for several weeks afterwards. Snape and Filch had howled together over the whole thing, though the Slytherin had complained later about the boy having nightmares. Of course, Severus had pointed out that if 'Moody' had done anything like that to one of the Gryffindors, Mad-Eye would have been out on his ear.

Yet Crouch's instruction on how to resist the Imperius spell had saved Harry's life at the end of that year. Dumbledore had never understood that.

"Of course, sir," Draco said, bringing the Headmaster back into the present. It was clear the young man still wasn't convinced.

Moody sat down, obviously eager to get off his feet. "So, what makes you think you can change your mind about being a Death Eater and come crawling back to us?"

"Because Professor Snape has."

"What makes you think he really has changed his loyalties? Remember, he's a member of the Inner Circle now. He's certainly convinced the other side. What makes you think he's telling us the truth?"

"He tried to stop me from taking the Mark in the first place," Malfoy argued. His face was cold now. "He kept telling me I was too young, and putting the family in danger from Fudge if the Minister found out. The professor pointed out the only thing keeping the Ministry from confiscating the entire estate when Father was arrested was that Mother isn't marked."

"What? Don't you want to be like your father?"

"No. Not any more." The boy's jaw was set. Unfortunately, this made him _look_ more like Lucius than ever.

"Why shouldn't I haul you out and put you in a cell next to your father's?"

"Because you need me," Draco spat. "If Professor Snape….if he can't, any more, you'll need reports about the meetings. If I become an apprentice to my aunt, then I'll learn more about what she wants to do. I know you don't believe me." He took a breath. "I almost died last summer because I didn't think the Dark Lord was so great! It was Mother first, then Professor Snape, who stopped me, stopped the spell, before it was too late. Where were you when so many of us almost died? Greg is _gone_ because he wasn't on the other side!"

Mad-Eye smiled grimly. "And wouldn't that be a good way of convincing us that you and your friends are worth inducting into the Order? Goyle was a waste of air and wouldn't have been much help in anyone's cause."

Malfoy was speechless with rage.

Dumbledore knew exactly what Moody was up to, and decided he'd better put a stop to it. "Moody, I think we need to try something a little different. If you can calm down a bit, I think you and I together will be able to test Mr. Malfoy's loyalty more directly than by insulting him and watching what happens. _Legilimens."_ He caught the flavor of the older wizard's mind first—grim, reluctant, yet with a robust, odd sense of humor. He waited for a moment, then nibbled at the edge of Draco's intellect. How very interesting. The Slytherin had already repelled one investigation by Riddle into his heart simply by thinking of his godfather with love. Yes, it really was that simple. Few believed it. Unfortunately, an emotion allowable in a boy of Malfoy's age and station would be met with wrath if Snape were foolish enough to let such sentiments show.

Yet there it was in Draco, shining like a vein of gold amid the pureblood nonsense he'd learned from his parents. Dumbledore had to work to keep the boy's barriers down; the Slytherin was still afraid of Mad-Eye. Of course, even without the ferret incident that made sense.

Albus kept the three of them together for only a short time. _I hope that will satisfy Moody, if only for now. Then again, sometimes I wonder if he's satisfied with _my _loyalty!_

All of them were shaking when he finally ended the spell. He ordered more tea and some biscuits and waited till the other two recovered before moving on.

Draco was the first to speak. Ah, the resilience of youth! "Why do you hate the professor, Auror Moody? If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be here."

Mad-Eye snorted. "Hate isn't quite the right word, Malfoy. I don't trust him and he won't trust me. We both have good reasons. I still wonder what he has hidden. I know he's up to something, and until I know what, I can't trust him. He's becoming even slyer lately, you know—feeding me morsels to whet my appetite. I didn't expect that tactic at all. None of it concerns you, lad, so don't bristle up. I suppose I have to admit he hasn't filled you full of twaddle the way I expected him to." He paused a moment. "You could be worse. I can't hate anyone who pukes his guts out over what Lucius Malfoy, or any Death Eater, does for fun."

The boy flushed red and drank some tea.

Dumbledore smoothly stepped in. "Mr. Malfoy, you have done well. Remember your obligations, and the penalties if you fail. Welcome to the tightrope your godfather walks. I hope you do not fall. You will have the same access to me that he does from now on. Your individual password will be 'Dobby', and I will pass instructions to you through him, as no one will think it odd to see him in your company. However, I am certain Fawkes will be here from time to time. I am glad the two of you took to each other." He nodded happily. Many had improved themselves immensely with the bribe of that fiery love to lure them on. "In case anyone asks, you were here asking for another dueling club to be formed. Unfortunately, I denied that request."

Draco looked unhappy. "But the DA is never going to let any of us in."

"Yes." Albus knew that. "However, your Quidditch team is going to have some extra coaching soon. I would pay attention to that if I were you. In fact, I am temporarily releasing the limits on team size so you may train a few more substitutes." He was glad Lupin had decided to work out his own way of making sure all the students were properly taught. He might grow a backbone yet.

Young Malfoy grimaced. "But we can't train anyone out of our house that way without landing in trouble. The club I wanted to propose would include some others that aren't being asked to join the other one, or don't feel they'd be welcome."

_Ah. Miss Edgecombe._ The Headmaster was proud of the young Slytherin for thinking outside of House pride for once. "Then I would like to point out we haven't had a decent Gobstones club for decades. There were some divisions by house, but the numbers dwindled over time and became simply the Hogwarts team."

A light shone in the young man's eyes. "Perhaps just a Games Night, sponsored by us and open to the school," he said. "Exploding Snap, Gobstones, and some others, maybe chess—even the Weasel, er, Mr. Weasley—would show up to that. Once the weather turns, the Quidditch players will want something to do besides homework anyway. And one table for people who _do_ want to do their homework. Perhaps a corner over to one side for people who want to work off bad feelings where someone can stop them from doing something really stupid…Grandmother Black said she met her first husband that way."

Albus was delighted, and he could tell even Moody was fairly impressed. Reviving some of the old traditions in this fashion would help bring about more house unity than merely rioting in four separate Common Rooms during dull winters.

"Hiding in plain sight, I see," said Mad-Eye. "You aren't as stupid as you look."

Draco bristled a moment, then calmed down. "If looking that way keeps me alive, then I won't mind." Then he posed in his best 'Aren't-I-gorgeous' attitude.

The old Auror laughed out loud then. "Good for you. You don't have the Lockhart winsome smile down yet, but that takes time. Now, go on back to tormenting flies or first years or whatever you have on your schedule today, lad."

Young Malfoy looked at the Headmaster, who nodded. The young man left with one last wistful glance at Fawkes.

Mad-Eye shook his head. "I heard him taking the oath just before I walked in. How do you know he'll keep it?"

"Because he inhaled the mist from a phoenix feather, and it didn't choke him," Albus said. "I warned him that it had other properties, and I could tell he picked up on the hint. Before you come up with any bright ideas, Alastor, I would be quite angry if you attempted to drive him into disloyalty as a form of subtle murder. And do keep your quarrels with Severus private. Playing one against the other will not work, and would not help the war effort."

"We already have Percy there," Moody grumbled.

"Snape is in the Inner Circle, while Mrs. Lestrange's state of mind is of great interest to the Order. Draco is going to become her apprentice soon, in an exchange that will be advantageous to us, as well as protecting Miss Edgecombe. And before you come up with any bright remarks on the subject, Severus has never meddled with a student. The one time he was accused of it, he was able to prove his innocence with the girl's own memory of events and a witness not of his house. Besides, young Mr. Malfoy is likely to persuade his aunt to speak freely."

"So could Snape, if he put his mind to it."

"I think he has enough on his plate." Dumbledore understood why Moody thought of this alternative, but he already felt like a pimp knowing what Snape had endured with Lucius.

"How _does_ he do it, anyway? If he bothered with his charm more than twice a year, he'd have to beat the women off with sticks."

"Perhaps it's because he would rather be left alone. His experience with such things has not been encouraging."

Moody grimaced. "I suppose you're right. Bella would frighten _me_, and that's saying something. This spell you did…why can't you manage it with Snape and me? If you trust him so much and hate it when I don't, this would help."

"It was difficult enough to convince Mr. Malfoy to relax enough to let you see for yourself how he's changed. And he knew you only for a year, or someone he thought was you. Snape _can't_ do that around you, and you have only yourself to blame." Albus was disgusted with himself for leaving Severus in Moody's hands for so long. Even a few months had nearly broken the younger wizard beyond repair.

"Well…that's fair enough," Mad-Eye conceded. "I wish we hadn't had so much fun with him last year, either. That helped bring him down as much as anything else did, I suppose."

"I hope you don't treat your own operatives like that," Dumbledore said.

"No. I should have been a professional about it and sat on Black when he decided to lash out. Lupin tried, and Mrs. Weasley nearly hauled off and hit her cousin with a frying pan once, but Sirius shrugged that off easily enough. I still think that rotten little Kreacher had something to do with the man being such a bastard much of the time. But that's no excuse, really. After all Snape went through with the Marauders, we should have just let him gloat for the first five minutes whenever he showed up and move on from there. Now I know that all he had was door-right, he had grounds to snipe." Moody shuffled his foot. "I still think it was a mistake to tell Black that Harry was gone at all. _You_ couldn't have stopped Black from leaving to help the boy once he knew, and asking Snape to do so was a bit much. Black would have done it just to spite the man. You know, it's almost as if you _wanted_ Sirius to run off to the Ministry to save Potter's bacon."

The Headmaster was quiet. He never should have allowed Harry to blame Snape for Black's death. Of course, he'd had no idea Black would be idiot enough to die so…so stupidly, for want of a better word, but Sirius had been able to keep those children alive long enough for him and the Aurors to arrive.

"Ah. So that's how it is. You'd better tell the boy now, or he'll figure it out later." Moody looked grim.

"He hasn't so far."

"That's because he doesn't want to think about it," the other wizard said. "But that little know-it-all might. The girl can chew at things in her head for months at a time, and she'll eventually get there. Too bad she wasn't sorted into my house."

"It was necessary for her to be in Gryffindor," Albus said tonelessly.

"Ah. You do think ahead. How did you convince the Hat?"

"I didn't. I merely had a little talk with it beforehand. I found out Harry had sat with the other two on the train. We were very lucky, Alastor. The Hat wanted to put him in Slytherin."

"And would that have been so bad? Snape would have found out about the Dursleys and settled them years ago. He might hate the boy, but if someone's _his_, it doesn't matter. Now, the foundations might have moved an inch or two from the fireworks in the dungeons, but Merlin only knows that's happened before and the school's still here. Of course, you were looking for reasons to favor your Gryffindors by then. I've heard through the old Ravens' network that people are beginning to be just as tired of that as they were of the Snakes taking the Cup for years before."

Albus flushed. "I'm not that petty!" he snapped.

"Of course not. But it did work out well for that, now didn't it? Oh, and speaking of Gryffindors, what did Potter say about what the wolf told him?"

Dumbledore was used to these sudden changes of subject. Moody was a first-class interrogator and loved playing these tricks on everyone. He consulted his notes. "He didn't say anything about Lupin asking him to apologize, just that he should go back and demand to take more Occlumency lessons. But really, Mad-Eye, the boy's memory of a conversation that happened over half a year ago…" He shied away from remembering how Harry had believed that Lupin was still not telling him everything.

"This isn't the first time the wolf has shaded things to make himself look better," Moody said bluntly. "I've seen the faces of people who were with him on missions when he makes his report first. He's truthful enough, mind, and knows better than to contradict anybody when they talk ahead of him, but he never quite takes responsibility for anything that goes wrong. I thought I'd have the same trouble with Tonks, but not that lass! She's clear as day when she screws up, and always goes along with me when I try to show her how she could have done better. His heart is in the right place, and I'm not stupid enough to think being a werewolf puts him outside the pale, but I don't dare send him on solo missions this way. I _have_ to know when things go wrong and why, Albus!"

"I know. Harry is beginning to wonder how much he's going to hear from Remus as well," he reluctantly admitted.

"See? You're the same way. You won't listen to anything against those Marauders even now when it's the boy's life, and all of ours, at stake. You can't afford that."

Dumbledore wearily nodded. "But your weakness is Snape. He can be pushed too far, and you seem most likely to do the pushing. This guardianship business could end up killing him, and he knows it. Don't use Draco against him." He could change the subject, too.

Moody laughed in one sharp bark. "We know each other too well by now! Well, I'll push off. You'd better rest up. It looks like that spell took a lot out of you. Of course, with a Snake on one end and my rock walls on the other, you ought to have quite a headache by now." He levered himself up, settled himself on his wooden leg, and turned to go.

"I'm not going to argue about that," Albus said. Would the Order dissolve into bickering fragments if he died? Would Minerva be strong enough to hold it all together?

"Why don't you do the spell with Fawkes for Snape?" Moody asked as the phoenix fluttered towards the retired Auror.

"Perhaps I already have. Besides, Myrddin Emrys could materialize out of nowhere, crown Snape with the diadem of Arthur, and have him drink from the Grail—and you _still_ wouldn't trust him completely."

The phoenix flew back to his perch, but left a smile behind on Mad-Eye's face. "You're probably right. After all, Snape could probably rig it with Flitwick to help. But don't mind me. As long as I keep hearing straight answers from the bastard, I'll be good."

The Headmaster sighed and closed his eyes as Moody left. Snape wasn't the only one staring a deadline in the face. Despite his weariness, he opened his eyes, stood, and went out of his office. The staircase took him down below the level of the dungeons, to a part only the Headmaster of Hogwarts might go. It was asking too much to be given a glimpse of the Garden that he now saw only in dreams, but it was worth trying for.

As he thought, the area he longed for was blocked to him now. He stood in front of the entrance and dreamed of the wishes that had finally solidified in his mind. _Riddle gone beyond to healing and a fresh start, and all his slaves released from their captivity. Harry safe and free to choose his own destiny. And Severus happy for whatever remains of his life, with love and healing waiting for him beyond when he departs._

EVEN IF ALL THIS MUST BE DONE THROUGH THE HANDS OF OTHERS?

That was a silly question. "Of course," he said out loud, knowing the Bride's voice. "That's why we have the Order. Love is how we will win. It really isn't just about me."

IF THAT IS TRUE, THEN ALL WILL BE WELL.

Now he was granted a hazy vision of trees and bushes glowing with light, though he didn't see the Four Beasts. Suddenly he felt vigorous again, as if he'd slept the day and night through and had a good meal.

He must use his new strength for the good of all.


	51. Chapter 51:Sunday Afternoon

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Hurrah to the glorious Snape's Nightie and zafaran for lovely slang-hunting and comma-bashing and whatnot. (Go read their stories, too!)

Chapter 51: Sunday Afternoon

Marietta Edgecombe lay on her bed and studied. Her world had narrowed over the past week to class and the safety of her four-poster. Concentrating on the words in her book kept the protective numbness close about her. Her body had finally recovered, not just from the injuries Madam Pomfrey had healed, but from the effects of a fresh cycle, probably induced from one of the many potions given her that day.

As if triggered by her thoughts about the moon, Luna Lovegood stood at the foot of her bed. "Marietta?" the girl asked. "Are you all right?"

"Why should you care?" Marietta asked bitterly.

"We used to be friends for a little while last year." The younger Ravenclaw looked unusually diffident. Normally, nothing kept her from barging into any situation.

"You must remember what I did," Marietta said, still trying to read her book. Then she rubbed her forehead. Umbridge had put a charm on her hand to hide the quill's damage till the murtlap given her had worked. All the memories taken away had returned last summer when she'd taken the Mark.

"I saw you putting my History of Magic book back on my bed chest the day before yesterday," Luna said. "Some of my other stuff has come back before it usually does. You've been taking care of it, haven't you?"

"It's no big deal." Snape had tried to tell her the truth. She wondered how he knew so much. The least she could do was to follow his recommendations about Lovegood as well as everything else. She'd thought the joke on the girl was funny last year, but she'd lost her sense of humor.

"It is to me," Luna said, sitting on the corner of the bed. "If you're not well, why don't you go back to the infirmary? Sometimes…well, I have a bad time, too. You'd think the moon would be my friend with a name like mine, but well…"

"I finally finished yesterday," Marietta said. It could have been worse. She could stop having any cycle at all. She shuddered, thinking of being forced to have that man's baby. She would jump off the Astronomy Tower first. "It's better, really."

"You know, there's a question nobody asked last year," Luna said. "What did Umbridge do to you to make you talk about the DA?"

Marietta looked up from her book. "The usual. Being yelled at. Getting slapped around a little. I could have managed that. Mother's still angry I sorted Ravenclaw. But that quill really hurt. She wasn't going to let me stop doing lines with it till I told her what she wanted to know. I heard she used a whole bottle of Veritaserum on Potter, because he did lines till his hand bled and still wouldn't say what she wanted." She paused, and dragged herself to a sitting position. "But I'm not that strong. It just hurt too much. If I'd known what was going to happen after, though, I would have let her cut it off first." Now she'd have to cut all the way to the elbow if she did that, because of where the Mark was. She was glad she could keep her voice even. Something inside her wanted to scream, but she wouldn't let it. She was stronger than that.

Luna's eyes went wide. "How awful! I'll go tell Harry. He'll understand."

"No. He won't. He was strong enough, you see. He won't understand someone who wasn't." If anyone from the DA learned what she'd done last summer, she'd be expelled. Hogwarts was the only place she was safe. Her mother would be _pleased_ about the Death Eater who had raped her.

Snape was the only one who could be trusted now. Wasn't that funny, after hearing what people said about him all the time? He had told her the truth. She didn't want anyone to touch her. A Silencing charm around her bed at night kept her friends from hearing her screaming in her sleep from the nightmares that plagued her. Hot baths, rather than showers where the other girls were too close, did help. And having Zabini send her flowers had changed the gossip to something she could manage.

"Maybe you're right," Luna said. She bit her lip. "I wish you could be part of us again."

"I can't. Nobody will ever trust me. Maybe they shouldn't."

"Hermione knows how to make Veritaserum. She'd believe you if you took some and answered her questions."

Marietta was horrified. "It's, it's better if I don't try," she said, trying to be polite. She could just imagine Granger's reaction to what she could tell the frizzy-haired girl.

She sat up briskly and changed the subject. "Let's go take a look at your things and see what's missing. I learned a spell in Charms last year that should help, but there's no reason you can't use it now." Cho had found a countercharm to the boils in the seventh-year book, and had passed it on. She ought to do the same with what she knew.

"All right," Luna said.

They went down a floor to the fifth year girls' dormitory, and into Luna's room. It was easy to tell her bed from the rest from the disorderly way things were strewn about. "First, let's put an Affinity Charm on everything you have right here," Marietta said. "If it goes missing, it should return of its own accord without you having to go look for it. People will just automatically pick it up no matter where it is, and set it down closer to where it belongs. Soon everything will be back on your bed. How do you sleep with all this stuff on it, anyway?"

Luna hung her head. "I just feel better being able to see where it is," she said.

"Well, once this starts working, you'll be able to put it away in your chest and be sure it's still there when you wake up." Marietta drew her wand and stared putting the charm on. "Wait a minute, there's a spell on everything already."

"I always have it back by the end of the year."

"You need your books coming back sooner than that, especially with your OWLS next spring," Marietta said. "There should be a way to change the time period on the spell without affecting how well it works. May I look at your Charms book?"

"I don't know where it is."

Both of them hunted around but neither one of them could find it. "Just a minute, I'll get mine," Marietta said. Maybe it was a good thing she was a hoarder after all. She went back up to her room, scoured the bottom of her chest, and pulled up her books from last year. She brought down all of them. No wonder Lovegood had a hard time keeping up with her schoolwork if her books kept wandering off. She was surprised the girl still had her Potions text, but after some thought that made sense. No Ravenclaw wanted to brave Professor Snape's wrath for slowing down any of his students.

"I kept my old books from last year because…well, I thought I might need to review stuff from last year at the beginning of this one. But they're not really marked up or anything," Marietta said, once back in Luna's room. "Here's the Affinity Spell in the fifth year Charms book. I think we learned it last March. I'll put it on these books with some dust from your bed chest. I shouldn't think we'll need any blood, and I'll make the time period three days. You should be able to get some studying done during the weekends most of the time." She performed the spell, the books and the bed chest glowed, and that was it.

Now came the tricky part. "Changing the time period on a spell already there is a little more complicated," she continued. "Do you have a calendar?"

Luna pulled out an obviously unused homework planner. "Harry gave it to me," she said. "It's really annoying, but it does change years automatically."

"Good. Bet he had it from Granger," Marietta said briskly.

Luna looked uncertain. "I know you probably don't like Hermione much any more, but she's really not that mean. She did take Umbridge out to the centaurs…"

"Good for her!" Marietta took a deep breath to calm herself. Luna wasn't a bad sort, and was trying to be nice. "I just have a hard time thinking about her right now, all right? Either one of them." She wondered briefly and bitterly how well Granger would manage in her own footsteps. Of course, _she_ would be surrounded by concerned friends trying to make it all better. She smiled crookedly. Just as well. Being left alone was all the grace she really wanted just now.

She concentrated on the calendar shown in the planner. "I'll make everything here sure to come back by Friday night. Let me know when more of your things show up again, and I'll do it on them, too."

Luna watched her intently. "I can learn how to do it."

"Good. Here's how it goes." Marietta performed the modification charm to the items on top of the bed. "That's better. Oh, and do you want a hex on your bed chest? Anyone can make it through the locking spell you have on it now."

"What would it do to them?"

"Change the colors of their hands for a few days. Purple, do you think, or the classic red? It won't really hurt them, but at least you'll know who's doing it."

"I already do," Luna said sadly.

"Then at least they can be embarrassed about it," Marietta said. "It's not like I'm giving them boils or anything."

Luna flushed. "I'm sorry we were so mean."

"I shouldn't take it out on you," Marietta said. "It's not your fault. I should have let the toad slice me to ribbons before I said anything." She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to shut out the vision of Snape screaming, knowing that all he had to do was to give her name and they would stop. _He almost died protecting me,_ she thought. _Then last week he murdered that woman. I don't understand it._

"Maybe you can come back," Luna said timidly.

"It's too late. Much too late." No doubt Granger had a spell by now which could detect the Dark Mark. She rubbed her forehead. She never used to do that before, but now she couldn't help it.

"I'm sorry," Luna said, her eyes glistening.

"Thank you," Marietta said, fighting back tears of her own. "But…just forget about me. It doesn't matter any more." Nothing did. Maybe if she said it often enough she'd learn how to believe it.

Sometimes she wished her mother hadn't been yelling at her that Sunday morning. She'd been too afraid to try to kill herself with someone watching. Then her Mark had hurt so much that she'd screamed when her mother had grabbed her arm. Fortunately nothing had happened to her the way it had to Goyle. Mother probably hadn't realized anything was different. She'd been glad of it then.

She mumbled something to Luna and went back up to her room. Her homework would not go away, and she still had some catching up to do. For once, History of Magic was actually interesting. Binns was covering guardianships and how the law for them had evolved over time. Were apprenticeships the same? She knew better than to think that bitch Lestrange gave a damn about what the law was, but if an apprenticeship was as binding as a guardianship, there should be some magical consequences for what the woman had done.

Marietta sat cross-legged on her bed, engrossed in the book, though not happy at what she found. Lestrange had just hit her, the way her own mother had done often enough. Corporal punishment to a certain degree was allowed. The rest had been done by someone else. Neglect didn't seem to be covered much, at least not in what she read.

She checked the index. No, there were only a few entries under 'neglect' and most of those had to do with care of animals. Now, there was one entry for children, but that had to do with turning a blind eye to abuse by a temporary caretaker. That might cover her situation, but Lestrange would have do it more than once and after she knew the caretaker was beating, starving, or confining her. Marietta tried to stifle a giggle. _Imagine my lawsuit against the Dark Lord on behalf of myself and any other minor under his command…_

She blew her nose and was glad none of her roommates could ask her what she was snorting over. Marietta sighed and left her sanctuary. Professor Binns never minded anyone bothering him on weekends. _He must be really bored at night and during the summers,_ she thought.

Just before she left the girls' side she carefully brushed her hair and made sure her face wasn't so splotchy. As long as she kept up the pretense everything was all right, nobody questioned her much. It wasn't till she'd become upset herself that Luna had bothered to worry. A thought struck her. _We're so used to Professor Snape looking like something the cat dragged in we think it's normal. How long has there been something wrong with him?_ Yet till this year he'd put up a good front, too.

Once out the door, she felt frightened. Even though Hogwarts was safe, it still felt odd to go anywhere by herself. Padma and her friends had let her tag along to classes this week. They didn't talk to her much, but their presence had been comforting anyway. _I could ask Luna to come with me, but she needs study time to make up for when her books wander off._ She took a deep breath and stepped forward. It was time she showed a little courage.

She was in the hall near the History of Magic classroom when she saw Zabini walking the opposite way. Marietta didn't want to say anything to him, but didn't see how to avoid it.

"Miss Edgecombe," he said gently.

"Mr. Zabini," she replied. Her feet were stuck to the floor, though she wanted to run.

"You can call me Blaise."

"I should thank you for the flowers," she said. "I know Professor Snape asked you to do it. You did what you were supposed to. My friends leave me alone now. You don't have to do anything else."

"I know." Zabini blinked and twitched. "But if you want to talk…it's safe. I had a bad time last summer. You said something about a Sunday. It was the same for me. I know you won't tell one of _them_ about it."

She didn't think he was lying to her. "Can't you talk to Professor Snape?" The Head of Slytherin hadn't betrayed anyone back then, and she didn't think he'd do it now.

"Of course. But it's harder for you because you're not in his house. We all heard about Professor Flitwick pretending not to know the counter charm to the hex Granger put on you. Besides, you're a lot prettier than Snape."

_Wouldn't be hard,_ she thought. But that was cruel. The Potions Master couldn't help his looks. "Thank you," she said. "Maybe later." She walked on. Zabini was just being gallant. She was just another Ravenclaw grind, caught up in her own stupidity and failure to think things through. It was about time she learned how to manage for herself.

"Wait. I know you're not in his Potions class any more, but if you need to talk to him he usually gives the firsties hot chocolate about now. He usually takes about an hour or so, and might have some free time after."

"Thank you," she said. "But I have to ask Professor Binns a question. I may not be awake enough by the end of the answer."

Zabini smiled. He was surprisingly attractive with that light brown hair and thin face when happiness lit it. "We usually have a Quidditch meeting late Sunday morning," he said. "If you want to swing by, we wouldn't kick you out. I think you'd be surprised by who's there."

"Like Goyle?" she asked in a _very_ low voice.

"Well, no. His ghost hasn't shown up yet, though he'd certainly be welcome. Let's just say you and I aren't the only ones who would understand."

"I'm glad _you're_ certain about that," she said bitterly. Even there she'd be an outcast.

"You didn't say anything last weekend," he said. "We could all be in a lot of trouble if you had, since we were gone, too."

"I don't want to talk about anything to anybody!" She blinked back tears.

"I don't blame you." Blaise looked unhappy. "But don't…please don't do what you tried in Myrtle's. Not just because of the scandal, but because…because you shouldn't, that's all. You can trust the professor, though. He _knows_. He knew when it first happened, and which of us it happened to the worst. He protected all of us. You were there. You saw what they did to him."

"That's why you can't trust me," she said. "I couldn't do that. I'm not that brave. It would have better for all of you if I had died. I couldn't be forced to tell anyone anything then."

"No. It wouldn't be better. It'd be wrong. We need you, Miss Edgecombe. We needed you that Friday night when the professor was so sick. It took all of us to help him. Maybe I can find some charms to help you not to talk, though you haven't needed them so far. Please…please don't hurt yourself just for that."

"Why do you care, anyway?" She glanced around the hall to make sure nobody else was around.

"I don't know. But I do. I know you don't want to talk to me, but Professor Snape can yell at you till you feel better like he does with us." He smiled again.

"But I'm a Ravenclaw," she said.

"You're still one of us. That matters even more."

"All right," Marietta said abruptly. "But I really do have to talk to Binns about this question. If nothing else, he'll give me a nice nap."

"You ought to make jokes like that more often, Miss Edgecombe. You look cute when you do."

Her mouth gaped open for a moment. Cute? "I know I'm not very pretty, Mr. Zabini. You don't have to pretend."

"I'm not."

For a moment she actually believed him. Then words ripped out of her. "_He_ thought I was a Muggle whore." Then she clapped her hand over her face.

"He was wrong." Zabini gave her a short bow, and walked away.

Marietta walked slowly to the door to Binns' classroom and leaned against the door to catch her breath. She had to keep quiet about what happened to her, or the boys in this school would think she really _was_ a whore. She'd already overhead some comments. Zabini's flowers had stopped most of them, though.

After a moment she was ready and walked into the classroom. As always, the History of Magic professor hung in the air by his desk, a faded replica of who he had been in life. "Professor Binns?" she asked, as she idly glanced at the photo of a much younger Headmaster, a woman, and two boys. Marietta hadn't seen that set on display before.

"Yes?" He peered at her, obviously with no clue as to who she really was. She didn't mind that now.

"I'm a student in sixth-year History of Magic," she said. "I had some questions about apprenticeships, and the book doesn't talk about them much, only on guardian law. I know that's probably similar, but I'm not sure."

"Naturally, I can only teach a small portion of what has happened over the last several thousand years," the ghostly professor explained. "However, you are wise to ask. Taking an apprenticeship is an honorable thing, but one must careful in the choice of a master, since the bond is both legal and magical. Why, times have certainly changed. In my day, a young lady such as yourself would already be contracted and thinking of leaving school instead of worrying about an apprenticeship. If you could help me select the correct volume here, I would be much obliged."

She helped him look through a stack of dusty books, most of which probably hadn't been moved for decades. Binns kept up a running commentary. Maybe he was glad of the company. "That's one won't do at all. Neither will that one. Wait. That one is actually on guardianships. Set it aside. The laws for both situations do have common origins. Now, what happened to Bulger's Book of Statutes 1828? That has something you can use. Hmm. Perhaps it finally went back to the library. If you could take that paper and quill and write the title down? That's a good girl. Now, please take that to Madam Pince and she'll find the volume for you. Fetch it back to me, and we'll both take a look."

"Are there any ways apprenticeships can be broken?" she asked just before leaving to run his errand.

"Hmm. Murder, of course, on either side, but I don't recommend it. The magical bond usually installs repercussions for that. Violation of trust, excessive beatings, the usual, though it's unusual for any apprentice to succeed in having the tie severed even under those circumstances. As a young woman, loss of maidenhead or forced pregnancy also provide grounds. However, there are ways for the offending party to compensate your family without offering you much help. This is why young ladies should be apprenticed only to witches."

_That's no good,_ thought Marietta. "What about deliberately being left in a dangerous situation and something bad occurs?"

"One must prove the master or mistress knew it would happen, and that is always difficult," Binns rattled on. "Even if proven, he or she would only receive a reprimand from a court, if one could find a judge to hear the case. My dear, have you done something foolish?"

"What makes you ask that, sir?" She looked down at the floor.

"I recall a young man who had similar questions twenty years or so ago. I couldn't do much for him either, I regret to say. Now, I realize you're a Ravenclaw, but you may wish to speak to Professor Snape regarding the matter. Many people seem to have an unfortunate prejudice against Slytherins these days, but I would like one in my corner if I were ever in grave difficulty. He may be able to offer counsel of a more _practical_ nature than I can give these days. If you could fetch me the book, Miss…um, well, it would be helpful to me."

"Of course, Professor." She probably should speak with the Potions Master again. If nothing else, perhaps he could teach her a few hexes she could use to avenge herself.

She briskly walked over to the library and hoped she wouldn't run into Granger there. Madam Pince found the book for her, and Marietta took it back to the classroom. It was nice to be out and about for a little while—not that scary at all.

Binns looked up from dictating comments on essays to a quill. "Thank you, Miss…"

"Miss Edgecombe." She felt more at ease around the ghost than any of the living today.

"Yes. Ah yes. You sometimes need more supporting arguments to a thesis, though you seem to have dates and places well in hand. Your handwriting is quite clear, unlike some of your house who appear to think faster than they can write. I do appreciate it, you know."

"Thank you, professor." Marietta was cheered by even this small compliment.

"I know you must be busy these days—you don't play Quidditch, do you?"

"No, sir."

"Oh, good. I still think the game is most unfeminine, especially with the modern style of riding with no stirrups. Madam Hooch and I have had many discussions on the subject, I fear. However, since you do not play, may I borrow you for a few hours each Sunday afternoon? I have a special project that coincides with your own question. It would be quite helpful to have a student assist me with it. It's a guardianship case about a child raised in a Muggle home, but who lost his Wizarding sponsor. One side is trying to establish the precedent that any Muggle home is unfit to raise a magical child, while the other simply wants the child in the family. However, this case does involve some issues you might find interesting in regard to proper treatment, since there are indications that the Muggle home has problems that would disqualify it under any set of laws. Linny does try to assist me, but she is only a house elf, and tends to be literal. She also tends to read out loud, and I find that distracting when I'm searching for something."

"Why didn't the Wizarding sponsor do anything about the Muggle home?" Marietta wished someone had cared about her household, too.

"Now this is where it becomes complicated. The sponsor had to be absent, so someone else ended up overseeing the situation. Unfortunately the person involved had other responsibilities and the child was treated badly by these Muggles." For a moment Binns looked angry. Marietta didn't know the old History professor _could_ change his expression. "That's why I recommended to this person not to petition for guardianship himself. However, the side we're supporting is certainly an appropriate placement."

She rarely had that much to do on Sunday afternoons since she'd left the DA. From Zabini's hints, she might end up in a similar organization if she took advantage of his invitation, but she'd still have free time. Her classes weren't that demanding, though the reading list in NEWTS level History was fairly staggering. But that part was never hard for her. She wasn't a genius like Granger, but once she discovered some of the simple charms embedded in many of her textbooks, rarely had any trouble. _I should have tried harder in Potions,_ she thought, _but I botched my OWL in a lot of things last spring. I could ask to retake them, but Flitwick would have to sign for it, and I know what he thinks of _me_ now._

"I would love to help you, Professor," she said. Binns had never said anything about her forehead, or even stared nastily at her the way McGonagall or some of the other teachers had last spring. She could do a lot worse. Besides, helping some kid out of a bad family was worth it.

"Oh, good. There will be points, of course, but I hoped the thirst for knowledge would prove more important." Binns sniffed.

_How does a ghost do that, anyway?_ Marietta wondered.

"I don't need any more help today, but please take the book with you. I should think pages 588-612 might prove informative."

She thanked him again and went back to her room. Padma Patil, one of her roommates, said, "Are you all right? Some of us wondered where you went to. I mean, it's been a while since you left the room for anything but classes. Lovegood said you were better, but…"

"Nothing's wrong," Marietta said, and almost meant it this time. "I think I'll go down to the kitchen for a snack later this afternoon." She wasn't going to tell anyone _here_ that she might decide to talk to Professor Snape down in the dungeons. Zabini was right, and so was Binns. The Potions Master was the only one who could help her now.

"What's that book?" Padma asked as she dug through a stack of her own by the next bed.

"Project for Binns," she said. "Extra points."

"Well, that's something new," the other girl said. "History is interesting, but _he's_ certainly boring."

"That's why I'm reading it up here, so I'll stay awake. I'll be running and fetching him things, so I won't fade away. Probably."

"Was that you making a joke just now?" Padma's perfect face brightened with a smile.

"No, it's someone else. They put me under the Imperius, you know." She smiled, too. Then she remembered she would probably learn more about the Unforgivables this year than when they'd had that lunatic Death Eater for a DADA teacher. Granted, a quick _Crucio_ had freed her from that bastard. She'd almost forgotten the old bum she'd helped torture to death last summer. What Snape had done had frightened everyone, though what happened to him later was almost just as bad. What he'd done last week…that had merged in her nightmares with what had happened to her. Several times in her dreams she'd been the Muggle woman standing in front of everyone, waiting to die…

"Marietta?" Padma said softly, squeezing her shoulder.

"It's all right," she said, pretending to bear the touch. Marietta sat down with her book and opened it to page 588. One good thing about being a Ravenclaw was that people understood when you preferred reading to conversation. How Danger Granger kept from strangling those Quidditch-mad friends of hers was anybody's guess. There was a rumor she'd used a Time Turner in her third year so she could take all the classes she wanted.

Marietta sighed. Well, she'd just have to do what she could on her own. Ravenclaws always did.

Severus Snape

Winky gently shook him on his shoulder. He was surprised for a moment when he opened his eyes, then realized he'd fallen asleep in Filch's back room. Severus had thought he was too angry listening to Argus lick his lips over catching sight of Molly's breasts to fade the way he had, but apparently he'd been more tired than he'd thought.

He thanked the little elf and sat up. He hated anything that reminded him of his mother, and the many fights he'd endured in Knockturn Alley defending her reputation. Even there the bouts always been one on one; only at Hogwarts had he needed to defend himself against a whole gang. At least no rumors had reached the school about his mother's drinking or her penchant for seeking comfort with others when his father had been absent too long.

_If only Father had stayed home!_ He stood up and straightened his wrinkled robes. For all her waywardness as a student, Molly Weasley was known far and wide as one of the most faithful wives in the Wizarding World. Everyone could tell she was devoted to her husband, and he to her.

As Snape entered the actual office, he nodded to Filch in thanks instead of saying too much. Magazines and the occasional sight of students were all the Squib had, as the older man was even more bound to Hogwarts than he was. No doubt when the old house had been open in Hogsmeade things had been somewhat easier for his friend, but that place had been closed down since before Severus became a student. Someone who could not use a Floo or Apparate was quite isolated here. The few waitresses in Hogsmeade known for their easy virtue usually aimed for students.

The Potions Master walked down towards the dungeons. There were times when he had difficulty maintaining his own composure when faced with some situations as well. He shouldn't be upset. The old double standard was still prevalent among Muggles, or so he understood, but many young witches were quite as willing to experiment as the boys, especially once they had courage enough to ask Madam Pomfrey for the right potion or knew how to make it themselves.

That reminded him. It was time to 'accidentally' leave the recipe out where the girls could pass it around again. Each year brought a new crop of hormone-crazed idiots of either gender. Flitwick did the same with various charms for boys as well, though not nearly enough of them took the hint. Snape took pride in Slytherin having the lowest pregnancy rate among the houses, though surprisingly enough Gryffindor's wasn't as bad as Hufflepuff's. McGonagall was said to teach some hexes to witches she failed to mention to boys, and no doubt she felt free to employ plain speech on those occasions. Sprout merely encouraged her students to marry young and continue their education anyway. No doubt in Ravenclaw the general level of hygiene among the boys—and a few girls—was enough to keep things under control.

In a few weeks he would have to evaluate his first years and decide which ones needed the Lecture, and which boys merely needed the location of the cache of magazines supposedly hidden from the Head of House by the older boys.

He entered the dungeons, was glad to see the first year students were already gathered, and began making chocolate. It would be interesting to see what his students had to say about the Headmaster. It was nice they appeared glad to see him, though. Miss Walsh, in particular, had to be discouraged from hanging on his elbow as he prepared the drinks. Even Mr. Andreas appeared less sullen than usual. In fact, all the children chattered like magpies. He couldn't follow more than a couple of the conversations at a time and had to let the rest flow over him. _I hope I don't miss anything important,_ he thought. _But today I will let them be children and not Snakes-in-training. From all reports they're managing House discipline well enough so far._

After serving the chocolate and letting them drink some, he adjourned to his office for those who wanted to talk to him individually. Few of them came this time, though Miss Walsh was one. She chattered brightly about what she'd said to the Headmaster, what she'd said to him, and how wonderful the old man was.

How clever of Dumbledore to see for himself what the first year Slytherins were like and what they expected. No doubt Albus had guessed what was in the little unmarked vial in the cabinet with the chocolate. Snape's heart sank when he realized the children would know a Hogwarts without him. _I hope Albus doesn't abandon them when I am gone._

After a few others had given a quick report on their week, Mr. Andreas came in, sat, and remained silent. Snape said nothing. Sooner or later, the boy would talk. He recognized a certain similarity in situation and tactics. _How Albus must laugh to realize how well I've learned from him!_

In less than five minutes of silence, the boy spoke. "Did you really grow up in Knockturn Alley?"

"Yes. A few flights up the stairs from Nora's, across the street from the gin shop." He didn't want to talk about that time, but the boy deserved the truth. "Bill the Spike wasn't the one who slept by the waste bin in the back, it was someone else. Mr. Bartholomew was still there, though not as old as he is now." For all her sins, his mother had never sold him to the old pickpocket. He had to remember that.

Mr. Andreas looked up. "How do you know about them?"

"I still acquire potions ingredients there at times. Flobberworms don't bother me a bit after walking by the Spike's garbage heap in summer, I can tell you."

The boy laughed, then looked thoughtful. "Mr. Bartholomew had to read my Hogwarts letter for me. He's told us never to go near Bill by ourselves."

"A good thing you received your notice a trifle early, or so Hagrid told me," Snape said. "I'm glad he was able to talk your master into seeing the advantages of your training here. You are picking up your letters faster than I thought you would."

"Yeah, well, whenever I'm caught doing something they make me do lines for my detention. Not like I heard it was last year, but it's bad enough. I feel like a baby when I still have to print, though."

"At least one can read your writing, which is more than I can say for some others. Since you are left-handed, it is easier that way." Snape reminded himself to lay in some more Never-Smear quills for the boy and a few others with the same problem. "I hope your study group is being helpful."

"Oh, sure. As long as I hex anyone who bothers them, they pound everything in the books into my head," said the boy, who didn't look as if he appreciated the favor.

"Good. By the way, if any of the friends you left behind in Knockturn would like to make a few Sickles on the side, I can find work for them. At times I need a place watched or messages carried without anyone spotting an owl. As much as I would like to be everywhere at once, I fear I cannot manage it this year. If they can't help, I will find others, but since I will spend the money anyway I thought your friends should have the first shot. I will, of course, talk with Mr. Bartholomew myself, but I should think you knew a few who didn't work for him."

Mr. Andreas perked up. Snape knew the boy already had a modest store of Knuts and a couple of Sickles hidden away for future needs from errands run for other students. "How do I talk to them? Most of them don't read as well as I do."

"Perhaps you should come with me the next time I go there," the Potions Master said. "That way you can pass the word to those who might be helpful."

"You're the Long Man, aren't you?" the boy said in a low voice. "Everyone knows about you, I just didn't put it together. It won't be hard to find some you can rely on once they see the coins, not if I can pass the word."

"Good. I won't ask them to do anything that will put them in danger."

Mr. Andreas shrugged. "Some of those plants in the greenhouse look scarier than anything at home."

Snape made a mental note for the boy to do some of his detentions with Mr. Longbottom. _Nothing like hitting two targets with the same stunning spell,_ he thought. "You still must learn to work with them," he said, though not very sternly. It was amazing a Hogwarts letter had found the boy. According to Hagrid, his contract had come fairly cheaply and a quick course in literacy with the elderly fagin even more so. Severus was surprised the groundskeeper had managed the negotiations so competently while he himself had been so ill. _I didn't even know about the boy till the Sorting Hat placed him in Slytherin. _"How is your work outside of Potions coming along?"

"Not bad. It's essays and reading I have trouble with."

"That won't last long. I may be able to arrange some tutoring later in the year. Also, it would not hurt if your study group read out loud to each other from the books. It should not be difficult to find a place where you won't be disturbed in the dungeons or in Slytherin Tower. Dobby can read quite well for a house elf, and probably would not mind helping out with an unfamiliar word if he has a moment." This would be the perfect group to try out a new textbook on, should he ever find time to write it.

"Thank you, sir," Mr.Andreas said. He shifted about uncomfortably.

"You may leave now. You have been very helpful." The boy scampered out of the office. No one followed him after a wait, so Snape went back to the more cheerful room and finished his own chocolate.

After the first year students left, he felt better than he had that morning, and went over lesson plans for the next week. He had a lot of catching up to do. Even when Winky came in with an afternoon snack and the potion that went with it, he still felt better than he had for several days. Perhaps he ought to take a turn on his broom again, or least go out to fetch it.

As if thinking of the thing summoned it, his elf brought it in after picking up his empty plate and flask. "Big Furry say he find the broom out in the forest this morning, ask Mistress Hooch, and she say you were using it."

"They're both right," he said. "I was already tired when I had to leave last night and I didn't want to walk so far. Please put it up on the rack behind the bedroom door."

"Yes, master!" She scurried to obey.

He was about to put an outdoor cloak on and see if he could convince himself to practice some more when he heard a knock on his office door. Snape waved it open with a gesture from his wand.

Miss Edgecombe stood there, one hand raised as if to knock again.

He lowered his voice. "Please come in and sit down. Leave the door open." It was important that she not feel trapped. She obeyed, though she scooted her chair as far back as she could and still stay in the room. "I found out who it was," he began without any preamble besides a privacy spell. "Unfortunately, he's still alive. He will pay an indemnity to your dowry. Does your mother have any access to it?"

"No...I don't think so," she said hesitantly.

"Perhaps I should ask someone to write a note to her commenting on the poor social outlook for those who appear to sell their daughters," he said. Narcissa would be more than happy to take on _that_ chore. "The person in question also offered the hand of his nephew, which I declined on your behalf. There is nothing especially wrong with young Mr. Macnair, but you should have more choice than that."

"He's one of those Arithmancy people," Miss Edgecombe said faintly. "So it was his uncle…"

"Yes. In addition, the uncle will have the joy of speaking to your mother. If you wish, I can teach you a hex to dispose of any Howlers she might send."

She looked blankly at him, clearly still digesting the information. "I want to know more hexes," the girl said softly. "Mr. Zabini invited me to a meeting where I might. Should I go?"

"Yes. You are going to become my apprentice and not that of Mrs. Lestrange sometime soon. Mr. Malfoy will be offered to her in exchange. I trust you realize you need not fear the sort of treatment you have received from her?"

Miss Edgecombe nodded, though her face turned white. "I…sometimes dream I'm the Muggle woman up in front of everyone…"

He closed his eyes for a moment, horrified. His own nightmares were bad enough without that variation. Snape opened them again. "I am sorry. I wish no one had to see such a thing."

The room was silent for a moment. Miss Edgecombe spoke again. "Professor Binns has asked me to assist him with a special project, a guardianship case. I told him I would. I don't usually have anything scheduled on Sunday afternoons. Will that be a problem?"

"No. In fact, I encourage you to help him as much as you can." He was happily surprised. He wouldn't have to depend entirely on the Headmaster to find out how Mrs. Weasley and the Order planned to fight Narcissa's suit for Potter. His work for the Malfoy family would have to appear to take advantage of any weaknesses, while actually containing hidden flaws that the Order could use for their own case. Albus might think he was better off in ignorance. After all, the Headmaster had failed to tell Potter much of what the boy had needed to know for years.

She sighed. Then her anger broke through. "How…how can anybody pay _money_ and get away with what they did to me! I know I'm probably lucky to avoid being punished for it! But I feel like a whore! I should throw it back in his face!"

"You are not one. Keep it anyway. It is an ancient concept of Wizarding Law. Look up the term 'weregild', which was established to keep blood feuds from decimating the countryside over generations. I would normally recommend devoting the money to purchasing an assassin, in the spirit of finding a champion to defend your honor, but with Macnair it would be difficult to find someone to take the contract. Personally, I suggest using the money to learn enough magic from a special tutor in the art to manage the job on your own. You may find that a great deal more satisfactory all around. The Zabini family has access to such tutors." He'd certainly worked out a proper revenge for Lucius long enough, and looked forward to the day when he could execute it.

The Ravenclaw smiled at the prospect in a way that would make most people bow nervously and disappear from the room.

Snape continued. "It's all in the timing. No matter how vigilant any witch or wizard is, there is always a moment or two when they aren't paying enough attention." Moody was a living example, much to the older wizard's dismay.

"That's how I escaped," she said, her eyes blazing. "He stopped to um, catch his breath. I found my wand and hit him with a Crucio. It wasn't a very good one, but it gave me a chance to go for the portkey in my other pocket."

Severus suspected she could have simply chosen the other pocket first, but couldn't blame her for wanting to try her wand instead. "Sometimes just the surprise is enough, even with first year spells," he said. "I once escaped a nasty situation with a Jelly-Legs. The wards in the place didn't block it." He was relieved not to deal with hysterics or suicidal intentions. One had to give it to a Ravenclaw. Even under stress that would make one of his Snakes miss a step, a Raven could assess a situation, though sometimes they had trouble taking swift action. It was obvious Miss Edgecombe did not have that problem. It was only afterwards when the shock had set in that she had reacted so badly—and would likely have problems for a long time.

"I'm so glad you don't _fuss_ over me!" she said vehemently. "When…when someone tries to help, I can't hold together. And I have to hold together! I have to!"

He was familiar with this one. "I understand," he said softly. "However, it is not always possible. It is sometimes safer, and healthier, to fall apart in the right place with the right people. Some…some pain bleeds through no matter how tightly one wraps the bandages. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout are both quite sympathetic to such concerns. Our mediwitch, in particular, can be trusted with _complete_ confidence. I would recommend Hagrid as well, but he _will_ try to offer one rock cakes." He was quite certain she wasn't ready to open up to any man, even the gentle half-giant, though.

Her breath came in little gasps. "You—you feel safe," she said, gulping back sobs. "You shouldn't—not after what I saw you do—but…I can't…"

Severus quickly handed the girl a handkerchief. "I thank you for the compliment, though I hope word of that doesn't get about." She sobbed into the linen. Some emotions couldn't be scheduled. He'd found that out last summer.

The storm was quickly over. She blew her nose, performed a Cleaning Charm, and gave the handkerchief back. "Thank you, professor," she said. Her face was red and blotched, but she seemed calmer.

"I suggest bathing your face in cold water. I realize I have a reputation for making first years cry, but sometimes I find it a regrettable one," he said in an attempt at dry humor.

Miss Edgecombe left, bestowing a grateful smile on him even though he hadn't really done anything.

He tried to work with his lesson plans again, but found his thoughts straying. _Oh, I knew exactly what she meant when she said she felt like a whore,_ he thought. After nearly a quarter hour of struggle, he rose, went to his private quarters, found a set of silk pajamas Lucius had given him, and pitched them into the fire in his bedroom. It didn't take them long to burn, and it was easy to dispel the odor their destruction caused.

For some reason he felt better now.


	52. Chapter 52: Change of Venue

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more with feeling, thanks for Snape's Nightie and zafaran!

Chapter 52: Change of Venue

Soon it was time to dine with Draco. Snape looked forward to it, though the boy looked more like his father every year. Yet in many ways the young Slytherin was much more like his mother, and Severus had long been friends with Narcissa, once she realized what his situation was truly like. _By all rights I should dislike the boy as much as I used to loathe Potter,_ Snape thought ironically. Yet now he was looking for it, the Gryffindor was more like _his_ mother, too. It was strange how he could look at the way he behaved at times as if he were watching himself in the mirror of the eyes of others. Of course, he'd always been able to do it under the gaze of the Dark Lord. Death was the penalty for failure there. No doubt Poppy had adjusted his potions again, though she'd denied it earlier in the day when he'd turned in the werewolf book.

He and his godson ate in his private quarters, on trays Winky brought them—with, alas, the inevitable potion. The little elf urged him to eat every bite. Severus felt he could tonight. Besides, he wanted to erase the shadow of worry in his godson's eyes. It would be worth some minor discomfort later.

Then Draco told him what had happened in the Headmaster's Office, and with Moody. Snape's blood ran cold and he lay down his fork.

"I thought it was the best thing to do, too," the younger wizard said. "After all, you're a member, too, at least according to Kreacher. We all thought we knew what you were really doing there, of course. I hope…I hope Father still thinks that way."

"I do, too," Snape said. His stomach clenched with terror.

"It did hurt a bit to have Mad-Eye looking on when the Headmaster poked away at me inside, but not nearly as much as it did last summer when er, _he_ was at dinner the night after we'd gathered to try to help you. Oh, Merlin, I was so afraid you were going to die!"

This was even worse. "Was _he_ there long?"

"Not really. I was so happy you were still alive I couldn't think of anything else. It didn't last very long anyway. I think know why the Headmaster did it. Kreacher's talked about how you were treated last year, especially by Moody, and how Master Mad-Eye never trusted anything you said unless Dumbledore backed it up. It's…it's not right. Maybe it should be different with me. Moody…he's a coarse old bastard and doesn't care who knows it, but he…he's not as bad as I thought."

"Language, Draco, though personally I agree. In an odd way, he's quite fair. He's as strict with himself as he is with others. But…would you describe what happened with the phoenix feather? That's new, and I want to know more about it." He had a horrible suspicion of what Phoenix Breath, the nickname for the distilled aromatic of a phoenix feather, could do.

His godson went over it again. "Will it do what the Headmaster says it will?"

"Yes. I doubt those who wear the Dark Mark will think of looking for it. The changes that Phoenix Breath make are quite subtle, and few outside the Order will consider the possibility. I will have to speak to the Headmaster, however, and find out if the change in your apprenticeship will have any additional effect because of this." _Right before I strangle the old man for putting you at risk like this!_ "I don't think there will be problems, but better to know ahead of time in case precautions need to be taken."

The young man nodded. He ate with an appetite normal for his age, apparently unworried. Well, Phoenix Breath was good for instilling courage and warmth.

As soon as the trays were empty, Snape went to see the Headmaster. Fortunately the gargoyle made him wait, and allowed him to realize how futile it would be to rage at Dumbledore over this new development. It wouldn't work. It never had. Albus had always done precisely as he wished no matter what.

Once the door opened, he merely walked in, accepted the offer of a lemon drop and tea, quietly dropped the sweet into his pocket while appearing to put it into his mouth instead, and listened to a few kindly-meant words of greeting. He was a little surprised to see none of the other members of the staff there. No doubt he was about to hear what the old wizard really thought this time, with no witnesses. Severus knew it would happen sometime this year, but didn't expect it to be quite this soon.

After the courtesies had run themselves out, Snape spoke as calmly as he could. "I had dinner with Mr. Malfoy this evening. He told me about taking oath to the Order, with Moody to witness it. Why did you use Phoenix Breath?"

"I want to protect both him and the Order," Albus said, though he had the grace to look unhappy about it. "He is already in great danger, and more so since he will become an apprentice to his aunt. She can bring influences to bear others can't. He could be swamped in darkness even with your help, which may not always be available. Fawkes will be a comfort to him as nothing else could. I also want him and Auror Moody to form a partnership now. I must think to _my_ future as well, Severus. I cannot allow the boy and his friends to be left without guidance if the War should last longer than your participation in it, or my ability to help them."

"If Draco were ever inducted into the Inner Circle he might die of this," Snape said.

"I hope that won't occur, if only because of the nature of the sacrifice that will be required of him. So far you have been able to keep your—our students from much of that by taking it onto your own shoulders."

"Hoping is not much help. If Lucius should die, for instance, Death Eaters like to follow family tradition. It would be quite unusual for someone so young to reach such a high rank, but strange things happen in war on both sides. Also, when he becomes Lestrange's apprentice, his Dark Mark will be reinforced. His link to her may end up becoming a real one. I don't want to see him strangled by that, if Phoenix Breath does what I think it does about disloyalty. I agree he will require assistance not to be overwhelmed by this task. But I still don't want to withdraw my claim to Miss Edgecombe and leave her fate to chance."

The Headmaster looked unhappy. "If he has some memento of you to reinforce your link to him as his godfather, that could help overcome the magical effect of the transfer. If it's any consolation, Severus, I found the boy completely loyal to you. Even Moody couldn't find much wrong, and since he was in rapport for a short time, you know he looked."

Snape was startled, though Draco had said something along those lines. "I thought that was extremely difficult. Are you certain you should have attempted it?" He barely cut off the deadly phrase _at your age_ before he uttered it.

"Hogwarts sustains me, Severus. In a way, it does what it can for you, too. And I have done too little to protect your House over the years. It is only just to do so now. If Moody survives the war, his opinion will count for much."

Unfortunately that made sense. The Potions Master could easily imagine a future with the Dark Lord gone and Slytherin even more of a pariah than before. Having Draco as a member of the Order as well as himself might help. "Will other members of the Order take the same form of Oath? I realize it must be done one by one, as Fawkes has only so many feathers."

'Yes. The stakes are far too high for me to live in a dream world where only Slytherins are capable of treachery." The Headmaster bowed his head. "If you wish, you may be a hidden witness when it becomes the Trio's turn. I fear only Miss Granger will realize the danger. At the same time they will be made aware that Mr. Malfoy became a member before they did. I wish…I wish I had done the same for you when you were first sworn. The Potters might have believed your warning then, and still be alive."

Snape felt bewildered. The anger and resentment he'd brought into this office had no place to rest now. He wasn't used to Dumbledore listening to him, especially when they were alone like this. "It should be soon," he said. "All three of them have had adult responsibilities thrust on them, yet are still treated like children. I…I do understand, a little, why you want to protect them. Just today I watched my first years drink their chocolate and decided to ignore their horseplay. I know I shouldn't have, because next year will be all the harder if I am too lenient with them now. I didn't think it could hurt, just for once…even Mr. Andreas spoke up from his usual corner. Yet I cannot be too soft with them, or they will be at a disadvantage in the years to come. Look at Draco. I've always been too soft with him, and he didn't really grow up till just a few months ago." He felt appalled at the truths pouring out of his mouth. Albus had probably counted on his palming the lemon drop and had dosed his tea instead, though he didn't have the funny aftertaste in the back of his throat Veritaserum so often gave him. He'd never mentioned that ability to Moody, of course.

The old wizard looked up from his cup. "I really expected you to come in here breathing fire, and it threw me off when you didn't. I have a terribly hard time ignoring you when you speak so reasonably, I suppose. It seems I still have a lot to learn as well."

Something inside him shattered. "There's been something wrong for years," Severus said in a hoarse whisper. "And I blamed everything and everybody but myself for it." So much anger, and so little actually _done_. He didn't understand the way his emotions were churning. His first impulse was to stuff them all back inside somehow. It was never safe here, it could _never_ be safe in this office, and suddenly panic threatened to overwhelm him.

"You weren't always wrong. In fact, most of the time you were only trying to protect students you knew were being ignored. And I have not given you nearly enough credit for your conduct this morning."

Snape lifted his gaze from the floor.

"You see, I quite understand why you shut down when Harry mentioned Christmas," the Headmaster said quietly. "I know what you will be risking during the guardianship hearing. We haven't changed anything. Harry will be protected, but you will pay the price."

"It…it doesn't matter," he said dully.

"It does. Try to believe me that it does."

He took a deep breath. "I have a table in my bedroom to remind me how people really feel," Snape said slowly. "I know what needs to be done. But I wish, just once, that someone in the Order would risk something for _me._" He shook his head. "I know that learning how to deal with Moody is Draco's only real chance of surviving the war if the Dark Lord doesn't destroy him first. I know Potter is even more of a target than I am. I wouldn't wish Malfoy Manor on anyone, not even Longbottom! But Mrs. Weasley was the only one who asked what price I might pay. I might survive it, if Sybil can be trusted. But we both know what the end will be!" His voice broke, and he turned his head away.

"I would like you to speak to Professor Flitwick once this talk is over, Severus," Albus said softly. "He has some ideas on that you need to hear."

He looked up to see that Dumbledore was offering him a handkerchief. Snape shook his head and pulled out his own. The poor thing had double duty today, between Miss Edgecombe and himself. He dried the tears that threatened to spill out to his face. "I told the Ravenclaw girl today to find some place where it was safe to fall apart," he said wryly. "I didn't know I was going to have to take my own advice." What was wrong with him? He knew it wasn't wise to show weakness to anyone. He couldn't imagine what had changed.

"A lot of this is my fault," the Headmaster said. "When you shout, I stop listening. I've done it for years, no matter how right you are. Today I was forced to hear you. It's been good for me, too. I've let this situation fester for years and blamed you for anything that went wrong. I've discovered a great deal about Harry in our own Occlumency sessions. You helped him learn this year by the sacrifices you made to improve last summer with the Dursleys. He still holds a great deal of anger and resentment against you for the past, but as we both saw this morning, he is managing his own emotions much better. Soon it will be time for you to offer him lessons again. I believe he will listen much more closely then."

"It will be hard for both of us, Albus. Isn't he learning well with you?"

"Yes, much better than I hoped after what I saw in your mind. I am strong as a Legilimens, sometimes too strong, but my technique is different than Tom's. Your style is much closer, though you are so young you haven't developed the more subtle variations just yet. In your copious spare time," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard, "you may wish to attempt a softer version of your usual shock and awe. I believe this is what our enemy used last year on Harry to instill the false visions along with the true."

Snape nodded as he rapidly regained his composure. "Mr. Potter will have to be kept more informed, then, or his curiosity will lead him to resist attempts to shut off the flow."

"I remember the pensieve incident." The old wizard pursed his lips. "He's already aware you were the only one to tell him the truth about his father and his friends. You should appreciate that he _does_ want the truth, and not just the pretty lies the rest of us have told him. That's another mistake I made, and you've been the one to suffer from it over the years."

"The truth is the only thing that will help him." _And it's the only thing that will help me. I never wanted to see the boy for himself while he wore the face of James Potter._ Things could have been different if only he'd known. The children of Slytherin could have been managed; how many times had Dumbledore put pressure on him to ease up on the Trio? Potter adored listening in to private conversations, and so did Draco. It would have been relatively simple to set up a situation where young Malfoy or one of his other students could have 'stumbled' in on a conversation where he was being lectured on his conduct towards the Potter boy. "If I had asked, would you have rated me severely for roasting Mr. Potter in a place where one of my Snakes could have accidentally listened in?"

The Headmaster's eyes went wide. "Of course, Severus. I am still willing to do so if you like. Considering how many times I have allowed you to be the arm of discipline while I played 'good Auror', it is only fair to return the favor. Tom should have less to complain about, even if you've made other arrangements with him. Since I actually did threaten you with Azkaban, it will help if others confirm it."

"If…if only," Snape said. _If only I'd done this a long time ago._ When the Dark Lord returned, he could have easily complained that Dumbledore was forcing his hand, _and_ that a complaisant, trusting Harry Potter would be far easier to corrupt or mislead than a hostile, angry one. _If only I had used my mind on the situation, rather than reacting so emotionally, I could even have managed Sirius Black._ It would have been extraordinarily easy to reverse the way the dog had made a fool out of him the previous year. In fact, Black had almost managed it for himself that one morning when he'd been trying to explain a few simple things to the Gryffindor and the mutt had charged out with his wand drawn. _If I had kept my self-control and stayed empty handed, even then the boy might have wondered who really had his best interests at heart. But no, I had to react the way I always do!_

He looked up at Albus. The old wizard's eyes were sad. "I knew something was wrong all these years," the Headmaster said. "In fact, I told you many times you had to change your ways. I couldn't help seeing what was tearing you apart, but I never lifted a finger to help you in a way that would have worked. I wanted to blame you for everything, you see, and that made it impossible for Harry to respect you the way he needed to if you were to teach him." Albus wiped his face with a handkerchief of his own for a moment, then continued. "And last summer—last summer I even used an Unforgivable on you. I will pay for that someday. But you are paying now. I don't know what else to do about this case, Severus! I wish you could have loved Harry as much as I do. You've been given so little reason to love any of us, and yet we still ask so much of you. But it was my mistake to ignore how much you love Draco. I was proud of him today, and you should be as well."

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "So much Potions work over the years has poisoned you. I know this regime to help you with it seems even worse than the disease. But I am proud of _you_, too. We see the changes in you, and I suspect you do as well. The Swiss are right about how Brewer's Bog affects the mind as well as the body. I wish I had paid more attention. It's just that you're so young to be so badly affected. I wish they had come out with this process years ago."

"Whatever time I have left is better spent on other things, and not wasted in regret," Snape said harshly, speaking to himself as much as to the older wizard.

"True. Severus…try to find some time for joy. Perhaps if you can empty out your pain and sorrow, you'll finally have room for that."

_And store up joy for end of day._ The last line of Sybil's prophecy rang in his mind. "How?" he shouted, finally unable to contain his fury. "When?" He winced as a crystal bowl cracked with the force of his anger. The Potions Master slumped in his chair, humiliated at his loss of self control. Everyone's life was to be saved, even his godson's if the boy could survive his dear Aunt Bella, everyone…everyone but him. "You're always so full of plans to make things better. Why can't you think of something for _me_?"

"I don't know," Albus said gently. "I wish I could."

Fawkes fluttered in, but stayed on his perch. Snape could swear the phoenix _glared_ at him. He remembered last summer, when the bird had tried to comfort him down in the dungeons. _At least Draco will have that much,_ he thought. The boy would be less prone to worry for a while, as if he'd downed a Stinksap Potion. "Given available resources," he said, trying to keep his voice even, "it would be a good idea to administer the same kind of oath you did to Mr. Malfoy to the rest of the Order fairly soon. Although you will have to be careful with Mr. Fletcher when you do. He'll steal the feather and sell it on the black market before you can vaporize it."

The Headmaster appeared happy with the change in subject. "Isn't that the truth. Yet if I do, there will be questions why you haven't taken it, though I may have convinced Moody you already have. I also informed him that he wouldn't trust you if he saw you drink from the Grail and he admitted it. Oh, Severus, I wish you _could_ take this new form of the Oath. I don't want you lost in the darkness. But I fear it might kill you." The old wizard glanced pointedly at Snape's left hand, which still had a brown mark from Fawkes' tears.

"Oh." For a moment he'd almost forgotten about the curse that becoming a part of the Inner Circle had laid on him. Then Severus thought of something. "If…if I am close to death anyway, would that free me from being the Dark Lord's slave afterwards?"

Albus looked startled. "I didn't think of that. Moody wondered if Tom's true death might bring the same to all his followers, keyed through the Mark. It may be very important indeed to have all of your apprentices take this oath."

"Mr. Potter, too. He was affected by the suicide spell last summer."

"Yes, of course. How stupid of me to forget that. I swear by Hogwarts itself that I will not leave you bound to Tom after death. I have asked Flitwick to research a charm that could negate the effect of the Dark Mark. There are two prisoners in Azkaban who will probably cooperate with him, as they tried to hurt themselves at the same time you and some of your students did."

"Percy Weasley should also take this form of the oath soon," Snape remarked. "I still hope Draco isn't hurt when his apprenticeship is transferred to his aunt."

"Feel free to ask Flitwick to work on a token Mr. Malfoy can carry, then. He'll need a bit of your blood, but any Affinity Charm keyed to you should be as strong as possible," Dumbledore said. "Find a memento the boy can reasonably carry. Your tie with him as your godfather should be as strong as possible."

A clock chimed. Snape glanced up at it, and saw the main hand had moved to _Getting Late_. "I know you won't sleep well unless you talk to Flitwick about this. But try to rest, Severus, even when you think you're feeling stronger. Find…find something you wish to do just for your own pleasure and I will find time for you to enjoy it. And please, don't blame Harry for wanting his own family. In many ways, his situation is much like your own."

Snape knew there was something Albus wasn't telling him. He left feeling churned-up inside, as if all his emotions were contesting for mastery at once. Instead of rushing to Ravenclaw Tower, though, he summoned a house elf and asked for the small wizard's location. "Infirmary, Master Potions Master," the little thing squeaked, and disappeared.

He stifled a smile at the title Winky had no doubt enforced among her fellows, and then let it drop as he went towards Madam Pomfrey's domain. He rarely thought about the health of his fellow teachers, except for Minerva after last year. Yet Flitwick was not young, either, and he shouldn't be surprised to find the smaller wizard had his own problems. _I have been self-centered even for a Slytherin this year,_ he thought. _Yet even if there's no time for him to work on my problems, Draco can't wait. We could be summoned soon to make the exchange. _Deep in his heart, Severus knew Albus was right about Bella's possible influence on her nephew. The call of blood and the Mark could overwhelm all else if the boy had no shield to protect him.

The infirmary was less crowded than usual, as Poppy had clearly done her winnowing of the usual Sunday night visitors wishing to bail out of classes the next day. He nodded at those who had been able to prove real ailments besides terror-induced stomach aches, and knocked on the door to the office.

"Come in," he heard Pomfrey's voice say, and did so.

Flitwick was sitting up on a small padded table Poppy used to examine people in a more personal setting when things weren't bad enough for the private room. His left leg was exposed and the mediwitch was waving her wand over it.

"I'll come back later," Snape said, and began to back out.

"Have a seat," said the tiny Charms professor. "It's just my bad knee again. Acts up whenever the weather changes. I know you want to talk to me anyway."

"I just finished speaking with the Headmaster. I had some questions about an Affinity charm for Mr. Malfoy." He closed the door behind him and put a Muffling Spell around them.

"Nothing else?"

Poppy had a look in her eyes when she finished chanting over Flitwick's knee that clearly meant _you next_, so Severus knew better than to retreat. "No. Should there be? I mean, I do have a question about a problem I could face next year, but I could ask about that later."

"Oh, hell, I know I should have been there!" The Charms professor jumped down from the table and did a few quick knee bends. "Ah, good as new. Thank you, Poppy." He seated himself back up on the table again, while Poppy sat down behind her desk. "Albus didn't tell you, then."

"Tell me what?" He felt numb.

"The Headmaster recited the actual text of Trelawney's prophecy for you to me," Flitwick said. "Unfortunately, I think the phrase 'sun cycle' is open to interpretation. I will grant it probably means what Sybil believes it does, but I feel it could also mean 'season' as well as year. I should not like to see you caught short."

Summer had ended only a couple of weeks ago, and autumn was slipping past. "I…I really hope you're wrong," he said. Maybe he wouldn't survive the aftermath of the hearing after all. No wonder Dumbledore sounded so guilty earlier this evening.

"I probably am," Flitwick said. "For one thing, I'd hate to see you lose that bet to Lowenstein by default. But it's better to err on the side of caution. So I want to move on that charm for you as soon as possible."

"Mr. Malfoy will probably need his first," Snape said crisply. "Miss Edgecombe cannot remain as Madam Lestrange's apprentice for any longer than she must. In fact, she will probably be summoned the next time as well, since both apprentices must be present when the exchange is made." If his time was going to be so short, he needed to put his affairs in order. _Happy Christmas for _you,_ Mr. Potter!_

"You're quite right," Flitwick said. "I'll need a sample of your blood, and the item involved as soon as possible. I'll have it done by Friday evening, if not before. As for Miss Edgecombe, she appears to be coping, but it's obvious even to me it's a shell. I wish I knew a way to help her trust me again."

Snape told him about her visit to the dungeons. "I hope you don't think I am overstepping my bounds," he said when he finished.

"No," the Head of Ravenclaw said quietly. "I only hope I can repay you somehow. You'll need a charm for your other problem."

"What's that?" Pomfrey asked.

"Merely a trick Tom has played on his followers," Flitwick said. "He may be drawing the strength he needs to stay alive from all of those who are part of the Inner Circle. Even the dead ones."

"Oh." The mediwitch made a face. "Yes. I remember, now. Phoenix tears hurt you now. But I never thought your prospects were _that_ horrible."

"He won't enjoy it," Severus said viciously. "He'll know the knife I put in my Mark last summer was only the beginning!" Then he bent over and put his head in his hands. If only he could just disappear and not have to face this. What would happen to his students once he died? "I hope it's quick," he muttered. "I hope it doesn't hurt…" He knew both wishes were impossible, though. The Dark Lord himself would make sure his death took as long as possible.

He felt Poppy's hand patting him on one shoulder, and tried not to flinch away. Severus slowly took a deep, shuddering breath and forced himself into an upright position. Even if Flitwick were wrong about the exact timing, he'd still have to look Death in the face sooner than he liked.

"Sybil let me watch her memory of the ritual you carried out for me through a pensieve," he said. "It was the gorse from Azkaban that Moody left that finally triggered the spell. It would not be considered odd if I carried it with me if it were discovered. If something from Fawkes was with it, that might be enough to sever my connection with the Dark Lord."

Flitwick nodded. "I'll have to work out something so any charm wouldn't be triggered by accident, yet would help you even if you couldn't move or speak on your own. If it's discovered you could truthfully tell them Moody gave it to you as a reminder. Everyone would believe that."

"Especially since I think he meant it that way," Snape said. This interpretation of Sybil's prophecy dismayed him. It had taken him this long to adjust to giving up all hope of surviving the war, and to think he might not even see another Christmas was another jolt. "I hope you're wrong," he said.

"So do I," said the smaller wizard.

"I suppose," Severus added, "I ought to thank you anyway. I should feel so very stupid bleating out 'but it wasn't supposed to be so soon!' in front of the Dark Lord or his followers."

Flitwick grimaced. "We'll do all we can to prove me wrong." He eased himself down from the padded table. "I hate to leave, but it is Sunday night and I need to make sure _my_ dunderheads leave off studying or turning the common room into a fishbowl or whatever they think amusing for a Sunday night."

"I need to do the same…" Snape began to stand.

"No, you don't. Not just right now," Pomfrey said crisply. "I wanted to go over a few things with you anyway."

He obeyed. He still felt slightly numb after Flitwick's conjecture, and watched the Charms professor leave. "What now, Poppy?" he asked.

"It is my professional opinion that you should continue the potions regime anyway," she said. "There would be many questions asked if you stopped it now, plus you would still be ill from the original problem. You are thinking more clearly with the support of the potions for the side effects, and from purging the poisons from your system. Also, you still need a reason to go to Switzerland for the next full moon, or so I understand."

He nodded, too apathetic just now to argue. If Dumbledore had known about Flitwick's idea, that would explain his rush to make sure of Draco. The war would go on after his death after all. "I wish…I wish I could live long enough to see _him_ defeated…"

"You still might. Flitwick could be wrong, and he was honest enough to say so," the mediwitch continued in a softer voice. "Also, Albus told me about the guardianship suits. I know it would easy to do so, but please don't blame young Mr. Potter for his eagerness to be cared for by the Weasleys."

He bowed his head. How could he blame the boy for preferring Molly Weasley to Narcissa, when he did so himself? Even though resentment still burned beneath his heart, he knew it was wrong. "I'll have to work harder to make sure my Slytherins are protected after I'm gone," he said dully.

"Oh, Severus," she said, and poured him a cup of tea. "I want you to sit and drink this. You _do_ have a right to be angry. I have some other news that isn't going to help, I'm afraid. Health permitting, you're to have that practice duel with Shacklebolt and Lupin next Saturday afternoon. I strongly suggest you work off some of your temper on other things for the next few days first. And if you feel you're tempted to hex them into the ground anyway, let me know and I'll make sure you're on the sick list instead. I think Albus wants you to have an outlet, but I don't think he really understands the situation."

"I don't think he ever will," Snape said, sipping the tea. He had to be careful lifting the cup, as his hands were shaking with rage. Then he looked at Madam Pomfrey, and his anger cooled. Her eyes were misted over, as if she'd taken a blow herself. "Poppy, what's wrong?"

She swallowed. "I hate telling people when they have, have little time left."

"Oh." He looked down at his tea. He probably wasn't the first, nor would be the last, who had to hear this kind of news. "I'll have to go out with a bang, then. That will make for fewer casualties showing up here." It was so _frustrating!_ He would adapt to one set of strictures, only to have more put on him. It was almost claustrophobic. Severus finished his tea and stood. "I do need to look in on my Snakes. Flitwick's students aren't the only one with vivid imaginations, you know, and it's not fair to desert my post before I have to."

She looked up at him soberly. "I'll be here whenever you need to talk, dear. I do wish Albus had been more forthright with you…"

He smiled mirthlessly. "Why expect it now?" Snape departed. Now it all made sense. His expiry date had been moved up, was all.

He was surprised to meet Flitwick again around the corner from the infirmary. "I thought you had students to keep alive," he said.

"I do. But I wanted to say a few things away from Madam Pomfrey. An estimable woman, but not likely to appreciate my advice. Forgive me for asking personal questions, but how often do you use your late-night passes?"

Severus knew what the smaller wizard was talking about. Theoretically, any teacher could sign out late two nights a month not on a weekend. "Didn't they used to be just for male teachers?" he commented.

"Well, yes, till Madam Hooch made a fuss." The Charms professor turned pink. "But you're avoiding the subject."

"Actually, I'm out several times a month," Snape said.

"How many of them are just for you?"

_None of them,_ Severus thought. _Even the sessions with Lucius—or I should say, _especially_ the sessions with Lucius were all for the Order._ "That…that's none of your business."

"In that case, I shall just point out that Madam Puddifoot enjoys callers after hours, and is plump enough for those who like their companions that way. She is ah…well ripened, but again, none of us are as young as we used to be. I might add she is extraordinarily fond of apricot liqueur. I leave it to your imagination precisely how she enjoys it."

Now _his_ face went hot. "Why do you think it matters?"

Flitwick looked serious. "You have little time to find what comfort you can. It is well known men, and sometimes women, in grave personal danger find certain needs becoming stronger than usual. I also hope to do the school a public service by giving you something to think about besides razing Hogwarts to the ground. If I have trespassed, please forgive me."

"You did not offend me," Snape said wearily. Now that he thought about it, shagging Molly Weasley was an impossible dream anyway. It could not hurt to set his sights in a different direction.

He thanked the Head of Ravenclaw, and went on his way. As he entered his rooms, Winky clearly sensed something was wrong, and chattered away offering comforts. Severus accepted several of them. Sitting by his fire, he looked around and realized how shabby his rooms really were. _If I were to die today, others would feel _sorry _for me for living like this. _Unfortunately, he had no head for style. Neither the brutal elegance of the Malfoys or the ticky-tacky Victorian splendor of Dumbledore's office appealed much to him. Perhaps there were charms that would allow him to try out things without the expense of constant changes. It seemed trivial to worry over such matters with his fate staring him in the face, but perhaps that was why. _Far easier to fuss over the color or thickness of carpet rather than deal with reality._ At least he had a couple of ensembles worth being buried in. _I think I begin to understand Narcissa a little better._

At least he had some warning. Last summer he had none. His life could easily be over already. He would be unable to do anything but watch from beyond, if that much, once it was. Severus put a buttoned cloak over his clothes and made one last patrol through Slytherin. He would have all the time he needed to rest later.

As he lay in bed after his patrol, Severus discovered his imagination had difficulty accepting Flitwick's suggestion, though—and supplied a large number of uses for apricot liqueur instead.

He wondered what it would smell like mixed with cinnamon.

Then he decided instead that he would ask for another massage while in Switzerland. He had best wish for that which was attainable.

For the next several days, Snape followed Madam Pomfrey's recommendations. He had no idea where all the various predators who showed themselves in the Room of Requirement promptly at seven o'clock in the evening came from, but he took great delight in destroying more giant spiders, the remainder of the escaped pixies, and a Quintaped over the next few days. On top of that, he used up pots of ink venting his fury on paper. Odd how his anger settled watching his outpourings head towards his future destination. He also made more use of the magazine Filch had given him. He made scattered lists of what was needed to wind up his affairs properly. Snape knew he couldn't put off his visit to Gringotts much longer. Also, he had gathered quite a lot of interesting information over the years about many pureblood families. He needed to make a copy for Albus and for Rita Skeeter. Some secrets needed to come out into the light, especially if he could no longer use them for his own purposes.

He noticed during the days that his students, even his idiot first years, were trying to be more careful in their brewing. The way Potter looked at him in the sixth-year class made him wonder if the boy had finally figured out who had given him the pensieve, and the memories in it. In the past, he would have cared a great deal more than he did now. Even if it were only a side effect of all his potions, he was glad to be free of both his hostility towards, and his obsession with, the boy. _You are just as much a pawn as I am,_ he thought. _In fact, Dumbledore cared as little about your home situation as he did mine, at least till some of the Order found out about it._ That afternoon he smirked to himself at how easy it had been to drop hints in his usual rant about Muggles about how the boy was treated. Moody had not been slow to pick them up.

Snape was surprised at how little attention Black had paid, though. One would have thought Potter's godfather would have been outraged at any threat to the boy. Lupin had been more concerned, but already had a full plate with his transformations and looking after his friend. Werewolves were also notoriously allergic to hippogriffs. No doubt the dust from Buckbeak's feathers had not helped.

As he looked at Harry, he thought, _Well, boy, things have come to a sad pass when anyone has to depend on _me_ for your welfare. If nothing else, I can see you passed into better hands. Molly Weasley will protect you with her life. If she has enough heart to spare for me, you will flourish when she gives you full measure. _He stifled resentment, knowing he'd never had anyone's full measure. Till he glanced at Winky, who asked another question in her high-pitched voice. Snape felt ridiculous that the little elf's devotion improved his bad temper so quickly, but decided he would take it.

Late on Friday afternoon, he was called to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore had been avoiding him since Sunday. No doubt Albus knew Flitwick had spilled the beans, and was ducking for cover. Snape entered the office drenched in violet scent. Only Miss Lovegood was capable of turning any byproduct of aconite into a pungent perfume. However, he had made sure the girl took note on what she'd done. One never knew what use could be made of an anti-werewolf repellent that could still be worn in polite company, though one hoped in somewhat lesser concentration.

Snape decided once he sat down that the ancient wizard was tormenting himself enough with guilt that he may as well let Albus manage without any further input of his own.

"How have you been, Severus?"

_Doing rather nicely at reducing the local predators, as well as planning for my demise,_ the Potions Master thought, but sipped his tea instead. "Hoping all of Miss Lovegood's mistakes are this non-life-threatening," he said. "I should wash it off before the evening meal, though. Lupin especially will not appreciate its base."

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore fumbled with some papers in front of him. "Speaking of the DADA instructor, Mr. Shacklebolt has time this Saturday after the game to participate in a bit of dueling with him. I understand you have improved in health somewhat over the past week."

"I suppose I have slaughtered enough denizens of the Room of Requirement to pull back my hexes a little bit," Severus allowed, answering the Headmaster's real question. "Standard ground rules, I suppose?"

"Right. No Unforgivables, two-on-one, and I'll alert Madam Pomfrey she may have guests. Both Professor Lupin and Mr. Shacklebolt have been warned they are on their own."

_You don't have to tell me where I stand, Albus._ "That will be helpful," he said neutrally.

"And…and Professor Flitwick said you might find this useful." Dumbledore handed over the small book of potion recipes Snape intended to give Draco at their next dinner—or hastily shoved into the boy's hands just as they were summoned if necessary. "He said you would need to finish the spell."

"Thank you." He'd do that part tonight. Snape still had the vellum certificate proclaiming him Draco's godfather, while Narcissa had owled him the small silver spoon which had been all he could afford at the time for the christening gift.

"And Severus…"

Snape looked up.

"I…I am so dreadfully sorry."

He ground his teeth. "I have worked all week to gain what little acceptance of the situation that I have, sir. It would not be helpful to lose it now. For all I know I will be sent for tonight. You have told me about the duel and given me something I desperately need. Let us leave things there." He paused for a moment, then spoke in a softer tone. "This is one thing you can't make better. I appreciate you want to try. I have done my best not to inflict any unwonted anger on any of my students, especially Mr. Potter. I should hate to break anything more in this office. I fear the bowl on top of that shelf is going to stay cracked if it falls apart any more."

Dumbledore nodded as the Potions Master stood. "Then go with my blessing. Don't be afraid to ask for anything you should want or need."

Severus nodded, and left the office. It probably would not do to express his desire to haul Molly Weasley down into his dungeons and try out the bottle of anisette he'd found in a cabinet a few nights ago. His body had been on fire all this week. Albus might understand this was a perfectly normal reaction to the threat of death, or he might have forgotten over the long years since the Grindelwald War. Snape wasn't going to take the chance.

He had even looked at the envelope tucked inside his Death Eater cloak that Narcissa had delivered to him and wondered what sort of entertainment the Dark Lord had in mind. As he walked back down to his rooms, he even thought about visiting Malfoy Manor. He knew she would welcome him. Yet he liked her too much to put her life at risk, and it would be no matter what precautions they took.

_I had better put such thoughts away for now,_ he thought. _I must come to this spell for Draco without any such taint. _Making the sure the book was ready was more important. _I'll think of Molly later._

Snape made a quick sweep around Slytherin, caught a few of his students out of their quarters, and sent them back with only a few token snarls. He went into his quarters, found the book, the parchment, and the spoon, set them out upon an empty table and chanted the oath he'd taken when Draco was three days old. "In your father's stead I will stand. With my hand I will guide you, with my head I will advise you, and with my heart I will love you," he repeated softly out loud. It did not matter what lay between him and Lucius, at least at this moment. His son was a different person altogether, and could be cherished without being poisoned by what happened in the past. _I was given a second chance with Draco. Despite my occasional impulse to smack the boy, I have done my best. Oh, Merlin, if only I could have talked him out of taking the Mark to begin with! Yet…yet Albus was right, though I still want to smack _him_ for what he did to the boy. Yet Draco is safer with Moody on his side, and Fawkes._ Severus briefly mourned the loss of what contact he'd had with the phoenix, but knew it would do his godson good. _Now, let's make sure the next Dark rite doesn't kill him!_

To that end he stood before the small table and made his hands into a cup. He mentally envisioned his magic, reinforced by the repetition of his vow, filling that cup and overflowing onto the book, the paper, and the spoon. It was probably his imagination, but in his mind's eye he could see shimmering waves of air swirl and gather inside his hands. He then tipped the 'cup' and let those waves spill down onto the items below. He knew it was his imagination when they appeared to glow for a moment, then looked normal again once the spell was over.

The link would be completed the moment Draco touched any of them. The Affinity Charm Flitwick had embedded with his blood would also provide an extra connection. Snape hoped it would be enough to help Draco make the transfer to Bella's _loving care_ without mishap, and later to keep the boy from being overwhelmed by her devotion to the darkness.

He was done for now. Severus kissed the book, the certificate, and the spoon, and did not feel foolish at all as he put them all away. Then he quickly wiped the traitorous moisture from his eyes as he made ready for bed. Draco's burden would soon be heavy enough without bearing the weight of his own forfeited hopes and dreams.

Snape glanced at the broom on the rack on his bedroom door. Tomorrow afternoon he might show both Lupin and Shacklebolt a surprise or two. _I shall endeavor to be clever rather than vicious tomorrow,_ he resolved. _It will be the first time we clash, and it will be more helpful to take their measure rather than to crush them. I am not likely to detect a pattern in their combat in this bout anyway._

He smiled at last, and allowed Winky to putter about before she took her post at his door. He was growing more dependent on her affection every day, but if his time were really so short, there was no point worrying about it. He may as well allow himself to enjoy her devotion.

_Perhaps tonight I'll dream of the cottage with the fence again. Maybe Winky will be in it, too. After all, a house elf really deserves one of her own. _The thought sent him to sleep in peace.

Harry Potter

They had just won over Hufflepuff that Saturday afternoon. The other team was a lot stronger this year. "You'll just have to ask McMillan to go off in a maze with you," Seamus joked. "Worked for Diggory…"

"That's not funny!" Harry sputtered. He was uncomfortably aware how protective the Ravenclaws this year were around Cho Chang. Luna had told him about the wager in the Betting Book when he'd asked her about it. He'd never do anything to harm her! _Of course, that wouldn't stop the twins,_ something inside told him. He remembered what Remus had told him about Montague. _Fred and George wouldn't hurt someone as pretty as she is,_ he thought. _Montague must have done something they didn't say anything about._ He knew how stupid that sounded as soon as the idea came to his mind. Blaming the Snakes for everything was still popular.

He was glad to see Lupin approach the team. The DADA professor really knew his Quidditch strategies, and didn't mind passing them along. The team was glad to see Remus as well. Seamus spoke up again. "Heard you were helping out the Slytherin team last night at their practice," he said. "Come on, now, that can't be true."

"It's none of your business, Mr. Finnigan," Lupin said quietly.

Ron said, "Look, Seamus, we're lucky they haven't hired an outside coach already."

"But that's against the rules!" Ginny said, now listening in.

"No, it isn't," her older brother replied. "I asked Madam Hooch. They're playing so differently this year I wondered about it. They haven't lost as many points to fouls this year as we have, so pack it in about the Snakes. It's too bad that other Moody isn't here to turn Malfoy into a ferret again, but we'll just have to live with it."

Ron was being sensible this year, Harry noticed. Being captain and being out from under the shadow of his brothers had helped a lot, probably.

Remus cleared his throat. "Actually, I want to see you, Harry, as soon as you shower and dress. There's something interesting I want to you to watch."

The team went quiet, and Harry nodded. "I'll be out in just a bit."

Lupin nodded back, then looked at everyone. "Good flying today," he said. "Hufflepuff is more aggressive this year than they used to be, and you had to work to win. You've earned your celebration today."

Nobody could disagree with _that_, of course, and shuffled off towards the changing rooms. Harry quickly showered and dressed, then begged off the after-game stuff. He followed the Dark Arts professor out to the Forbidden Forest. Shacklebolt was there in the clearing, too. Right! The two of them must be dueling Snape today.

Where was he? Harry glanced around, as did the others.

The question was answered when a fiery bolt came out of nowhere, striking a tree near Lupin and the dark-skinned Auror, which was swiftly followed by two more. Harry left the clearing and tried to find a safe place to watch from. Kingsley and Remus dodged and brought up shielding spells. Lupin sent out a charm to find out where Snape was, though Harry already thought he knew, while Shacklebolt bracketed the space where the first spell had come from with several Incendios.

Everybody was surprised when the next attack came from above. Harry caught sight of a black cloak flapping as the Potions Master maneuvered his broom behind a large tree. Shacklebolt was occupied putting a small fire on his left shoe out, while Remus drew up a portable magical shield which he could hold like a real one against more shots.

Harry noticed a shadow by a different tree he was fairly sure hadn't been there before, and sent a flash of light to illuminate it. He ducked as a curse came his way which sent a shower of splinters close to his back from the ricochet. Remus had to move fast when an overhanging branch almost fell on top of him. Then Shacklebolt was blinded when a curse _he_ ducked threw a bunch of dirt and leaves into his face.

Remus went on the offensive. He chanted a spell which formed a glowing rope out of nowhere in a loop the werewolf began swinging out like he was a cowboy on the telly. He suddenly let it loose into some scrub where it passed _through _a tall tree and apparently caught the Potions Master, judging by the bad language Harry heard.

The rope turned into a serpent, and Remus hastily let go before its mouth could bite his hand. Meanwhile, Shacklebolt was circling around on foot and let loose a couple of spells, only to dive to the ground as they rebounded. Lupin sent off a few more Incendios in the general direction of the forest over the Auror's head, and gritted his teeth as they appeared to have no effect. Harry wished he'd brought his broom. _I should have remembered he was the referee for one of the Quidditch games my first year,_ he thought. _I told Kingsley about flying and dueling when I left the Dursleys this year. Who would have thought Snape would be the one to use the idea? I should have said something to Remus, too._

He glanced up at the sky. "Up there!" he shouted. The werewolf barely blocked another attack from the again-airborne Snape. Then he sent a curse, not at the Potions Master, but at the broom. Snape began falling from the sky, though not from very high up. "Madam Hooch will kill me if I ruin this one!" the Potions Master said, and quickly sent out a Cushioning Charm before hitting the ground.

"Duel over?" Remus inquired sweetly.

"Yes," the other teacher said with a snarl. Snape put away his wand, and so did the others. Harry stuck his back in his usual robe pocket.

"Well, wasn't that a surprise!" Kingsley said with an admiring look. "When did you learn how to fly like that?"

"I am forced by certain Ministry regulations to be outside on a daily basis," Snape said, apparently ignoring Harry for now. "The coach pointed out how useful it would be if I could fly without downing a gallon of Calming Potion. I still don't like it high, but flying in the trees isn't that bad. I must admit, seeing your shocked faces was all the reward I could ask for."

"You still need to work on countering broom hexes," Lupin said. "I can help with that."

The dark Slytherin nodded. "This tactic will work once or twice as a surprise, but after that anyone else will be prepared with the right defenses."

"Maybe it only needs to work once or twice," Harry said. He wondered if Snape had the same problem Hermione did with heights. _Maybe I need to work on more low-level stuff myself,_ he thought, knowing he normally disliked playing tag with obstacles.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Potter. What did you learn from this little exercise?" Snape's voice wasn't as harsh as usual, but still stung.

"Do the unexpected. Nobody thought you'd be on a broom. Professor Lupin was surprised when his rope turned into a snake, too. I bet you were surprised when that rope came through the tree, though." Harry thought for a moment. "And a couple of other things. Get in the first spell if you can, and always keep moving." He would have been dead in the graveyard after touching the Goblet if he hadn't.

"Better than I thought. Anything else?" The frosty voice thawed a little.

"Yes. If two people know how to fight together, or three for that matter, it's really hard for just one to beat them." If all the DE's had ganged up on him at once, either at the cemetery or at the Department of Magic, he would be dead. "And…and overconfidence can kill people, or their friends."

"Not bad." Snape looked rather surprised, actually.

"And you made a mistake." Harry gulped.

"Oh, really?" The Potions Master narrowed his eyes.

"You should have attacked me more, or at least made sure I couldn't help."

Snape raised his eyebrows, then looked at Remus. "Lupin, you were right. He does have a few brain cells functioning after being hit by all those Bludgers."

Remus just looked smug. Then Harry turned around as he heard a small pop, as if someone had Apparated.

Winky stood there, holding a flask. "Time to drink this, Master Potions Master."

Snape grimaced and took it. "Now she can't harass us in person, Madam Umbridge attempts to poison me from afar. Lupin, you didn't miss much not teaching here last year." He made a face as he drank from the flask, then handed it back to Winky, who disappeared.

"I heard you were on some sort of regimen for potions overload," Shacklebolt said.

"Unless I pass certain physical tests, I'm stuck with it," the Slytherin said. "Fortunately, these potions come from the Swiss themselves, so I can assume they haven't been meddled with, but they're still…not pleasant."

Lupin looked down at the ground. "You should see the minister's plans for werewolves and other nonhuman creatures."

"Oh, please. Not even that will cheer me up today."

Harry thought Remus ought to be insulted by the implication, but the DADA teacher only smiled. "I suppose we'd best let you return to Hogwarts, then."

"Yes. At least there I can throw up in peace." The Potions Master went back on his broom and headed back towards the school.

Harry wondered if Snape were joking. The tall teacher's color had turned more sallow than usual after he'd drunk the potion, and his broom wobbled a bit as he flew away. "Is it a good idea to have him duel when he's sick like this?"

"I asked about that. He said the Dark Lord or the other Death Eaters won't care." Remus looked thoughtful. "As you can see, it hasn't slowed him down much."

Shacklebolt nodded. "During a real fight, he'd probably bring out some Unforgivables. Given what kind of fight it's likely to be, I wouldn't grudge him anything he can use to protect himself. Moody and I go round and round on that one. It's been years since Moody was up against the kind of odds Snape has to face all the time. Besides, I can always win the argument by asking Mad-Eye what he'd do to Barty boy if the Dementors hadn't Kissed him first."

They walked back to the school. Harry discussed his ideas about flying and dueling at the same time, and wanted to know how to protect his broom against the hex that had brought down Snape. He even mentioned Hermione's idea about massed broom warfare. He enjoyed being treated like an adult.

Then he realized something. _Dumbledore must have told them how much progress I've made in Occlumency, now that they're telling me things. Sirius died because I wouldn't listen to Snape about what he was trying to teach me._ Now he was thinking about it, and not just being angry all the time, it made sense. _It's like my fourth year when Skeeter was listening in on everything, or the girl who squealed on us about Dumbledore's Army. Why _should_ they trust me if everything they say goes straight to Voldemort?_

He waved to Kingsley as the Auror took off on his broom near the edge of the Forest, and finished walking to the school with Lupin. Harry went up to the Common Room, surprisingly empty for a Saturday, and sat down by the fire.

Maybe the potions were helping Snape in some ways, even as they made him sick in others. _I have to realize people do change,_ he thought. _I never thought it would be Snape who would think of dueling on a broom. He is different this year. Maybe that means I have to learn how to change, too. I still wonder what I missed last week. But he's right. The DE's won't care if someone has the flu or something when they attack. We have to be ready anyway._

It felt odd to just sit down and be quiet. He hadn't had much of that since the start of school. _I've been doing homework, or taking lessons, or flying, or with my friends, or even just looking inside the Pensieve._ He decided to practice one of the drills the Headmaster had shown him. This one was a bit new, so he wasn't sure if he would do it right, but he'd been told it might work when hiding in a memory didn't. It was called the House of Memory, he thought.

Harry closed his eyes and saw the Dursley house in his mind. He walked up to the front door and went inside. There. The wards put up when he'd been left there now kept him safe. _But if they're based on blood, Voldemort has some of mine. Can he go through them now?_ He'd have to ask Dumbledore about that tomorrow, he supposed. Harry mentally walked into the kitchen, noticed how clean it was, how clean it always was, and pretended he was fixing breakfast for the three sitting at the dining room table. _Some day I'll do it for Mrs. Weasley,_ he thought happily. _Won't she be surprised I already know how to cook!_

Then he served himself a hearty meal as well, the way he'd been allowed to last summer. He finished, did the clearing up, and set the dishes to soak a bit while the others went off—Uncle Vernon to work, Dudley to his friends, and Aunt Petunia to some volunteer thing.

The house was whole, and it was _his_, with everyone else gone. Yet there was one place inside the bungalow that was safest of all. Inside his mind, Harry opened the cupboard under the stairs. Since he was allowed to fix it up any way he liked now, it had a bright light with a pull chain, a real bed, and a chair. He supposed the small telly over in one corner and the tiny refrigerator was a bit much, but it was _his_ cupboard and could have what he liked inside it. In fact, the place was larger than the outside now. He'd even added an annex with a cramped loo inside, accessible only through a hidden panel.

Harry smiled to himself as he closed the bolt, now on the inside of the door, which was set flush so no light could exit. _Try to find me now, O mighty Dark Lord…_

Someone coughed, and he opened his eyes. "Ron!" he said, only partially pleased at being interrupted.

"Team homework down in the Great Hall, mate," his friend said. "And…if you can, tell us about that duel?"

"Of course," Harry said. Funny how you appreciated others more when things were steadier inside. "I'll fetch my books. Hermione says we're behind the track in Potions, and she's probably right. Snape isn't on the warpath so much this year, I'd like to keep him that way!"

If the Potions Master could change, so could he.


	53. Chapter 53: Sweet Sunday

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Thanks again to Snape's Night and zafaran. Just a repetition here—this story is rated M, and this chapter is one of the reasons. Includes talk of sexual activity, spying on sexual activity, and something really pervy Voldemort does with a snake.

Chapter 53: Sweets Sunday

Severus Snape

He felt more rested than he should the next morning. He decided to enjoy his improved health, even if it was only an illusion to be shattered during his next expulsion phase, whenever that would be. Severus consulted Poppy while delivering some potions to her late Saturday morning, and found her smugly triumphant as she pointed out he was now on the originally recommended dosages on the potions meant to help with the side effects of the detoxicant. As he sat in her office, he mockingly bowed his head in submission.

"Of course, this balance may not be for long," she said. "It's probably a happy accident, given the stuff your students are brewing, what you're brewing, and whatever mistakes the children have made this last week. Enjoy it while it lasts."

"I shall," he said.

"In case anyone takes a look at your chart, though, they'll see the mood enhancer is at a higher level than it actually is," she added, "though I keep the actual amounts recorded elsewhere. This will give you justification, if you need it, for all sorts of behavior."

Severus laughed. "Everyone knows Potions Masters are quite mad anyway. I must be corrupting you. Should I apologize?"

"I'm not sure," Poppy said. "But I'm glad to see you on a mood swing that goes up for a change."

"I know it won't stay there," he said, "but it's nice to spend a day or two like this." Snape even practiced on his broom for a bit just before lunch. He wanted to try out a few things for next time.

The afternoon waned. It was dinnertime all too soon. Yet he dare not count on having next week to dither, so he sent a note by Winky to his godson. It was the perfect occasion to pass on the charmed book. "I know you are still not worried enough about your aunt or her possible influence on you," Severus said as they ate from trays Winky had brought them in his quarters. "But I am. I want you to have this, and to keep this on your person, especially when the apprenticeships are changed. It's a book of potions, most of which are quite beyond your ability, so please don't try them. However, I have a sentimental attachment to the volume, or why I want to give it to you."

The young man thanked him profusely. Once Draco held the charmed volume in his hands, his face brightened. Snape felt the bond between them increase. _Let me hold you in my mind the way I once held you in my arms,_ he thought.

His godson riffled through the pages. "It's all in Latin!" he cried in mock lament.

"So it is. Many of the classic potions still haven't been translated. A pity Muggles don't seem to learn the language any more." That ought to calm the boy's jealousy over Miss Granger. He decided not to mention that she would undoubtedly take lessons as soon as she knew she needed them, and surpass the rest as she normally did.

Draco grinned. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to review a little grammar. As for my aunt, what should I tell her?"

"Why, the same as in all your other letters to her," Snape said with a smile. "I have grown disgustingly soft this year. If confronted, I shall, of course, blame my changed attitude on the Headmaster, or on being sodden with Pomfrey's potions. Apparently she has put me on a higher than standard dose of mood enhancers to make up for the effects of the detoxicant and my normally sour disposition."

His godson looked thoughtful. "Shall I attempt to take a peek at your records the next time I do a detention in the infirmary?"

"Certainly, though do not blame me for any increase in the number of bedpans to be washed if you are caught," Severus said. "With any luck, your aunt is unaware the Dark Lord knows about both the Headmaster and the Swiss. However, your Mark may be reinforced soon, and a binding put on it from Madam Lestrange. That will likely hurt as much as it did last summer. It is also possible we may lose the connection we've had since then."

"But Weasley and Edgecombe were able to help us with the ritual when you were so badly hurt, even though they're apprentices to others."

"True." Even now it was best to keep the secret of his link to the non-Slytherins of the group. "But put away the book for now. Be sure to study it, however. Your skills may be needed sooner than you think." _I will have the boy with me when I brew the Wolfsbane this time and Miss Granger the next, even if they miss classes for it. _He remembered how even Dumbledore was unable to obtain the Wolfsbane Potion just before the beginning of school. He could not leave any student defenseless against their beloved DADA instructor.

As if on cue, his arm began to hurt. Snape sensed Draco's arm did as well. For a moment, the Potions Master closed his eyes and attempted to find out if he could determine who else was being summoned. Only a faint echo came back—probably Miss Edgecombe or Percy Weasley then, and given the circumstances, mostly likely the Ravenclaw.

His godson looked at him with concern when he opened his eyes again. "Put the book in your cloak pocket," Snape said. He was glad he'd had this meal early. "Bring your robe and mask, but don't put them on. I suspect only Miss Edgecombe will be coming with us, and I will tell her the same thing."

He left a note for the Headmaster. As he and Draco departed, he was reassured that they were the only Slytherins being summoned. Once outside and headed towards the Forbidden Forest, one other figure attempted to keep up with them. Despite the increasing pain in his arm, he stopped and allowed whoever it was to catch up.

It was Miss Edgecombe. "Do we put the mask and robe on now or when we get there?" she asked abruptly once she was able to speak to them. Her face was stiff with fear and her hands shook.

"Wait till we arrive," Snape said. "And be happy Miss Parkinson prevented you from destroying them. Now let us proceed. It would appear only the three of us are being called."

They went past the anti-Apparation barriers and let the Mark take them to their destination. Severus understood the girl's fear. He felt it tonight as well. He should be grateful to Flitwick for pointing out another interpretation of Trelawney's prophecy. _I wanted to accept Sybil's words at face value,_ he thought. _Oh, Merlin, if I see another Christmas I won't waste it in the dungeons._ Talking with Hagrid had helped him remember some holidays that had gone well. _I shall down a bucket of Pomfrey's vile brews if that's the only way I can stop wallowing in misery. Maybe I'm just delusional, but there has to be a better way to spend the rest of my life._

Of course, he had to live that long first.

After Apparating, Snape and the others found themselves in a partly ruined hall. Snape donned his mask and robe, and made sure the others did likewise. He didn't recognize the house. It could be the remains of Riddle Manor, or a Muggle place abandoned by its inhabitants. The illuminated parts looked well enough, though.

He advanced forward towards a makeshift throne where the Dark Lord sat, Nagini next to him. Pettigrew was nowhere to be seen. Only Bella Lestrange stood at Voldemort's right hand, her face half in shadow. The contrasting light and dark aged her even more than Azkaban had done. Then again, his youth was gone as well.

Snape knelt when he'd gone as close as he dared. He knew without looking that both Draco and Miss Edgecombe had done the same. When he'd been their age, being forced to hold this position for more than a minute or two drove him into a fury. _I hope the boy will have more patience,_ he thought. He could count on the girl to want to delay this meeting as long as possible.

He waited. The Dark Lord's mind battered into his, but he remained firmly in control. Pretending to give way before the assault allowed him to keep his real thoughts behind strong, invisible walls. The Potions Master allowed part of his fear over what Flitwick had told him to escape. Voldemort would smell the emotion, but think his own mightiness the reason. Indeed, fear was one's friend in such a place. Even the Boy-Who-Lived had had the sense to panic when faced with the newly resurrected Dark Lord.

"Rise, Severus," hissed the serpentine wizard. "And you others as well. Remove your masks and robes. We know each other well here."

Snape obeyed and trusted his students to do so. "My lord, what would you have of us?" he asked.

"Come forward," Riddle commanded.

The Head of Slytherin led the other two, though he was aware how close behind him they were. _It's not safe close to me,_ he thought. _Nothing here is._

The Dark Lord smiled, then became sober. "We are here to settle this matter and create greater harmony among us, a harmony which could have been shattered by the events of two weeks ago. Macnair, come forth."

Walden Macnair emerged from behind the throne without either mask or robe of his own. He knelt, head bowed. He also kept quiet, which showed unusual intelligence from him.

"Miss Edgecombe, is this the man?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes, my lord," the girl said in a toneless voice. "I saw him very closely." Her face was deathly pale, and her eyes blank, as though she was sleepwalking.

"_Crucio!_" the Dark Lord snapped, as his wand flashed. Macnair fell to the ground and shuddered silently. Then Voldemort stopped the spell. "I know you have lost something precious permanently, my dear, but accept the increase in your dowry and this token in exchange."

"I do, my lord." She smiled a little, then dropped a curtsey. "I am satisfied, my lord."

Snape didn't need to use Legilimens to hear the added _For now_ from the chit.

The Dark Lord dismissed Macnair, who left abruptly, his firm lips set in a thin line. "Now come even closer. I have heard from others that Professor Snape watched over your safety with greater care than she who is your mistress. Is this true?"

"Yes, my lord." The Ravenclaw stepped forward, though she was obviously still frightened. Yet her face was not as blank as before.

"Then he shall be your master instead. It is not right for him to shoulder the responsibility and yet not have the authority. The two should go hand in hand. Severus, bare your arm Bella, you too." Miss Edgecombe also did so without being told.

First, the Dark Lord made a motion over the woman's arm, and then the girl's. Bella wrinkled her nose, and then sighed. "Well, that's over," she said and stepped back. Snape dreaded exposure of how he had linked himself to the student last summer, but nothing was said.

Then Voldemort lay his wand on his own Mark, bringing it to painful life, and once more on Miss Edgecombe's, who bit her lip but kept quiet.

The procedure did strengthen the bond between them. Now Severus could 'feel' her presence more strongly than he did most of his Slytherins. Apparently the binding was additive.

The Dark Lord smiled again. "Now you are master and apprentice. Show yourselves worthy of the power that will someday be yours. Severus, your burden is heavy, yet I believe you will exercise your authority properly." Then he faced the girl. "Miss Edgecombe, he is your master. Your professor was once an apprentice himself, but now is part of the Inner Circle through his sacrifice and devotion to our cause. Show yourself obedient and trustworthy and you shall yet rise further than you dreamed possible."

Voldemort dismissed Miss Edgecombe and sent her to a small table over to one side of the room with food on it. "Bella, are you ready to take on a different responsibility?"

She stepped forward again. "Yes, my lord."

Snape made ready to give up the apprenticeship bond he had with his godson.

"Draco Malfoy, come forward," the Dark Lord commanded. The young man did as he was told, then bowed.

"Are you ready to be as loyal to your new mistress as you were to your current master?"

"Yes, my lord."

"It is not usual to change apprentices in this manner. Are you willing to do so?"

"Yes, my lord. The call of blood to blood is strong." The boy looked eager.

Snape felt unhappy about this. It wasn't safe for _anyone_ to be Lestrange's apprentice, but at least the boy was sticking to the script.

Voldemort nodded, and Bella looked smug. At first, the Dark Lord repeated the procedure he'd done with the woman and Miss Edgecombe. Severus mourned the loss of his link through the Mark to Draco, and despite the cheerful look on the face of the young Slytherin, he knew the boy felt the same way. He was glad he'd reinforced the other connection between them through the charmed book tonight. Severus stepped back now.

Then Riddle spoke again. "It is hard to deny the demands of the blood, young dragon," he began. "The ancient houses of Black and Malfoy are combined in you. Try to be worthy of them." His wand dipped again and Draco went white as Voldemort muttered a spell. It was Bella's turn to look pale as the Dark Lord's wand burned her Mark nearly black.

"You are now mistress and apprentice. Each of you has responsibility to the other, one to guide and inform, the other to obey. Let the bond of blood you share reinforce your duty to each other."

Something was wrong. _Breathe, Draco, breathe,_ Snape thought fearfully as his godson's eyes went wide and the veins on his neck stood out. _Think of the book, think of the bond that still stands between us and always will._ He could strangle Albus with his bare hands just now, knowing it was the Phoenix Breath reacting to the new infusion of darkness. Snape barely restrained himself from rushing over and pounding the boy on the back.

Bella did nothing, and looked equally paralyzed. Then Draco finally gasped for air and his color returned to normal. His aunt did likewise. That was odd. The Potions Master thought he understood why the boy was affected, but why his new mistress?

"I have placed a Reciprocity Charm on both of you," Voldemort said, who also seemed puzzled. "Anything that affects one will touch the other as well. Remember that, my Bella, should you lose your temper with your apprentice, or neglect him as you did the other one."

_Ah. That explains it._ Snape relaxed. He couldn't tell Moody about this, of course, or the Auror might consider losing Draco a fair exchange for disposing of Madam Lestrange. He also heard what the Dark Lord didn't say. Bella was now safe from him, as well.

"Let us eat to honor this ritual," his master said as he stepped down from the throne. "After all, we are a family of sorts."

It was an odd banquet, with the Dark Lord at the head of the small table, Lestrange next to him acting as hostess, and Draco next to her, while Miss Edgecombe sat next to him. Nagini was off somewhere else, or lay hidden in the shadows, while Pettigrew was nowhere to be seen. Snape did his best to gag down a few bites of the food. He noticed his new apprentice was having the same difficulty, though his godson did not, despite the hearty dinner already eaten.

Oddly enough, Voldemort picked at his plate as well. _We're all playing at being a family here. From what Dumbledore has said, the Dark Lord has had less experience at it then anyone here, including me._ The Potions Master showed more patience with the farce after that thought, though he wondered what Draco was whispering to his aunt.

Their master rose to show that he was finished. Naturally everyone else followed. "Severus," he said, "I won't keep the children much longer. I wish for you to stay behind, however, once I have sent these two apprentices back."

"I will gladly escort Miss Edgecombe," Draco said with a quick bow.

"Then do so." The Dark Lord placed his wand on his chest and the two students disappeared, no doubt deposited somewhere in the Forbidden Forest.

Snape bent his knee. "What would you have of me, my lord?" His blood chilled as he considered the possibilities, though he kept his face blank. He hadn't forgotten the way Voldemort had stroked his hair at an earlier meeting. _Perhaps he wants Bella amused,_ he thought, though that could be just as bad from what he knew of her tastes.

"You now have the rest of the evening out from under the old fool's eye," the Dark Lord said. "A teacher's life is regulated, especially one who is the head of a House. It must be difficult for you to avoid temptation from the forbidden fruit around you. Earlier this year I promised you entertainment unmarred by blood or pain. It is a pity you could not have stayed later at Malfoy Manor, but Dumbledore stuck you with the werewolf for your chaperone. I do hope Mrs. Malfoy remembered to tell you about the treat I have waiting for you?"

"Yes, my lord." Snape patted the pocket where the envelope given him still lay.

"I suspect she would rather offer you more _personal_ hospitality, but I am glad she followed my suggestion."

"She is a dear friend, and I would not think of putting her in danger through my own self-indulgence," Severus said.

"How like Lucius to stick you with the chore, knowing you can't have her," Bella said with a harsh laugh. She looked at him with a collector's eyes.

Snape remembered the rivalry between the sisters at Hogwarts, which he'd tried to watch from a safe distance, and wished himself a hundred miles from here.

"You have grown wise, Severus," Voldemort said. "Take the envelope out."

He'd touched it before with no ill effect, so that should be safe. Snape did as he was told. "I have not opened it, my lord. I suspect the paper inside is not what it seems."

"You would be right. It will take you to a place and a woman I think will suit you. I hope your health allows you to enjoy your visit."

"I shall certainly try." Snape knew he should use the paper, and then decide. The Dark Lord did not care for people who spurned his gifts.

"Then I am finished with you tonight. Enjoy yourself, my Shadow."

Severus bowed his head and hoped he would never have to repay this debt in the coin he knew his master wanted. "Thank you, my lord," he said, and ignored the contemptuous look Bella gave him. He opened the envelope, touched the piece of paper, and the hall vanished.

Suddenly he was outside the door of a dingy building close to the other end of Knockturn Alley, where it intersected with Muggle London. _I could go now,_ he thought. _I should return to the school and take up my duties. Albus will be worried, and I still want to talk to him about what nearly happened to Draco. _

He almost stepped forward and knocked on the door anyway. Even if he couldn't respond, he could still enjoy a couple of hours pretending he wasn't on the chopping block. And yet…just because his godson and the Ravenclaw girl had been sent away, he dare not assume they were safe. Snape looked up and down the street. He didn't know this end of the place as well as he did the parts closer to Diagon Alley. A tavern less than a block away echoed with drunken noise. Perhaps he could hire the use of their Floo for a few moments.

Severus put the paper back into the envelope and the envelope into his cloak pocket, then ducked into the place. He ordered a Firewhiskey, though he had no intention of drinking it, then spoke to the bartender. Some coins changed hands. He was led to a back room with a fireplace and a can of powder. He put up a silencing spell around him, and said, "Headmaster's office, Hogwarts." At first the flames remained the same. Dumbledore might have retired for the night, though it was still early. Then the old wizard's face appeared.

"Severus! Is everything all right?"

"Yes, Headmaster. Have Mr. Malfoy and Miss Edgecombe returned safely? They were sent to the Forbidden Forest after the exchange of apprentices took place"

"I don't know. I will send Fawkes out to Hagrid to find out."

"While we wait, I need to tell you what happened. Mr. Malfoy, Miss Edgecombe, and I were summoned, and none of the others. I arrived in a ruined hall. The Dark Lord was there, and so was Mrs. Lestrange."

Albus interrupted. "I would rather you were here to discuss that, rather than trusting to the Floo system."

Severus felt his face grow hot. "It's just…just that if the students are safe, I would like to use a late ticket. I know it is Sunday night. If...if I must, I will return to report, but of course some emergency will undoubtedly arise, and make it impossible for me to play truant."

The Headmaster looked unhappy. "I would like to, but I don't see how. You should know by now the responsibilities of a Head of House, especially one in your situation, demand some sacrifices. If you return to make your report, make sure all is snug in Slytherin, and then still wish to go, of course I shan't stand in your way. However, it would be best if you didn't overestimate your strength. I am glad you contacted me, though, to make sure of your apprentices' welfare."

_No wonder Flitwick is known to disappear twice a week like clockwork if this is the sort of answer _he_ hears whenever he bothers to ask,_ Snape thought angrily. _So much for the old man's promises! I could be lying naked on the floor while the Dark Lord and Bella did whatever they pleased, and that's just fine, but request something for myself and it's so hedged with conditions the permission is meaningless!_ He looked down at the floor. "I will do as you say, Headmaster," he replied in a dull voice. He'd use Voldemort's gift later, at a time of _his_ choosing. All he wanted was a few hours where he could pretend to be a man. Obviously, that was too much to ask. It would be useless to tell Albus the truth about the Dark Lord's gift, as the old wizard would never believe it.

He lifted his eyes and noticed Dumbledore was turned away, as if talking to someone else. No doubt Fawkes had returned.

Albus finished his other conversation, then looked back at Snape. "Both Mr. Malfoy and Miss Edgecombe have arrived safely," he said. "Professor Flitwick has been assured of the girl's return and will look the other way as she goes back to her dormitory. Mr. Malfoy will report to me—Hagrid will bring him to me for being outdoors after hours—and you should complete your report to me once you return from your er, recreation. I apologize for forgetting my promise to you, Severus. I should not have taken undue advantage of my authority over you."

He blinked at the unexpected reprieve. "Thank you, Headmaster," he said, and cut the connection before the old wizard could change his mind again. It galled him to have to beg for something that was every man's right, but at this moment he realized he should remember he was a Slytherin. It was enough to have what he wanted this time. Flitwick could talk of contracts all he wanted, but his terms of employment were different, and always would be.

Severus canceled the silencing spell, left the private room with the Floo, threw a bit more money at the barkeeper as a aid to the man's future lack of memory, and hastened back towards the nondescript door. This time he _did_ knock, and rather firmly, too. It opened, and he was escorted into plush surroundings that seemed half a world away from the slum outside.

"We've been expecting you, sir," said the older woman in the reception area, who seemed impressed by the envelope and the blank piece of paper. No doubt it was charmed for her eyes only, as well as being a Portkey. "Margot is resting after her previous client, but she will be glad to help you in just a little while. Please sit and have some tea."

No doubt this Margot found her work exhausting. It had been a long day, all things considered, and hers was probably just beginning. He had a sudden vision of making this unknown woman grade essays, just from pure sadism. Snape gladly accepted the hot spiced tea that had only a hint of lust potion in it. _Cinnamon,_ he thought. _Cinnamon. I remember the way Molly Weasley smelled just as she left the safe house a couple of weeks ago. It was like a burst of summer afternoon, with the sound of honeybees mixed in. Arthur is a lucky man. I hope he knows it. _As he waited, he wondered what was special about this Margot.

He had just finished his tea and was beginning to feel he might not be wasting his time here after all when the older woman returned. "She's ready to see you now, sir," she said.

Snape appreciated how careful she was to use no names. Such knowledge could be deadly, and not only in Knockturn Alley. However, he suspected that if Moody went asking for a lean, hook-nosed man tomorrow morning that the Auror would not have a difficult time discovering this place. No doubt Mad-Eye had someone on watch outside already.

He smiled to himself as he stood and walked down the hall to the second door on the left. If nothing else he'd have a few pleasant hours being waited on and cosseted by a woman, even if he was too tired for anything else. Besides, he remembered Lowenstein's report. He had no desire to poison anyone, not even a whore, with his toxic emissions.

Snape briefly speculated this was all a trap, but dismissed the thought. The Dark Lord could kill him with his wand, or leave him in torment for hours, or even days. Why would he delegate the fun? Besides, as a member of the Inner Circle only Voldemort or another member would have the right to hex him anyway. Rank had some privileges.

He walked into the room, which was a lavishly appointed bedchamber that even Lucius would approve of. He felt awkward and shabby in such quarters, as he always did, but kept his composure anyway.

The nondescript woman, whose hair was so light brown and flyaway it almost had no color at all, smiled at him. "Welcome to my room, my lord," she said. "I have a selection of hairs and a vial of Polyjuice. For the next two hours I can be whatever woman you like."

He gazed at the small table in fascination. Small pictures of different women were set in a row, along with a hair that lay by each one. _How in Merlin's name did someone manage to steal a hair from Narcissa Malfoy? Someone must_ _have bribed the hairdresser. _He knew which one he was supposed to choose, now. For a moment he stared at a dark-haired one, who resembled Bella when she was younger. _No,_ he thought. He looked at the rest of them. One of the other women was red-haired—but not as plump as he would like. He suddenly remembered the single red hair that lay inside his usual outdoor cloak. "Turn your back for just a moment," he said. "It won't take me long to decide." He quickly searched inside the inner pocket, found the hair, and quickly exchanged it for the one on the table. _I shouldn't do this, I shouldn't do this, but I'm going to anyway,_ he thought with a thrill. "Turn around now," he said, and pointed at the redhead. "This one," he said. Snape quickly reinforced the wards. If he were doing the spying, he would have charmed the mirror, so gave it an extra spell on top of the rest. This was for _him_, and anyone else could go hang.

Margot took the hair, dropped it into a vial, and then changed. Fortunately she was wearing only a loose wrapper, and a few moments later, a look of surprise.

"I am sorry I surprised you," Snape said, as she clearly realized she was someone different than the woman in the picture. "I also must warn you that I am on a potions regime that causes me problems that could also affect you."

"Not eating causes me more of them," she said in a close approximation of Molly's rich voice, though without the lilting accent he was used to.

He moved closer to her, glad she did not feel the need to overpower any bystanders with her perfume, and put his arms around her plump shoulders. She had red hair and freckles everywhere now, and bright blue eyes instead of hazel ones. "_Molly,"_ he whispered hoarsely.

"Happy with what you see, my lord?"

"Oh, yes," he said. "You're perfect!" He pulled her into an embrace as he would never dare with the real version.

After a moment he realized her enthusiasm was only feigned. Back to reality. He let her go and said, "Order us a big supper…and fuss over me for not eating enough." His voice shook. He could have anything he wanted here. For a moment he hesitated. Then he decided to ask anyway. She would probably think it somewhat odd, but wouldn't mind. "After we're done with that, then here's what I want you to do…"

Filius Flitwick

He ground his teeth in fury as he listened to the Headmaster and Snape talk on the Floo, while remaining out of sight himself. It was obvious the older wizard had quite forgotten everything he'd learned in the Grindelwald War.

Flitwick was just about to interrupt when Fawkes did it for him, bearing a note. Filius took the note from the phoenix, and read it for himself. Then he threw out a quick silencing spell. "First of all, the students are all right. Hagrid found them and is bringing them in. I'll speak to Miss Edgecombe tomorrow, and perhaps you should speak to Draco tonight."

Dumbledore looked puzzled. "But Snape will be able to tell me everything."

"He can do that tomorrow morning. Damn you, Albus, have you forgotten _everything_? He doesn't have much time. He's trying to follow your silly ass rules, and this is his reward! Give him leave now, and he'll return. Keep jerking his chain and one day he'll break it."

Flitwick cancelled the silencing spell and listened to Albus change his mind. The flames died down.

"Now explain to me why this is so important, Filius."

The smaller wizard clambered back up into the chair by the Headmaster's desk as Dumbledore wearily settled back down into his behind it. He answered the old wizard by asking a question. "What were you doing with your life when you were thirty-five?"

Albus blinked. "Pursuing a Mastery in Potions. I was married to Muriel, then, and she complained of the smell."

"Snape isn't married, and he's in danger of his life. He's just been told it may be shorter than everybody thinks. He's been laying waste to half the Forbidden Forest by way of the Room of Requirement, and he nearly won a two-on-one duel yesterday afternoon. Was it your idea for Lupin to bring Mr. Potter along?"

"No, actually, though I think it was a good one," Dumbledore said.

"Three on one, then, and at least one person that he dare not hurt. He still managed a fair fight, even the werewolf admitted that. And you have the _gall_ to deny him a few hours of respite from all this? He has the right to them, unless his contract reads differently than mine does." Flitwick looked at the Headmaster, and wondered what was in Snape's file. "I've heard rumors from Pomfrey about Lucius Malfoy,' he said slowly. "If they're anywhere close to the truth, you have no right to say _anything_ about Snape's personal life. Merlin knows he won't touch a student. But his time is short, and could be shorter. Press him too hard, and he might remember three of his apprentices are girls." Flitwick hated to use that threat, as he knew Snape would cut it off rather than touch a student. But something had to be done to get the Headmaster's attention. "At some point, he's going to remember that he has absolutely nothing to lose. Let's let him believe we still care about him for a while longer, shall we? Surely you can pretend for a couple of months."

"You have no right to speak to me like that." Dumbledore was furious.

"Yes, I do. I am a head of House of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Magic, and I was inducted under the Headmastership of Armando Dippet. My contract is to the school, not you personally. I am also a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and it is my duty to speak out when something terribly wrong is about to happen. _You_ are lucky not to be in Azkaban yourself, Headmaster, after that Imperius spell. We have only your word it was necessary to keep Snape from going mad permanently. You may think a few hours away from here are meaningless, but for Snape they could mean the difference between going to his death for the sake of the Order willingly or breaking before he can do what needs to be done. We've done damn little to make him care about us before this summer, yet he's still here. If there is anyone who could successfully run away from the Dark Lord, it would be Snape. He might have to lose his left arm to do it, but he might think it worth the cost if we don't give him reason to sacrifice himself."

He paused for a moment. Better to sugar the pill. "Albus, I know you didn't take away his lolly out of spite. I know you're worried about his health. But at some point he needs to be the best judge of that. He's not eleven years old any more, and if a few hours away keeps him better tempered, then maybe he should have kept a woman in Hogsmeade years ago." Filius braced himself for the old wizard's reaction for this next statement. "I know your sons never grew old enough to marry," he said softly. "But at some time they would have. Snape is a grown man and at some point he needs to remind himself of it."

The Headmaster visibly sagged. "Oh, Merlin," he said in a whisper. "Just last night I promised to help him find all the joy he wanted. And the first thing I do when he finally asks something for himself is to deny it. I really do need a keeper where he's concerned."

"It's not the end of the world," Flitwick assured the old man. "I doubt he'll bother telling you the next time he's out for a night on the tiles, though, and that could be a problem. You'll have to give him a way to let you know without the ability to stop him, because I very much doubt he'll trust you on that subject again. I really don't think he'd ever bother a student, but if all that sap has no place to go, he's going to start losing his temper in class again or while he's dueling, and you'll land on him for that, too. Again, he doesn't have much time. Why make what's left harder for him than it has to be?"

Albus grimaced. "You're right. We've had similar arrangements in the past when a teacher was married, but for some reason the wife or husband could not live here. By the way, how is your dear Lucille?"

Flitwick blinked. He was certain his arrangement with her for Tuesday and Thursday nights had been so discreet and his talk of other women so blatant that his secret was safe. "Er…fine. Why do you ask?"

"Don't you think it's time you made an honest woman of her? How long has it been going on now, ten or so years?"

Just when he thought he understood Dumbledore's limits, he was caught out. "She doesn't want to marry, Headmaster. Says she wants the freedom of her own shop and to ah, have other visitors if she pleases." In fact, he had rather hoped Snape would call her bluff by showing up with a bottle of apricot liqueur.

"I must admire the way you have your students organized into seminars for both nights," Albus added. "Not only does it keep them out of trouble, it improves their academic standings. I first noticed something odd when going over Filch's detention schedules. It seemed he understands you are not to be called on for those nights."

"You have me at a loss, Headmaster. However, that doesn't change Snape's situation."

"You are quite right," Dumbledore said, a sad look on his face. 'I just wanted to let you know that I am not altogether blind to that side of life, even at my age. You seem to have matters well in hand. However, if a school or Order emergency arises, you will receive an owl there and you had best respond as quickly as possible."

"Yes, Headmaster," Flitwick said crisply. "You are in the right. I have been forgetting it's wartime myself. May I open a Floo connection there? Travel time could make a difference."

"I hate to allow it, as I think there are too many ways of accessing the school already, but yes, I suppose you're right. But it must blocked whenever it's not actually in use. There are extra wards on the tunnel to Honeydukes now to block entry, though it can still be used for evacuation if necessary. What about the passageway to Flourish & Blott's from Ravenclaw?"

"Same thing, and I made sure the house elves know about it, too. I've kept the spider hall from Ravenclaw to Slytherin open, though, but I have a charm set up in case a student is in difficulty. Frankly, most students find Arbella easy enough to bribe it's not usually a problem. Miss Edgecombe may need to seek out Professor Snape, especially if she is to be his apprentice. She will not talk to me."

"We both mishandled that situation," Dumbledore said with a sigh.

"Given the rumors about what happened in the Gryffindor common room after the girl's suicide attempt, I believe Miss Granger thinks so as well. I've noticed her fellows tend to find her…intimidating. That's a situation you and Minerva will have to manage, though."

"I know." The ancient wizard looked exhausted.

"But not tonight." He heard footsteps outside—one set of huge clumps, and a patter of smaller steps. "I should leave now, Headmaster. I daresay you need to speak to Mr. Malfoy and Hagrid without my presence." Flitwick slipped out one of the back ways. A good thing Umbridge had not known of them last year!

Voldemort

The Dark Lord fumed silently as he looked into the spyglass, which was linked to the mirror in the whore's room. It had worked perfectly as first. He would give one of his eyeteeth to know whose hair Snape had substituted for the one on the table. But just as the woman began to drink the potion, his liegeman had reinforced the wards on the place, and especially on the mirror. That had turned the scene from crisp color to blurred black and white, and had distorted the sound completely. He couldn't tell what the woman's face was, only that she was plump with abundant hair, and didn't understand a word of what either one said.

Bella yawned. He knew she was only pretending to be bored. "I am sorry the woman of his dreams isn't you, my dear. But he could have chosen your sister, and didn't." He knew her secret longings.

"I'll live," she snarled. "I just want my Rodolphus back! We were married only a couple of years before we were sent to prison. We didn't even have one night together before the Ministry Raid…" She blanched as she realized the implied rebuke.

"I know, my dear. That is my fault." He gently caressed her throat with one leathery hand. "I fear I was a little overenthusiastic about that wretched prophecy. I have learned my lesson. But we are more prepared this time. The werewolves will take the brunt of the assault, while our Dementors open the way." He glanced down at the spyglass again. Now the merry couple were eating. Snape was showing much better appetite than he had here. _I should feel insulted, I suppose, but no doubt he was on edge over his apprentices. That was an unusual reaction young Malfoy had, and with the Reciprocity spell it washed over to Bella. I should research the effects of changing apprentices, as it is so rare._

As he watched, he felt a stirring of jealousy that Snape was still human enough to enjoy being with a woman. His only participation in such things these days was vicariously. Macnair was his usual vessel, though unfortunately not during the last meeting. _If I had been riding along, I certainly would have stopped him from raping the Edgecombe girl!_ Of course the idiot hadn't recognized her without a cloak or mask on.

A pity Bella ached for a man she could not have, whether her husband or the Potions Master. Snape still belonged to Lucius, though, and apparently needed any little escapades away from that bond to be with someone as different as possible. Voldemort thought that was the real reason Narcissa was so carefully guarded, despite her own obvious wishes.

Then Bella began hooting with laughter as she looked down into the glass. The Dark Lord observed with her. The woman had finished bathing Snape, had wrapped him in a robe and was apparently singing him a lullaby as she tucked him into bed.

Tom Riddle didn't think it was funny at all. "Some men like to be mothered, my dear." He turned away, consumed with envy. Dark wizards bent on world conquest could not admit weakness, not even to a woman who could be Obliviated afterwards.

"Well, he didn't have much of it from that drunken Russian whore," she said. "Snape would hex anybody who even hinted at it, but he had to have known."

Even a drunken whore was better than the orphanage. Marya Snape had found the fees for books and Hogwarts for her son while she lived, no matter how she'd done it. That idiot husband of hers had gone haring off after false recipes for the Philospher's Stone and ruined what little was left of the family fortune. Even with that unpleasant bastard across the street, Voldemort thought Snape had had the better of it compared to the orphanage. _I so enjoyed killing the gin-seller,_ the Dark Lord thought. _A pity Snape couldn't have done it, but he had to have an unbreakable alibi as he would have been the first one suspected. Even the worm's daughter was glad to see him go._

He put away the spyglass. "I've think we've seen enough."

"I know I have!" Bella laughed again. "I thought he was a man, not a baby."

"He was man enough at the last meeting," he commented mildly. That should stop her for a little while. _I know what is really wrong with you._ "But I have neglected you, my dear," he said, tickling her throat again with his fingers.

Her face burned red. "Oh, my lord…but I shouldn't."

"You are not betraying your husband by accepting this simple gift," he said. Voldemort hissed in Parseltongue to one of the lesser serpents that guarded this house. "Just sit in this chair. After all, you are sworn to me body and soul. It is only right I take care of your needs in this way." It made things easier to know she rarely wore knickers under her long robes. She would feel less of a traitor to her husband if things merely _happened_ to her.

Her breathing grew faster in anticipation as he bent over from his own seat and licked her thin neck with his tongue. It had been a long time since he'd fed this way from anyone. Perhaps too long. A woman's passion tasted different than a man's, but was still as sweet.

Bella took a deep, ragged breath as she clearly felt the touch of the snake creeping up her leg. Up her thigh. And deeper. Voldemort continued licking her neck to maintain the connection between them. Warmth grew in his chest, and moved lower as he felt her growing excitement. Perhaps…perhaps this time _his_ body would truly respond as well.

Then both of them shattered as Bella slumped in the chair and cried out loud. Riddle didn't know if the spike of joy was hers, his, or belonged to them both, and just now didn't care. Maybe it was his imagination, but was there some moisture in his groin this time? No doubt it was just sweat, but he could dream for now it was something else.

He hissed a command to the snake to withdraw. Bella lay limp on his shoulder and panted. "Oh, my lord," she said, in the sweet voice she used only when she was truly satisfied. "You are too good to me!"

_No wonder Rodolphus always struggled so hard to please her, if only to hear her this way,_ Voldemort thought. Once recovered, he quickly spelled them both clean and fresh again. If he didn't have to look, he could pretend to himself that this body would allow him to be a man again someday. Also, he did not want his Bella harmed by the filth of the snake.

"Now, my dear," he said in a more business-like tone. "We need to talk about the assault on Azkaban."

"Yes!" Her eyes were bright and eager. "I hope it will be soon."

"I would like it to be two full moons from now. I want to try out the werewolves first, before risking them in an attack on the prison."

"But the weather, my lord—the weather is harsh there now. What will it be like in a month or so from now?"

"That part shouldn't matter. The prisoners who were there from before are recovering from being around Dementors, and will only gain strength over time. Others, like Malfoy, aren't being harshly treated anyway. They should be able to endure the place a bit longer. No, my dear, a trial run is best. We should have done as much at the Ministry."

"You're right, my lord. But I can hardly wait!"

"You will have to learn how, my dear. You are not to go on this raid. I must, to control the Dementors, and Nagini will accompany me. I shall choose a few others, perhaps. But neither you nor Snape will go."

"Why? Who better to help rescue those inside? Snape will want his Luscious Lucius, and I wish to see my husband again as soon as possible!" Her eyes flashed.

"Snape's health is not good, despite what we saw tonight. His position at Hogwarts is too valuable to risk. He is busy enough already on the guardianship case for the Potter boy. If we win that first, then we'll have everything we want. Fudge could easily be persuaded to release the prisoners if all hope for that fool Dumbledore is gone. We won't have to lift a finger. I also want the apprentices to have more training before they are blooded. Next summer will be soon enough for that. We have time, Bella. We have all the time in the world. The old fool cannot live forever, and he's beginning to fail."

"But what about me?" she asked.

"I cannot risk _you_. There will be some danger, of course, but I have extra wands. Once the prisoners are out of the cells, they'll be able to do their own fighting. The werewolves will distract the outside guards, while the Dementors will paralyze those inside. Bella, you have suffered enough from what those creatures have done to you. I know you would gladly go, despite the cost to yourself, but it's not necessary, the same way I shall not require it of Snape. Werewolves are to him the way Dementors are to you."

If Bella was convinced the next full moon was just a practice run, then everyone else would believe it as well. He knew there were leaks in his organization, just as there were in the Order and the Ministry. One could go mad searching for traitors, and end up killing half one's friends that way.

For a long time he had suspected Snape. Lucius could not keep his mouth shut, especially in bed. Last summer had convinced him otherwise. His Shadow's mind had nearly been torn in two between Dumbledore and himself, and still the man was loyal. Yet the old saying went, "Three may keep a secret if two are dead," although there were ways around that in the Wizarding World. Everyone had to think the next full moon was only a rehearsal. Severus would be in the hands of the Swiss, Bella would be safe here, and he would return in triumph with the freed captives. The werewolves, whether that dolt Lupin was involved or not, would receive their permanent reward at a later gathering.

"Sometimes I wish Snape couldn't persuade people the way he can," Bella grumbled. "I know we need him to present my sister's case, but it's just so _annoying_ the way he can talk others around."

"I hope you don't include me on that list, my dear."

"Of course not, my lord! If the touch of your mind on his is like that on mine, I'm sure he can't hide anything from you."

Voldemort rewarded her with a thin smile. "As long as you remember your place, and allow me to decide how to discipline those of the Inner Circle. However, if Snape fails to win the case, do feel free to come up with something appropriate. I remind you that you may not kill him, and I shall punish you harshly if you do."

Bella grinned. "I'll think of something, my lord. Now, if I may go?"

He watched her leave the hall. This was yet another reason he didn't want her and the Potions Master in combat together. Only one was likely to return, and he needed both of them to serve him. He was well aware of Snape's personal history with werewolves and Dementors, and asking the man to fight around both of them was asking for trouble. Bella was also likely to be adversely affected by the ghostly soul-eaters, and would offer that as an excuse for curses hurled at his Shadow. _I'd rather save them both for a battle that's more important._

Severus Snape

He almost whistled as he Apparated from Knockturn Alley to the edge of Hogwart's wards. Once Margot had tucked him into bed, he'd invited the woman to lie next to him, and things had turned out much better than he'd hoped. Even though she really wasn't Molly, diving into her warm flesh had been all he could wish for. It had been reassuring that his vigor hadn't been lost permanently because of what had happened, either from the potions or the sacrifice he'd had to make for the Inner Circle. He'd felt the presence of a protective spell on the woman, so hadn't worried as much as he probably ought about leaving his essence behind. It had stung a bit at his release, but Margot claimed not to feel a thing. He sighed, knowing she really hadn't, despite her feigned response to him. Fortunately the standard cleansing spell had worked on them both, since he couldn't use the regular potion for such any more.

He approached Hagrid's hut, thanked him for escorting Draco and Miss Edgecombe back, and went to the castle. Snape knew he would pay tomorrow for all this effort, but thought it was worth a few extra hours abed or lying in the reclining chair after class was over for the pleasure he'd had tonight. Some of the payment would come due now as he reported to the Headmaster.

Snape walked into the office and tried to not look quite so self-satisfied as he was invited to sit and have some tea. He hoped this would be quick—not only was he tired, but Albus looked weary as well. "Thank you for the time away," he said. If a few soft words made this meeting easier on the both of them, well, they cost him little enough.

"Er, yes," Dumbledore said. "I was not thinking properly to deny them to you in the first place. If…if you feel you must take more time for yourself in future, leave me a note where you can be contacted and go. Do try to use good judgment in choosing when, of course, and realize you may be called back for an emergency."

Severus blinked. He certainly wasn't expecting _this_. "Ah, thank you, sir," he said.

"We already trust you to leave and return whenever Riddle calls you. It would have been quite easy over the last year or so for you to pretend to be summoned and leave for such time as you wished. You have never done so. I should have remembered that earlier this evening."

"I…I've been tempted, Albus."

"You wouldn't have been human if you hadn't," the Headmaster said wryly. "Now, that taken care of, I have spoken with young Mr. Malfoy. Do you have anything to add to his report?"

"I worried a great deal when he started choking and couldn't breathe when his Mark was reinforced," Snape said. "I…I tried to give him strength through the other bond we have, and that apparently worked." He decided to tell all the truth about the incident. "The Dark Lord has put a Reciprocity bond between Draco and Madam Lestrange, and she began having trouble as well. Both of them were all right not long after, though. I don't think _he_ understands what happened, which is just as well. Albus…I would rather you didn't tell Moody about that part. He might think it a fair trade. Unfortunately, this protects her as well as him."

"Oh, dear. This could be a problem. Mad-Eye may _have_ to know, so she can be stunned rather than killed if she's in the middle of an attack."

Snape wished he'd thought of that. "You're right." He was glad now he'd been more forthcoming than usual. "Oh, and to save Moody time, the place I went was two doors down the street from the Drowned Duck on Knockturn Alley. He won't find out much from them, but I know he'll try to ask."

Albus smiled faintly. "Yes. I'm sure he will. However, I am a great deal more worried about Mr. Malfoy. He will need something he can carry about with him all the time, in case his new mistress calls him more often to his service, or she is harmed in some way."

Severus nodded. "I have the spoon that was his christening gift from me. If Flitwick could put an Affinity Charm on it as well, I could change it into a ring the boy could wear. Then he would have some protection all the time."

"Good. Well, it's been a long evening."

"Of course, Albus. You need your rest as well," he said. "I shall allow Winky to cosset me all day tomorrow between classes. Should I tell Minerva to assign an elf to you, too?"

The Headmaster smiled more happily this time. "Don't you dare. But I will rest."

There was a moment of silence. "Aren't we both terrible liars?" Snape said, finishing his tea. He'd taught on short commons before, though, and didn't mind this time.

Dumbledore laughed then. "Oh, Severus. I suppose we are. Now off to your bed and I to mine. Dream of her, whoever she was, and wake up happy."

"For once," Snape said, completing the unspoken thought. "I shall do my best." He rose from his seat and briefly embraced the old man. "Sleep well."

As he walked down to the dungeons, he knew he would.

Alastor Moody

The next morning, the retired Auror rapped at the door in Knockturn Alley just down from the tavern, like he'd been told. He doubted his reception would be as friendly as Snape's had been, but a quick display of his old Auror's sigil riveted their attention.

Then one scrawny woman with light brown hair came yawning into the reception room where the rest had gathered. "He said I was to give this note to the man with one eye and one leg," she said. "Looks to me like you're standing well enough."

"One of them is wooden," he said, and neatly rapped it.

"Oh, hard is it? You must be him, all right." She shoved a piece of paper at him.

He opened the folded note and read it.

_Moody—if you're here before noon, you're an inconsiderate bastard for not letting these women have their sleep out. I tried hard enough to keep one them awake long enough! I've decided there's something to the art and science of wand-waving after all. At least leave the girl a few Galleons for waking her up. If you really insist on all the details, wait till the next meeting._

_Severus Snape_

Mad-Eye sighed, and pulled out his pouch. He eyed the girl and tried to think of what her specialty could be. The Potions Master liked them plump and red-headed, and now he knew about Molly Weasley, it made more sense.

"Wait a minute," he said. "You're a juicer, aren't you?"

"So what if I am?" said the girl. "How did you know?"

"Washed out look. People get like that when they Poly too much." Crouch had certainly looked like hell during the last month or so of his own captivity. "I suppose you're not going to tell me who you were last night."

"I had a few extra—Sunday night is busier than people think," she said. "None of your business anyway. Now, love, sure there isn't someone you want me to look like?"

_It wouldn't work,_ he thought. A Metamorphagus's hair always returned to its normal color about five minutes after it was shed, and it wasn't right to think of Tonks that way, not with her so wrapped up with Kingsley. "No!" he said roughly. Besides, the girl's hair wouldn't stay bubblegum pink anyway. "Here's some money for your trouble."

"You'd be surprised who I can do," she said.

"Shut it, Margot, some of us want work too," complained one of the other girls.

"I am sorry to have bothered you," he said in an exasperated voice. "Do your hair-pulling after I'm gone." Moody slammed out of the place, disgusted with them and himself. _Dirty old man,_ he thought. _I'll be using my magical eye to peep into washrooms next. Still, if an ugly fart like Snape can have some fun, why can't I?_

He might be back after all. Who knew?


	54. Chapter 54: When Potions Attack

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Once more, thank you Snape's Nightie for Britpicking! And everyone think nice healing thoughts about zafaran, who is ill. Wish I had a hair from her when she was younger--I'd make a nice batch of Polyjuice and she could enjoy being healthy for a couple of hours.

Note: Over 1000 reviews, whee!

Chapter 54: When Potions Attack

Severus Snape

For the next week he continued feeling much better. Flitwick and he managed the spell on the baby spoon, and between the two of them turned it into a ring for Draco to wear. His godson accepted the gift without protest. The boy was no longer as sanguine about matters as he was before. Snape couldn't help seeing that as an improvement.

He, Lupin and Shacklebolt practiced dueling in the forest several times. At least these sessions were without Mr. Potter. The werewolf reported on the meetings he and his friends had had to the rest of the Order, while Snape sat back and tried to stop imagining Molly in his arms as she bustled about. He had no desire to return to Margot once he saw how different she had been from the real thing.

He was relieved when Lupin said the next full moon was to be only a practice run. The longer he could manage to live in denial that Lucius could escape, the better. It worried all of them that the Dark Lord was finally beginning to use his head about such raids.

The next weekend was entirely quiet, save for the Slytherin-Hufflepuff game. Winky fussed at him to wrap up warmly for it. The weather was clear and quite cold. Snape had gone outside when his schedule insisted on it, and even taken some turns on the broom Hooch lent him, but he knew the weather would not hold for long.

In fact, it became quite nasty the week before the full moon. It worked out well for his teaching schedule that the phenomenon was on a Saturday this time. Dumbledore insisted that he prepare for a stay in Switzerland anyway, and if he missed a few days afterwards that he was not to worry. During their meeting Sunday evening, which was also attended by Professor McGonagall, Albus said, "I would like to try out the editor from Potions Monthly the last week of October anyway. She has indicated interest in moving from her present position. I tried to warn her that she would be buried in paper anyway, but she said she was used to that. I know you are feeling better than you have been, but I'm worried about the reaction you may have when you start brewing the Wolfsbane again."

"So am I." Snape paused. "I am going to have Mr. Malfoy assist me as much as possible this time. He will lose time from his classes and some sleep, but if the weather continues this way, he shouldn't lose much from Quidditch. Now, wait—" he could see Minerva beginning to glower. "I intend to have Miss Granger assist me the month after that. Winky will be present most of the time, in case you're worried about her reputation. The next full moon after her attempt I will draw the name of a random member of the class and have one of them with me, although I will most likely end up with one of the Ravenclaws." It would be just his luck to draw Miss Lovegood.

"I see," Minerva said. "I am quite proud of her, you know."

"I don't blame you," he said, and enjoyed the stunned amazement in both her and Dumbledore's eyes at the unexpected compliment.

The meeting went like that, never touching on anything deeper. He thought he preferred it this way. As he left, he decided Albus was much more intelligent than he appeared to most. If he had been forced to return to Hogwarts a week ago, he would have found a way to visit the woman out of spite, if nothing else. Now he had been given the freedom he had wanted so much, he didn't feel the need to use his pass, at least not yet. Just knowing he was trusted to use his own judgment in such matters was enough thus far.

During the next few days, he remembered that tranquility with rueful nostalgia. The weather remained horrible as the days gained on towards Halloween. Some flying classes were held inside the Great Hall. Snape tried to remember what Sprout had told him about a tunnel to one of the greenhouses. In fact, Poppy caught him sitting up grading during his afternoon rest break. Severus didn't see the point, but followed the resting part of his regime more thoroughly after that. He had been working later than usual going over the possible legal challenges in regard to Narcissa's guardianship suit. In fact, he'd had several useful chats with Professor Binns over how his own research ought to be targeted.

He started the Wolfsbane potion with both Draco and Winky assisting him. He had his godson start his own cauldron, though he made a double batch in his own. Lupin was going to need more than usual this time, even if he and his friends were involved in only a practice run.

Snape felt the effects of the fumes immediately, and made notes. He found himself more prone to anger again over things that hadn't bothered him the week before. He tried not to lose his temper over Draco's errors. The boy was going on short commons himself trying to keep up with everything, and his mistakes normal ones for the first time working on the Wolfsbane all the way through.

By Thursday night, he was ready to hex everyone and everything in his path. Poppy caught him after dinner in the Great Hall and dragged him to her office. "I wish you didn't have to stay up all night with that nasty stuff," she said, as she examined him with her wand while they both sat in her office. "Your book has been quite informative about how you feel. I must admit, you have shown more restraint than I thought you would."

"I've made a list of the ingredients and the quantities," Snape said wearily. "It's worse than usual this time because I had to make a larger batch, and breathe in Malfoy's mistakes, never mind what the dunderheads are doing in class." He thought back to the vigor and calm he'd felt not too long ago with some nostalgia. "Speaking of the book, I'll need to take it with me tomorrow so I can show it to Lowenstein when I go to Switzerland."

"You should go there tonight," she fretted.

"Not with the potion unfinished. I hate to make Draco sit up, too, but he may need to know this sooner than anyone thinks."

"I would say you were becoming morbid again, except, well…"

"Call it realistic instead, Poppy," he said. "I hate this."

"So do I. At least this time you'll be cared for properly, and have a week off after, or so I understand. I do hope this woman from Potions Monthly works out."

"Madame Tranh is said to be quite competent," he said.

"Yes, but she hasn't dealt much with children. She may run screaming out the gates and swear never to leave Paris again." Madam Pomfrey put away her wand. "Well, I don't like your current condition, but I understand your worry about Remus. Have you had any wolf-flashes since you finished the book?"

"No," he said. "Although a lot of things make sense now. The Marauders were his pack, and I suppose I ought to be surprised he went against them as much as he did."

The mediwitch looked startled. "That was my conclusion, too, but I didn't think you'd see it that way."

"He fools everyone by acting so human most of the time," Snape said. "But he was made a werewolf so young it's amazing he's still fighting it. That's half his trouble during his transformations. So naturally his true nature leaks into the rest of his life whether he likes it that way or not."

"I must admit, I hadn't really thought of it that way. I'm surprised you're not more upset if you don't consider him quite human now."

"Actually, it's easier for me that way. I don't expect Firenze to enjoy being indoors, Miss Bulstrode to be delicate and ladylike, or Grawp to be able to think. I am not like Madam Umbridge, Poppy. Nonhuman creatures are simply part of the Wizarding World, and anything who thinks to legislate them out of existence is out of her mind." He realized that Lupin's conduct really did make a great deal more sense if one thought of him as a wolf rather than a human with a 'disability'. "Obviously, most of the students at one time or another have wondered if I have an aversion to garlic."

The older witch laughed. "Oh, Severus, I wish you didn't have to stay up late tonight."

"But I do. Trust me, I'm just as tired of whining as you are of hearing it. And before you say anything, I will have Draco or Winky do as much as possible. But I _must_ watch the stages of each cauldron tonight. Lupin is going to be busier this weekend than he should be, too. You may be glad you have that werewolf book back if you need to patch him up."

Madam Pomfrey looked thoughtful. "Albus hasn't said anything, but that's nothing new. If you're going to skip the sedative tonight, you had best do without the other dose as well, or you may find yourself interrupted just when you would rather not."

It was frightening how the mediwitch could read his mind at times. He'd already come to the same conclusion. "Perhaps I should take the daybook with me now, so I'll remember to pack it before I go.

"No, I'll keep it tonight. Mr. Malfoy is a great deal more responsible than he used to be, and I'm sure you've found Winky helpful this year, but I could use the warning should a mishap occur during your brewing. I would not like to think what could have happened if I had not heard its chiming a few weeks ago."

"I see," Snape said. "Well, I had best take a look at those cauldrons now. At least Draco is better at watching a clock than Winky is so far, so I may be able to nap a bit." He stood and stretched, wishing he were going to bed instead, despite the earliness of the hour.

"Rest when you can, dear," Pomfrey said, with a sad smile on her face.

He nodded, and went back to the dungeons. It had a been a while since he'd made thorough rounds, and Snape knew he had a little time before working on the potion. Apparently his Slytherins were counting on his illness and their ability to get round Winky, as he discovered quite a few things. Mr. Bunnell and his friends were not especially happy when their cache of forbidden cigarettes and other contraband was discovered, while Snape gleefully confiscated the money devoted to a dice game being held in the rear stall of the Slytherin boys' lavatory. He went through the usual hiding places in the common room and swept them clean.

The Potions Master wondered if any of the students would be idiotic enough to come to him later and ask for them back. No doubt Miss Parkinson would be interested to learn someone had left her subscription copy of Witch Weekly close to the fireplace, or embarrassed to have him discover her carelessness. An impromptu dormitory inspection of both sides led to finding out which boys still thought under the bed was a good place for _their_ magazines, while a quick look at the girls' side harvested the usual trove of romance novels and chocolate. Since all were equally humiliated by the time he was done, nobody felt singled out. He was unable to find Mr.Andreas' new hiding place for whatever that boy had collected lately, and knew he would have to. Someone must have warned the student about these occasional inspections, or he was simply being cautious. No doubt the concept of 'personal belongings' was a flexible one among those working for Mr. Bartholomew, and the boy was a fast learner.

He felt better after having disseminated fear, terror, and a few detentions, one of which was given to Draco for his possession of a rather questionable volume, even if it was in Latin and Snape had given it to him as a gift. That gave him a perfect excuse to generate sympathy for his godson rather than envy, as everyone would soon learn the Professor's favorite would pay for that position by a full night's worth of extra duty. Of course, after his return from the clinic he would likely be haunted by a flock of Ravenclaws whining because they weren't included, but he'd face that later. _I wonder how I should manipulate things next time so Miss Granger isn't harassed for her 'good luck' next month. I must find a way to phrase her selection for this duty so she doesn't jump and down with glee and ruin my fun._

But that could wait. Tonight he and his godson would further the bonding process, though he hoped vomiting would not be involved.

Once Draco was wearing proper protective clothing, he and the boy began the night-long process of finishing both batches of the potion.

Even so, the boy complained of the fumes. "Why can't this stuff can't be vented?" he asked.

"I wish," Snape answered mordantly as he added the mother-of-silver to one cauldron, then had his godson add the proper amount to his own smaller one. "Unfortunately, the fumes need to feed on each other in an enclosed space. Normally one batch is small enough so they aren't quite so overpowering. It is also required to stand close to view any changes taking place. Timing is quite tricky for this potion, especially when one batch is larger than the other. You need to stir fifteen times counterclockwise when yours becomes bright green. On the other hand, I will need to stir twenty-five times counterclockwise in mine when it turns that color. I've experimented and I know the proper sequences for each size of cauldron."

"You do have this all written down somewhere?" The blond Slytherin noticed almost as soon as he did that it was time for him to begin the stirring, and did so with a long wooden spoon.

"In the notes I sent you last summer, towards the back," the Potions Master said absently, as he saw it was turn to him to work on his cauldron. "Now we let it sit for fifteen minutes." He was tired already, and it wasn't even midnight yet.

"May I put a Bubblehead Charm around my cauldron?"

"No," Snape said. "I dare not make any changes to this batch from my normal procedure. However, you can put one around you. In fact, at this early stage I should use one, too. Later, the smell of the fumes will become more important."

He sat down in an old armchair too ragged for use anywhere but in the lab. The stuffing was probably worth a healthy sum from the various ingredients it had absorbed over the years, but he'd discovered he could sit on a high stool for only a short time before his back gave out these days. However, Draco was younger and could keep watch. Since his smaller cauldron would change first, Snape believed he would have warning of changes in his well in time to react.

The night wore on. They talked of a number of different things, including the best place to wear a silver ring that must not come in contact with anything to do with the Wolfsbane Potion. His godson grinned wickedly, clearly thinking of a spot, until Snape pointed out how a spill could soak through even thick woolen trousers and cause quite a surprise to a daring young man. "I recommend a toe, as that will be shielded by both stockings and your shoes," the Head of Slytherin said, who had heard all about certain bizarre Muggle fads. "It will also not be seen on casual inspection."

"Only girls wear rings there!" Draco said.

_You would be amazed,_ Severus thought, but decided his godson could find out the hard way about some of the more interesting habits of his fellow Death Eaters. "There is an alternative," he said. "It would be fairly permanent, but you could create a tattoo on your foot, or perhaps both feet, with the silver of that ring. No one would be surprised by a dragon design. Again, the feet are far better protected during potions work than almost any other part of the body. You would have to learn to adjust your bath, as they will heat up more quickly with such a metallic design ingrained in them, but that's minor, really."

Draco looked thoughtful. Snape hoped he did something to keep the ring close to him no matter what. If there was any way he could help his godson from beyond the grave, the book and the ring would help. Bella could easily draw her nephew into the darkness despite the boy's current resolutions. Albus was right about that.

Winky wandered in and out despite her own obvious weariness. Snape finally commanded her to lie down about 4 am. He was glad Draco was with him this time. The fumes felt overpowering to him, and he had to sit down several times just from dizziness. The Potions Master was temped to vent the dungeons, but knew Lupin would require a more potent than usual batch in larger quantities to help control his fellow wolves. He hoped anything stupid they got up to over the weekend was only a rehearsal. If any of the beasts retained enough humanity to keep track of what was going on, Lupin could report everything to the Order and ways found to stymie the rescue when it actually occurred.

_I'm glad I'm going to the clinic,_ he admitted to himself. He was happy his godson didn't know it, though. He preferred the boy to hang on to a few illusions about his head of house.

"Professor?"

Severus blinked. He'd actually fallen asleep in the chair. "What color is your potion now?"

"Dark blue. Yours is blue as well, but lighter."

"Good. Put in the last measure of aconite now, stir twice, and step back. You may wish to use the Bubblehead Charm again."

Draco did as he was told, then asked, "How can you stand to breathe in all this stuff every month?"

"Because I prefer it to having my throat ripped out," Snape said bluntly, watching the steam rise from his godson's cauldron and noting the deepening color of his own. He quickly chanted a Bubblehead charm for himself, then put in the final ingredients in his batch. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea to have an apprentice working with him after all.

"Oh."

Both cauldrons steamed and swirled as they went through their final reactions. Snape made a mental note that he was able to watch for any untoward changes better with being able to stand closer to the brewing process. He had to admit the Bubblehead charm had its uses during parts of the process, though not all. For some of the stages, being able to notice a change in smell was utterly necessary. But the charm was easy to put on and take off, and so could be adjusted as needed during the last run. However, as he wrote that bit up, he would be quite specific that it should be used only by those experienced with the Wolfsbane Potion, as it would be easy to miss some important changes if used during all the way through. _I'll even credit Draco with the innovation,_ he thought. _The boy will like that._

At last both cauldrons held a potion that was a pearly, misty gray. In the right light and in a glass container, it would shine a bit like the moon. "Draco," he said. "Fetch the bottles and fill them." He extinguished the fires and sat, noting how careful his godson was with the procedure. It was a good thing indeed the boy was here. His hands were shaking a little from fatigue, and he would have had to ask Winky to take over. This way he could pretend he was supervising instead of slacking off.

Just as the sky began to lighten, Madam Pomfrey walked in, her nose wrinkling from the stench. "All done, I see," she said. "Mr. Malfoy, you have two hours before breakfast. I suggest you shower and lie down for a quick nap. Professor Snape, come along with me."

"I shall deliver these to Professor Lupin first," he said.

"Very well," she said, with a look that said she'd have the whole story out of him as soon as he walked into the infirmary. "And I will collect you in person from the Great Hall in case you forget," she added as she left.

Snape held a small basket of bottles and shooed Draco back to his dormitory. "You may do better if you simply stay up instead," he said quietly once the mediwitch was out of earshot. "Only an hour or so of sleep doesn't help as much as she thinks."

"Don't worry, sir, Vince will wake me up just before class starts and I'll eat something out of the last package Mother sent me." The boy left.

"That might be best," Severus conceded. He had better wash off this reek and change robes himself before meeting the new day. He was tempted to nap as well, but knew from experience less than four hours didn't help him that much. Besides, for some reason he was wide-awake. He chose warmer water than usual for his wash, since after an all-night vigil he was easily chilled. Snape felt better in fresh clothing. He took the basket to Lupin's quarters and knocked on the door.

The DADA instructor was already up and invited him in for tea, though he didn't look well. "I should have completed this earlier in the week," Snape said by way of apology, knowing even the approach of the full moon had its own effects. For once he accepted and sat down without asking.

"I'm amazed you managed it," Lupin said, as he poured strong tea out into a couple of waiting cups.

"I don't know if you're going to use it all," Severus said. How odd. He should be terrified about now. No doubt he was just too ill to notice the fear, the way he'd been last summer. Of course, a basket full of Wolfsbane sitting on the table did help. "I know this weekend is supposed to be just a practice run. But be careful anyway."

"We won't be paid till after the actual attempt," Lupin said. "I just hope I'm not leading my friends into a trap." He sat down and blew on his cup to cool it.

"Don't we all. I want to remind you that the outside guards are centaurs. I realize they're your natural enemies in the wild, but you must remember to leave them alone. It's far more important to stop any of the prisoners from escaping. They will probably be using the Invisibility Potion I gave Malfoy, but unless the weather is foul, you'll likely be able to smell them."

"It's only a run-through this time. You worry too much."

Snape noticed Lupin was becoming slightly testy, both with the time of the month and his competence being called into question. "You believe what you're told?"

The wolf grimaced. "I see your point. I suppose you don't want to hear how I had to experiment with using only a partial dose of the potion at times in the past few years in order to make it last…"

"You're quite right!" He sighed. How interesting—instead of terror, he was being overwhelmed with blind rage instead. Severus stared down into his cup of tea, hoping it would pass soon. This was information the Order actually needed, though why the wolf felt inclined to confide in him was truly unfortunate. "You…you should talk to the Headmaster about it. There's a reason I put as much sedative into my version of the potion as I do."

"I normally prefer it that way," Lupin said. "But I need to have the other werewolves around me able to follow directions, even if I must express them badly."

"Aren't you the alpha of that pack?"

"Well, we've never been together on the full moon before," Remus said. "I suppose I should be, but one never really knows. I've never been an alpha. That was what James did." Then he flushed red.

Snape bit back some vicious words. They had to work together. As Poppy had reminded him, the Marauders were gone and could never hurt him again. "I hope in that case that this is a rehearsal, then," he said stiffly, and finished his tea. "It has been a long night. Thank you for the hospitality."

"I do hope they can help you at the clinic," the wolf called out as he left the room. "I am sorry brewing this potion is so difficult."

He went to the infirmary, knowing Poppy would make good on her promise if he skipped the visit "I left the potion with Lupin," he said, dropping into the visitor's chair in her office.

She looked up from some papers. "You should go to the clinic now," said the mediwitch.

"I won't argue, but I don't think they'll be ready for me till this afternoon. I can manage, Poppy. I've taught a full day feeling worse than this."

"I know." She looked unhappy about it. "Have you vented the dungeons yet?"

"I'm waiting till the little darlings have left for breakfast. The cold air will do any slug-a-beds remaining behind a world of good." He still hadn't worked out a way to heat the air as it came in. He'd have to ask Flitwick about that.

"I'm still tempted to order you to bed for the day," Pomfrey grumbled.

And he was severely tempted to accept it, should she give that order. He was about to say so when the Headmaster and a middle-aged Asian woman burst through the door. "Ah, there you are, Severus. This is Madam Tranh who will be teaching here next week. If she could observe your classes today, it would help a lot. Madam Tranh, this is Professor Severus Snape, who is undergoing an outpatient regime the Swiss have devised, and Madam Pomfrey, our most excellent mediwitch."

"Pleased to meet you," Poppy said, though it was obvious she wasn't. "If you or any of the students have problems, be certain to let me know. Potions is our most dangerous class, though I must admit Care of Magical Creatures is often close. We have one of the best safety records for a Potions Class in the world."

Madam Tranh nodded dutifully. No doubt her ears had been battered by the Headmaster's chatter since she'd arrived.

Severus wearily rose and escorted the editor of Potions Monthly down to the dungeons and took her around the classroom and lab areas. "This is Winky, the house elf who assists me, Madam Tranh. She is to be depended on. Winky, Madam Tranh will be here teaching while I'm at the clinic. Please help her as much as you do me."

The little elf vigorously nodded. "Master Potions Master very sick, won't rest here. Won't even lie down after making wolf potion last night."

Snape felt his face going hot. "I did have help last night, Winky, both yours and Mr. Malfoy's. I must admit I am a little tired."

The woman looked incredulous. "I had no idea…why did you have to do that?" Her light French accent was barely noticeable.

"One of the instructors here is a werewolf," Snape said. "It's my contribution to the safety of the school. Professor Lupin is generally quite easy to deal with in human form, however, and you should have no problems with him. In fact, he generally is locked in his office for the transformation and sleeps through the entire process."

"Oh." Madam Tranh blinked. "I can see I have spent too much time in an office full of manuscripts. Please, continue."

Winky scampered off ahead of them and pointed to a low set of hooks where her lab coat hung and gloves were kept. "And this is Winky's _equipment_," she said, clearly rather proud of having them now.

"Very nice," Madam Tranh observed. Snape steered her towards his office and sat. Soon the bell for breakfast would ring. He could already hear many of the students stirring.

"Once most of the children have left for breakfast, the dungeons will be vented," he said. "It's normally done at noon, but the Wolfsbane does leave somewhat of a reek. I'm certain the Headmaster has already explained the House system to you."

She nodded.

"Of course, he is not as well acquainted with each individual student as he could be. He simply doesn't have the time. I should discuss some of the more interesting ones with you while we do. Most of the first year students are reasonably inept. Miss Marcher from Hufflepuff enjoys the art of experimentation, however, and her friends are catching on to how much _fun_ it is," he said.

Madam Tranh paled, as well she should. "How interesting," she murmured.

"I will admit, my favorite classes are the sixth and seventh years, as the subject is no longer compulsory and they have to do well on their OWLs in order to attend," he said, glad she understood the delight of students who wished to go beyond the book without knowing what they were doing. "Miss Chang in particular excels among the seventh years, as does Mr. Nott. You are fortunate to have missed teaching the Weasley twins, however amusing they were to others. In the sixth year class, Mr. Malfoy just finished assisting me with the Wolfsbane potion last night. I hope he is careful and does not presume he knows everything during the group project today."

"I can't believe you're trying to teach students that young how to brew such a complex potion!"

"I am certain you have heard about my bet with Magister Lowenstein in Geneva," he said. "The class does contain other students, however. Miss Lovegood is from an earlier year, but passed her OWL in Potions early from a summer correspondence program. However sound she is on theory, her brewing results are often...uncertain. Miss Patil often exceeds expectations. The younger Mr. Weasley is better at brewing than writing. Ask his younger sister Ginevra to interpret if you cannot read his essays. Mr. Potter is working much harder than last year. Mr. Longbottom…allow him to brew at his own speed. I shall work with him more when I return from the clinic. It is often better for everyone if he is _not_ completed by the time the class is over, and that he is left alone."

"But I thought you had one student who…"

"Ah, yes. Miss Granger." He actually allowed himself to smile. "The story is true. Polyjuice in her second year, out of the book, in a deserted lavatory. It does sound like a game of Clew, but she managed it quite nicely. She has also learned to be more careful about the source of the hair she uses for herself as well. I will have to have her work off a detention with me when I brew the Wolfsbane Potion next month. If I had done so this month, she would still be asking questions."

The editor nodded. "At Beauxbatons, Potions is an optional class and few take it these days. It's considered far too dangerous, and Madam Olympe has wondered out loud if the school should continue to carry the expense of it, due to all the ingredients wasted. Fortunately for those of us who still care about French self-sufficiency, her budget has been increased providing she encourages more students to learn the art. I myself have taken seminars in how to teach Potions in a safer manner than in the past."

Snape bit his lip. He'd heard about some of the educational fads that plagued European academics. It couldn't be much worse than the Americans, who often went in for something called virtual experimentation, as he feared no magic could model the actual results of how real ingredients interacted with each other—oh, well. She would be here only a week. Surely she was not an advocate of what some called 'automated brewing'. The children would certainly revolt if she inflicted _that_ particular method on them. "At Hogwarts, potions making and other sorts of magic are still highly individualized despite the needs for classrooms," he said. "We are not as far from the old master-apprentice traditions as some."

"Then it's about time they received a taste of the world outside their enclave," she said.

She was probably right. With any luck, he would not have to watch the upcoming debacle if she managed things with a high hand. After surviving Madam Umbridge last year, neither the staff nor the children were ready for another version. "There is the bell," he said, grateful now for its sound. "Please come with me to the Great Hall and sit up at the staff table as our guest." If only she remembered she was just that. "I appreciate you taking time from your busy schedule to assist for the next few days," he said as he slowly stood and forced himself to move.

"Frankly, I'm astounded you're not at the clinic," she said. "You have done some astonishing work, judging by the graduates who write for the journal. Although there are stories about this school that make some reluctant to apply here."

"Most of them are true," he said bluntly. "Hagrid has yet to bring a manticore to dinner, but that doesn't mean he isn't going to. Whatever the flaws of those here, however, they are far outweighed by their virtues. Even that wretched werewolf," he reluctantly admitted. As they left the dungeons, Snape quietly chanted the charm to vent them, and made sure the woman saw the wand motions properly.

Breakfast was an ordeal, but Madam Tranh managed to carry most of her own conversation, which allowed him to eat. Professor Sprout, in particular, had a number of interesting questions about certain plants.

Fortunately the morning classes were relatively calm, though many students had comments about the cold. However, the cauldron fires soon resolved that problem, as least once the classroom door was shut. Nearly all the students were intensely curious about Madam Tranh, but behaved themselves for once. Only a few mishaps marred the tedium, and those were easily taken care of.

During his morning break, he pulled out his updated lesson plans. "I won't ask you to try to catch up to where we really ought to be," he said, as they sat in his office. "And if you fall behind a little, it won't be a problem. I'm just glad the students won't miss any days of instruction while I'm gone. I tried the last expulsion phase here, but even I have to admit it didn't work out as well as I'd hoped."

The editor looked slightly stunned. "Are your classes always like that?"

"I have to admit they were better than usual today," he said. "I have no idea how they will behave for you, though. I suspect you will be on trial with them, and you should establish proper discipline the first thing. Some teachers prefer a softer approach. I have moderated my own style this year, and it seems to be working. But safety must come first, and their tender little egos second. With the schedule already established, you may find the morning and afternoon breaks helpful in trying to stay ahead of their ingenuity. I'm behind on essays again, unfortunately, though I may take some of them with me."

She looked overwhelmed. He didn't blame her. His first years of teaching here had not been pleasant. "If you have trouble, I am sure you will find the Headmaster sympathetic. He was a great help to me when I began here."

Winky entered the office with a snack and his potion, along with a pot of tea and some other food for his guest. "This for nice lady," she said, ducking her head.

Madam Tranh thanked the elf. Snape barely had time to eat his apple and drink his potion before the bell rang for resumption of classes.

The rest of the day continued along the same lines. Apparently his teaching style was far different than from what she was used to, given the expression on her face whenever some minor mistake threatened to disturb the routine she clearly expected instead. Snape didn't understand her consternation; he'd found the students unusually cooperative and hard working today. _Just as well nothing really serious has happened so far,_ he thought. _She doesn't look like she could manage a Longbottom-style disaster very well. Well, she can't do much harm to the class in a week, and if she doesn't work out, I'll try out someone else._ He tried to recall who else had been on his list.

Once it was time for his afternoon lie-down, he was ready to do so. "Madam Tranh, I am supposed to rest now. I'm certain the Headmaster would have time for you if you asked. Winky would be happy to escort you. I know it's easy to become lost in this place."

She took the hint and allowed the elf to take her away. Severus sank down on his bed, and set his alarm to Really, Really Loud. His head swam, as in his sixth year class the odor of the ingredients had not agreed with him.

He woke to discover Albus sitting by his bed. "Why didn't the timer go off?" he asked, and sat up, only to feel so dizzy he almost lay back down.

"I have already taken the last class of the day," the Headmaster said. "Madam Tranh hasn't run out the gates screaming, either. Madam Pomfrey told me that she almost had you convinced to rest today after finishing the Wolfsbane, only to have me barge in with your substitute."

"She needed to see what the classes were like, especially the morning ones," Snape argued feebly. "Madam Tranh also needed to know which students might give her the most trouble." He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to regain his balance before trying to stand.

"You're right, I suppose. She was fairly indignant, too, I might add. Apparently in France any brewer of Wolfsbane receives the next day off by law. Normally their brewers complete the final stages during daytime, too."

"But it's not as potent then." Besides, during the school year there had been few times he could use a weekend to finish a batch anyway. Being a Head of House meant responsibilities then as well—especially the year Sirius Black had escaped and with Dementors on the grounds.

"Larger quantities are brewed to make up for that, apparently, though I was surprised as well. Winky has already packed for you, including some essays. You are not to work too hard on them while you're gone, though." The Headmaster looked stern. "I have hooked up my fireplace to yours, and from there I can establish a connection to the clinic."

Snape knew when it was best just to do as he was told. "How about the daybook I charmed for Madam Pomfrey? I know Lowenstein will want to see it."

"Already included. She was quite insistent on it. Your substitute will have all weekend to prepare for classes, and everything will work out just fine. Don't worry!"

The Potions Master sighed, and followed Albus through the fireplace to the Headmaster's office. From there he picked up his satchel, heavier than he thought it would be, and went back through the Floo once Dumbledore had established the connection to the clinic in Geneva.

Snape stepped through, absurdly glad he'd been spared even a rehearsal with the werewolves. He felt like a coward, and knew Bellatrix would undoubtedly throw it into his face for the next several months. Yet facing werewolves _and_ Dementors at the same time could well be too much for his self-control.

An orderly relieved him of his satchel and took him to a patient room where he was forcibly changed into a tatty gown. He was served a small supper—and more potions—and told to stay in bed till the morning, when he would undergo testing. Snape was glad nobody seemed worried enough to keep him up half the night with diagnostics. The young man went off with the daybook, no doubt for Lowenstein's evening reading.

The next day his stomach began to churn after the first set of potions with his breakfast. He wondered how quickly he could bolt for the loo if need be. Then the Magister and his assistants trooped through the place and ran a battery of diagnostic spells. He knew he was still tired when he found himself dozing off during one of them. _They probably included more of the sedative with the detoxicant this time,_ he mused.

He woke up to notice Lowenstein paging through the daybook. "This is quite helpful," said the middle-aged wizard. "I see you had a bad episode not after the last expulsion phase."

"I was forced to be active before I was rested," Snape said, not wishing to discuss his activities, or the penance he'd tried to inflict on himself because of them. The woman's death still lay heavily on his heart at times.

"And this list? What is that about?"

"Those are the ingredients for the Wolfsbane Potion, which I completed er, yes, yesterday morning. I have a trial hypothesis that making it may bring on an expulsion phase whether I'm really ready for it or not. I don't know if it simply makes me ill and I connect it with an expulsion phase, or if it's because I'm so tired from sitting up all night and having to teach the next day." He let his eyelids droop again. He knew being here was better, but all he really wanted to do was to sleep.

"I see. You know, maidenhair is one of the items in the potion to bring on the expulsion phase when the released toxins in your bloodstream become too much. Your exposure to it in the werewolf potion could definitely be a problem. I shall have to consider this. And this book is very helpful. Most of your phrases are quite descriptive, though I do not quite understand the one that says 'none of your business'."

"Madam Pomfrey is an experienced mediwitch, but there are some things a gentleman wishes to keep to himself." He hoped he wouldn't have to draw a picture.

"Ah! This is good. It is important that all of you recover from this ordeal."

Snape wondered yet again why he was bothering with this. If Flitwick was right, he wouldn't see another Christmas. Then he recognized this particular variety of gloom. He certainly couldn't blame all his wallowing on the potions, but it probably wouldn't hurt him if he did. And without this regime…tonight he would be facing horror of an entirely different sort.

After all, Flitwick could be wrong. Even Sybil could be wrong, though he doubted it. He took a deep breath. "I am not feeling especially optimistic about things," he said.

"I cannot expect you to. Sleep now. We will do what tests we can without disturbing you, and the rest can wait till later. Even the book is telling me you are exhausted, as if I cannot see that for myself."

Snape nodded and closed his eyes. He hadn't felt this wretched the last time. Well, he had made a bigger batch than usual, and had had to oversee Draco's as well. Lupin would likely have to share it with the other wolves for their rehearsal tonight, so he'd had the joy of making a more potent version _and_ in larger quantities. How very special…

He awoke in late afternoon, as far as he could tell, with his muscles twitching under the skin and the taste of more potions in his mouth. This was something new, though. It was almost like the first time he'd taken the sedative and then suffered a light Crucio. He found the usual control he had over his hands was gone as well, and it was difficult for him to reach the bell, let alone ring it.

Lowenstein came to the room, with the daybook open. "Yes, it is most certainly the maidenhair," he said. "In small doses it relaxes the muscles, but it larger ones has the opposite effect."

"And in even greater quantities can be explosive if combined improperly," Snape added, who remembered the day last year when Longbottom had demonstrated it. He looked down at his traitorous hands. Even his arms were shaky now.

"We do not normally have patients who brew, let alone the Wolfsbane Potion," the other wizard said. "This effect is frightening, perhaps, but nothing serious. It is better if you take no potions for it. One of us will try a charm for it once all the tests are done. Since you must brew this one thing every month, I shall have to reduce the maidenhair in your potions at the same time. Oh, such a paper we will all write together on this!"

"Someone else will have to hold the quill," Snape said. He couldn't even turn the pages of a book like this, or hold a newspaper. He knew half the trouble he gave Poppy when he was stuck in the infirmary came from being bored. "I can't even read like this."

"We have no clinic elves who could read to you, alas," Lowenstein said. "Perhaps we ought to train a few of them. I can see you would be a challenge if you were in residence. You are not the only patient who becomes weary of no mind-food when visiting us."

Snape hadn't thought of that. Dobby could read, but was generally too busy to do so since he'd come to Hogwarts. He was fairly certain Winky couldn't, at least not yet. Perhaps the next time he was confined to the infirmary by this miserable body of his, his elf could turn the pages or hold a Prophet for him. Merlin only knew Madam Pomfrey would be ecstatic to have him busy with something besides complaining or trying to sneak out.

"It couldn't hurt," he said. "Although even the elves at Hogwarts sometimes forget their instructions, or decide to do what they think is better. Older ones start believing they're in charge if they've been with a family for a long time anyway."

"That is certainly the truth," the Magister said. "Perhaps I shall bring in a wireless. In Muggle hospitals, they have their television to keep the patients amused."

"You needn't bother," Snape said. "I can wait it out. Besides, I should only throw something at it when some dunderhead says something more stupid than usual. If I understood a word of it in the first place."

"You are right. Our wireless does not have many English programs. We had a patient here once, who needed work upon his eye who seemed to think he could read with the other during the actual procedure. It was difficult to explain to him how eyes move in concert, and that it would be quite dangerous for him unless he consented to let both go unused for the time we needed to take care of the problem. I had to find an Arithmancer from our academy here to converse to keep him from bolting."

"Alexandros," Severus guessed. "I'd heard he was like that." Vector kept them posted on advancements in the field whether they needed it or not, whenever she bothered to talk to anyone at the Head Table at all. "I'm not _quite_ that hard to deal with, though I shall not vouch for Madam Pomfrey's opinion on the subject." He sympathized, though. How many endless hours had he spent in the infirmary in his life already? How much of the time he had left would be spent that way?

"I wish I could stay longer," the older wizard said. "But Johann will be along soon, and he will complete the tests. He will decide if you are truly ready for an expulsion phase or just reacting to your brewing. I like the way you have charmed this book, though. Most of them are filled out badly, if at all. May I borrow the idea for other patients?"

"Certainly. I have also set it to chime if I am severely injured or too ill to summon help."

"That is a very good idea." Lowenstein glanced around, then continued in a lower voice. "I am working on potions to help you with injuries or accidents, whether caused in the lab or other places. I understand a little of the danger you are in. I am surprised you are continuing with the regime."

Snape shrugged, then wished he hadn't. Any voluntary movement made his muscles shudder more than before. At least nothing was terribly painful. "I am, too. It is easier, though, to take time to recover from…other things, when I can blame it on problems with the potions regime. Even with the glop you make me take, my head seems clearer than in years past. I don't become angry as often as I used to, or can let it pass by easier. I think that's saved my life a few times already. The students are more careful now, after seeing what their horseplay can lead to. That can save _their_ lives. I would like to feel well again someday, of course, but I did have one week not long ago that wasn't so bad."

"Yes, that means you are making progress," the Magister said. "Yet you likely do too much during those good days, and set yourself back again, or why residence is better. I must ask my great-aunt to speak to you, if she has time while you are here. She was in the Grindelwald War, and knows many things she does not speak of."

Snape nodded. It was clear the Headmaster had been speaking out of turn again, but with any luck the woman shouldn't be too intolerable. It was doubtful either the Ministry or the Dark Lord would pay attention to the ramblings of some granny with too much time on her hands.

"For now I shall send Johann in and let him make what tests he wishes. You shall not be bored with him around, I must guarantee you."

Severus found that to be the truth when the younger wizard came bouncing in with all the vigor and, one hoped, more sense than Gilderoy Lockhart. It did not help the two shared the same coloring. As Lowenstein retreated, Johann rattled off a score of questions, most of which were in English, and kept Snape busy answering them while being monitored by the apprentice's wand.

"This cannot be right," Johann announced mournfully as he saw the results of his diagnostic scans. "I have seen these things in veterans of the Grindelwald War, but never in anyone your age."

Snape was tempted to give him an earful, but somehow managed the patience to keep quiet. Enough people had said too much already. He entertained himself imagining the young wizard's reaction to Moody's various infirmities, and how the fellow would react to Mad-Eye's never-ending saga of how he acquired all his scars. "There is more to the world than Switzerland," he said.

"But to show this much damage, you would have started before you were old enough to go to school," said Johann.

"There are other kinds of wars. I suspect even this fine city has streets you wouldn't care to walk down at night, or even during the day. I shall have to give you a tour of Knockturn Alley sometime." It felt odd to realize how cramped the Wizarding World in England actually was. _Karkaroff thought himself safe in Durmstrang. Perhaps if he had stayed there instead of coming back just at the wrong time, he would have been right._ Yet now the Dark Lord was growing in power. Snape knew it was still his responsibility to fight him, despite the temptation.

"I am always being told I should do more work in the free clinics." The younger wizard sighed. "You are probably right." Then he chanted a spell. "That should help with the tremors. But you should be careful. When you are old, they will recur and should be looked at. I have never examined someone who has endured so much of the Cruciatus before."

"If you're researching the long term effects of the spell, there are two people in Britain in custodial care because their minds couldn't stand it. They recovered from the physical effects, but they don't even recognize their son."

"That is common with a very bad once occurrence," Johann said. "But those who have it many times and still survive may have it recur when they are old and no one knows why. We have several friends of the magister's family who undergo treatment for that now. You will probably have the same problem. Your muscles now react to too much maidenhair, I think, but later they could be quite painful."

_I won't live long enough to find out,_ Snape thought. The years that didn't lie ahead of him echoed with their emptiness.

"Well," the younger wizard said when the silence became heavy. "I shall chart the results and put them in your file. You look steady enough to eat without help now. At least you have stopped losing weight. With luck you shall sleep well tonight. I have to warn you, tomorrow will be hard again, though not, I hope, as bad as the first time. Yet if you have expulsions more often, each one should be less painful for you."

Snape sourly thanked Johann, though he didn't feel like it, and watched the assistant leave the room. If Flitwick was right, he had only one more to go. He hated thinking Lowenstein would win his bet by default, though. He could claim either Draco or the know-it-all could brew the Wolfsbane without direction, but it wouldn't be true, at least not in the little time remaining.

He was still grimly happy the Head of Ravenclaw had told him his interpretation of Sybil's prophecy, though. How very silly he would look to find himself dead ahead of schedule. If nothing else, he could make sure Molly Weasley had Potter's guardianship, and not the Malfoys.

As he rested, the tremors subsided. He would have to remember the spell if he had this reaction later. An orderly brought him a tray. Snape forced himself to eat and take the viler-than-usual potion that came along with the meal.

After he finished, he looked at a few of the essays, hoping that would tire him out enough to sleep. The same orderly came to fetch the tray and suggested it was time to turn out the lamp and rest until morning.

Before Snape did so, though, he put on a robe and walked towards the window. The moon was full and golden, a true harvest moon. _No, it's too late in the year for that,_ he thought. Then he remembered. _This is a hunter's moon._

Lupin was the one in danger tonight. The Dark Lord didn't believe in rehearsals. Severus looked at the moon, feeling heartsick. He should be with the other Death Eaters tonight trying to sabotage the raid, not bundled up on a sickbed.

A thought struck him. Was this the way Dumbledore felt when _he_ was out risking his life? He couldn't really say he was the werewolf's _friend_ in the usual sense of the term, but yet—yet he couldn't stop worrying that the idiot furball would end up dead tonight. _The rest of the Order will find a way to blame me for it,_ he thought resentfully. _And they'd be right, too. I _should_ be there instead of cowering in this clinic. I could have spent most of today resting in my rooms, and I would have been strong enough for tonight. I was only tired because of brewing the Wolfsbane,_ he fretted. _I've faced Dementors before, and I survived. I'm better around Lupin than I was, mostly due to reading that silly book. I could have gone._

He hated knowing he would rather be here instead.


	55. Chapter 55: Wolf in the Fold

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 55: Wolf in the Fold

Note: Moon of Ice by Brad Linaweaver is an excellent novel about a possible future Europe where Nazi Germany won WWII, and where Burgundy was given over to SS rule. Good reading. Hurrah again for Snape's Nightie and Zafaran, who keep trying to stop me from making mistakes.

Remus Lupin

"When do we get paid, Lupin?" Cresswell asked as they huddled together on the boat.

Fortunately it was still an hour or so before moonrise, though Remus felt strung up as he always did just before his transformation. "After tonight," he said. "You can't expect anyone to lay out money ahead of time on something like this. I have something we should all take before we leave the boat. It won't be the normal dose, but we're not being hired to lie about and snore, are we?"

Cresswell nodded. The dark-haired wizard from Surrey wasn't the only member of the werewolf part anxious about his money, but he was the most vocal. "We'd best choke it down, then," the fellow said. "Seems like a lot of trouble for a rehearsal."

"Doesn't it," Lupin replied. "Let's have a quick talk and decide what to do to live through this. Even if this is just a dry run, we'll need to practice working together for the real one."

"You're acting as if we're a normal pack," Cresswell said, but followed Remus and the rest as they gathered in the tiny hold.

Fortunately there were on a slightly larger vessel than the usual boats going to Azkaban, or there really wouldn't have been room. They were still quite cramped with all of them together.

"Gentlemen," Remus said, "and Miss Lewis. It may be this isn't a rehearsal at all, but the real thing. How many of you have ever taken the Wolfsbane Potion?"

A show of hands made it clear only a few of the two dozen werewolves had. "I have some with me," he said.

"I thought you said they wouldn't pay if all we did was sleep," Cresswell said.

"No. But over the years, I have received the potion on an irregular basis. I had to experiment with using only part of a standard dose and saving the rest. It does deteriorate over time, but not as quickly as most people think as long as the remainder is kept chilled." The basement of 12 Grimmauld Place was quite cold, even in summer. "I found that even a partial quantity help me retain much of myself, though I was quite restless because I was closed up and couldn't go hunting. I have just enough for all of us to have about a quarter cup." He gently chivvied them into a tightly-packed line.

"Who brewed this, anyway?" asked a thin, older man, who balked for a moment.

"Someone with an extraordinary reputation," Lupin said, who didn't want to mention Snape's name. "I have drunk the potion made by him before, and found it reliable."

"That's right, you're at Hogwarts now," said Cresswell. "Must be nice to get it for free."

Remus involuntarily thought of how dreadfully ill the Potions Master had looked yesterday morning when delivering it. "Free for me, anyway," he said shortly. "Now drink up, we may not have much time."

Everyone complied without further comment then. The wolf had the oddest feeling, as if he'd just nipped them all with only his words. Maybe he was going to be the alpha after all. Perhaps teaching had given him more self-confidence than he used to have.

There was just enough left for him whenever everyone else had had their portion. "Good," he said, wishing he had a pint to clean the taste out of his mouth. "Once we change, we must all stay together and not go off separately. We weren't told, but I have found out the outside guards are centaurs."

Nearly everyone hissed and booed at that news. Lupin wasn't surprised. "As much as we will want to attack them, we _must_ remember to track and hunt the escaping prisoners instead. We should become familiar with our scents to detect those who don't belong."

"Won't be hard in _this_ little room," said Miss Lewis, a buxom older woman built rather like Madam Umbridge, but far more human. She kept a pub in Islington, but feared having her secret come out. Thus far, her gender and age allowed her to pass off her transformation as being clock-regular. Lupin had questioned her why she needed this job, and had found out her insurance rates were going up, not because of anything wrong with her place, but because of the changing nature of the neighborhood. "I ought to hire an Auror and have him scout the agency for vampires," she'd grumbled at one of their group meetings.

Though Remus felt a little silly sniffing everyone in the room, he knew it was necessary. They had to stay together, and wolves communicated more by scent. He hoped it wouldn't rain. Even snow was easier to deal with—it had a clean white smell that actually helped other odors to stand out, but rain erased everything.

The boat landed. They erupted from the hold like a set of Muggles pouring out of a telephone booth. Lupin thought briefly of a show on the telly he'd seen a few times where such a booth had concealed vast spaces inside, and some lunatic in a long scarf had capered about the screen inside the cardboard set.

Then he couldn't think at all. Moonrise struck him like a hammer. He rapidly stripped off his clothes, then howled with pain as he changed. He'd been awake, off and on, for this transformation but this was the first time in years he was _free, _and with others around him who understood. He charged ahead, then stopped and whined as he caught the stench of snake so overpowering he couldn't move.

The other wolves halted in front of the huge serpent and the snake-man as well. The man hissed at them, but somehow Remus understood what he was being told. They were to attack the outside guards and leave the field clear for the cold, ghostly shapes now appearing out of the mist. Remus caught the traces of centaur in the air, and his hackles raised. He could barely restrain himself from following that smell and going after its bearer.

But as the snake-man released him and his fellow wolves, he remembered what they were really supposed to do. Remus bounded away, as if in obedience, made it out of sight into the high scrubby gorse, then howled to the others to follow him. In a small clearing, he went from wolf to wolf, sniffing them and establishing his dominance. He couldn't recall names any more, but it didn't matter. Deep inside he mourned the loss of the others, even the rat. Only his human side had kept him alive to survive the loss of his pack.

_But they are gone._ There. That was a coherent thought. Perhaps he could do another. _We have to avoid the centaurs, or we'll forget what we're really supposed to do._ He knew without Snape's potion he would have forgotten what they were here for.

Now his new pack trotted along with him to the stone walls ahead. Two began to stray, only to suffer nips along their flanks as Remus darted out to keep them in their place. He hoped the centaurs had enough sense to avoid _them_.

He heard the chuffs and the sound of hooves as a stronger version of the scent drifted to them on the light breeze. He glanced back and saw one of his wolves, a silver bitch, dodging arrows as a grinning centaur shot at her. They must all act as one now. He turned and leaped, then ripped his claws along the hunter's haunch, while another tore with his fangs. The others followed him, and harried their foe till he bled from many wounds and had dropped his weapon. The centaur defended with his hooves, then fled.

Remus howled his fury, then stopped. Part of him was still rational enough to remember what his mission was. He savaged the other wolves till they followed him towards the prison, rather than after wounded prey. It was hard to ignore the misty shapes near the walls. They felt like bad weather and starving winters all wrapped up together.

The wolves reached the prison. The pale beings now surged ahead, and filtered through the gaps in the building. Once more Remus gagged at the stench of snake, as the serpent and the snake-man approached the door. The wolves huddled around behind, and in their position looked like an honor guard.

The door opened after lights and sounds that nearly drove all the wolves away. The serpent and her companion went inside. Some of the wolves wanted to follow, but he snarled them away. The white things were now there as well. He'd rather fight centaurs than whine like a pup too close to _them_.

The air changed by the door. Nothing was visible, but the smell of human, the smell of warm meat now filled the air. The other wolves raised their snouts high, but restrained themselves, waiting for his command. Remus yipped at them to track this phenomena along with him. The scent diminished, and the wolves trotted a little faster while still following the trail.

He caught the traces of centaur again. He speeded up, driving the invisible prey towards his enemy.

An arrow sped out from a high patch of gorse. Remus dodged, thinking it was coming for him, when it stopped in mid-air, then fell to earth as if stuck in something. He padded up to the strange thing and sniffed. He wrinkled his nose a little when foulness rose from the air, then sprang back as the body of the man became visible around the arrow.

The centaur came out of the moon-flickered darkness, laughed, and fitted another arrow to his bow. Remus sprang away, knowing he couldn't outrun the missile if sent his way, but was willing to try.

He returned to the other wolves just as other smells issued from the door. He yipped at them to follow. Remus reserved one trail for himself, though, one so close to one he remembered from a gathering of humans. _Honey and ivory,_ he thought dreamily. _Honey and ivory and other scents, only _this_ one is wrong!_ He snarled and gave chase. He must bite, he must claw, he must devour his rival _now!_

His enemy was clever. The scent dodged through the brush straight towards the waiting centaur, then jinked away at the last minute, almost leaving Remus as the target of an arrow. He barely dodged it in time, though a sting along his flank left him breathless with pain and fear. Remus kept his foe herded away from the waiting boat, though, as he somehow recalled that was most important. The outlines of the man became visible in the night mist that condensed around the figure like a light veil glistening with the full moon's light.

They were near the walls again, only from the other side. The man clawed his way up the vines that had rooted themselves in the stonework, stopped, and panted for breath. Remus flopped on the ground and panted, but raised his snout and growled a threat.

The man moved again. Remus found it easy to track the fellow just by the noise made as the escaped prisoner worked his way around the wall on the vines. At some point his prey would have to drop to the ground again if he wished to escape to the dock.

The escaped prisoner stopped. So did Remus. Then the man climbed _up_ instead, obviously heading towards the roof. The wolf howled in frustration. Once his prey was there, it would be almost impossible for him to circle around in time to catch the man coming down the other side.

Three other wolves trotted up to him. Remus didn't know how to tell them what to do. Inspiration struck him. He scraped out a circle in the stony ground, then jerked up his snout and whined at the roof. The prisoner had nearly reached it now. The other wolves sniffed, then nodded. Then Remus pawed at one wolf, then patted the other side of the drawn circle. The silver bitch yipped back, and immediately took off. Lupin did the same with the other two, only with different points on the circle, and they obeyed as well. The prisoner was surrounded now, trapped at the top of a much taller tree than usual. But the principle was the same.

But what about the other escapees? Remus looked and sniffed around. He was too far from the front gate to see what was going on. Howls and smells of battle drifted to him. Why was it so important to hold this one back, if all the others were going to escape?

A gravelly voice erupted beside him. The scent of that man was familiar, tobacco and magic and Firewhiskey all wrapped together. "Well done, lads! Treed him nicely, I see. We caught most of the rest, and we'll take care of this one, too. Stand down."

Remus sat and thumped his tail as the old man with the funny eye patted him on the head. He tried to warn him about the white shapes of death and the snakes inside, but only urgent whines came out.

Then he heard shouting and the fiery stench of spells from a distance, as if both were muffled by the fog now moving in. The old man turned and thumped away as fast as he could. Remus quickly overtook him and sped towards the front gate in spite of his fear. Once he reached it, though, he cringed and snarled as the deadly misty figures boiled out of the door like steam. Even the centaurs, now much closer, spun away and fled.

The snakes came out once their way had been cleared. Remus chased after them, the other wolves following in their wake, all the way down to the small wharf. He tasted a few human smells in the mix, and knew some of the prisoners _were_ escaping. He lunged and caught one with his teeth, but it got away even while leaving a trail of blood.

He and the other wolves charged up the dock where someone invisible was trying to cast off. The boat left them behind. Remus set up a howl, as did the other wolves. _You meant to abandon us to the Aurors all along! Well, there's one prisoner you didn't free!_

Remus wasn't sorry to see the white shapes disappear. His heart lightened, as if someone had taken silver worn in his presence out of the room.

Then he felt the change beginning. He yipped to the other wolves, and they trotted back towards the little piles of clothes, most of which were still undisturbed. His howls became human screams as he resumed his normal shape. Lupin slowly dressed himself and ignored the others. It was the only privacy any of them would have.

He sat down on the ground once dressed, despite the dampness. The others still followed his lead, no doubt as weak as he usually was after a transformation. Remus absentmindedly swallowed the last bit of remaining blood and ran his tongue around his teeth to remove any traces. _Poor Snape!_ he thought. _You-Know-Who will probably force him to make the Wolfsbane for whoever I bit, as well as for me._

But somehow he couldn't make himself regret it. He knew it was wrong, but it had felt so _good_ to tear a chunk out of the bastard's leg. Too bad he hadn't been able to reach the man on the roof. Given the way he was snarling at the two Aurors hanging on to him as they dragged him back through the front gate, Lucius Malfoy was not a happy man anyway.

_It's probably just as well. Malfoy would probably be dominant to every other werewolf in Britain, including me. Now, if Snape had ever been bitten, he might be one of the few solos, considering how feral he is already. But Lucius Malfoy would lead a pack._ He could easily imagine what the fellow would look like—pale silver fur, almost albino, matching eyes, and elegant teeth and claws.

He also thought Snape would still be deadlier. There were stories among the wolves about outcasts who ended up ruling a pack out of desperation. _No, that's me,_ he thought.

Moody stumped his way over. "We brought some food for you and the rest to eat before we leave," he said, then nodded at Miss Lewis. "Hope you're all right, ma'am. Didn't realize there was a lady along."

"Me a lady? Not hardly!" the woman said with a loud guffaw. "Oops," she added, and wiped a trace of blood from her chin. "But pass those sandwiches along. I could eat a horse!"

Remus grinned. So could he. Fortunately for them, the centaurs were making themselves scarce. Moody knew more than he was saying about werewolves, as he gave Lupin all the food for him to hand out. _Just the way James used to divide up the pizza,_ he remembered. He tried to come up with a word of praise for everyone, even Cresswell, who had not been much in evidence during the fray. "Thanks for keeping an eye out in the rear," he said, and tried to make it sound as if he meant it. For all he knew, the Dementors could have swallowed them all without warning and the fellow could have been keeping watch for them. He hoped there was enough food for everyone. But Mad-Eye had once again come through. The last sandwich, a thick beef one dripping with mustard, was nearly twice the size of the rest. Werewolf rules were slightly different from those of real wolves, and in them alphas ate last—and best. Nobody complained, as they were too busy devouring their own. But he knew they'd seen it.

Not that it stopped him from eating it, of course.

Severus Snape

Snape didn't understand why this expulsion phase was so much worse than the others, till he asked. Lowenstein took a little time to explain it to him. "We can use much harsher measures at the clinic than we dare ask you to endure when you are away," he said. "Also, you are more exposed to potion fumes this time. You are teaching different things last month, too. You had a week or so when you felt better, and unfortunately, you are paying now. The tests show you are much more tired than you feel, perhaps, and do not rest enough at the school. All these factors are making things harder for you this time, or why I am glad I may keep you for almost a week. I have heard you are not arguing much and are sleeping more, which is good."

Severus nodded. It was Wednesday already, and he was supposed to go back the next day, but certainly didn't feel ready for it. Narcissa had sent him the Prophet each day, which had been full of the failed raid on Azkaban. He ought to be happy. Lucius had not escaped, only Avery and a few others, while Bella's husband had been killed outright.

Yet even with the sun shining through his window, all he wanted to do was to lie in bed and pretend he never had to leave it. The Dark Lord would be horribly angry at this failure. Snape knew all too well what happened then. No doubt anyone accompanying Voldemort on this raid had suffered his wrath already. There would still be plenty left to pass around once he returned.

He hated knowing he was such a coward. Yet he had to go back. Draco was not ready to cope with his aunt, especially when she would be more unpredictable than ever after the loss of her husband. None of his apprentices should be left helpless. Instead of grading essays, none of which he had touched all the time he'd been here, or read, or sit in the charmed courtyard to nap, he set everything aside and shivered under the covers.

Severus knew that all he had to do was to say the word, and he could stay here at the clinic for the rest of this procedure. Dumbledore would be reluctant to fulfill his promise, but he would still do it. Lowenstein would be delighted. It would be out of his hands, then, how long he was here. No doubt he would suffer more, but there would be hope of better health at the end.

The consequences…for once others would have to shoulder them. But too many of them were students, and in his charge. Even that idiot Potter deserved better than to be left to the Malfoys, no matter how good Narcissa's intentions.

Snape slowly pried himself out from under the blankets and bit his lip when he saw an elderly woman, her hair in a bun and topped by a jeweled butterfly, sitting in the guest-chair. "Forgive me, madam," he said, embarrassed at anyone finding him this way.

"There is nothing to be sorry for," she said. "I think you have fought a battle this morning and won just by sitting up, Professor Snape."

He blinked. "You have the advantage of me, I fear."

"That is true. Your headmaster once knew me as Malachite in a different war, but here I am known as your healer's great-aunt. If I may call you Severus, then you may call me Francesca. None of us have enough time for formality."

Was the woman mad? He picked up his wand and began to wave it.

"Do not worry. No sound shall escape your room today till I leave. Alabastor, as I once knew him, has told me a great deal about you. Do you think you are the first to toy with the idea of hiding from a war that is likely to kill you? Trust me, you are not. I saw in your face when you came out of the bedding that you have given that up. I myself have fought that battle, Severus. When the body is strained to the breaking point, the mind often follows."

It was frightening how much of his thoughts she spoke. "Where…when…?"

"France, in 1943. The Muggle Nazis were not the only evil forces there, though some of them dabbled in Dark magic as well. Thank God we were able to substitute a fake Spear for the real one. They were going to turn Burgundy into a forested section of Hell through the Moon of Ice ritual. Your Riddle, at least, is too prejudiced to ally with Muggles who are Dark, so at least we have not that worry."

He swallowed. He'd heard of the rite once, though only vaguely, and even he had been too frightened to investigate it more. Dare he trust the woman enough to speak of his true feelings? "Too many depend on what I can give for the short time I may have left," he said. That was certainly ambiguous enough.

"Ah. You are wise to say so little. Yet this place is safe. You have been told this before by others, of course, only to find it was not so, so I shall not insist that you believe me or even pretend to. Yet you need only come here to be guarded to the best of our ability. I speak for my great-nephew as well. I do not give my word often, but you have it."

"What if—" he said, then stopped. He could think of too many alternatives that would end in his destruction even if she spoke the truth.

"All walls can be broken, eventually, even those here. Even the Swiss cannot stand against the world, should it decide to break us. Since I suspect you are the sort who would have to be carried in to accept this sanctuary, you would have little to say about it in any case. We should do our best to hide you, if nothing else. I hope things do not come to that pass."

He grimaced. "I am bound even in death."

"I am sorry to hear that. Yet chains were made to be broken. I shall not ask you your opinion of this, of course, as I am but a feeble old woman and could be made to talk."

Severus snorted. "I've heard that one before, madam, and I believe it as much now as I did then." Marchbanks also claimed to be a feeble old woman. No one dared to contradict her, at least not in her hearing.

'Malachite' laughed. "Now I shall let you rest again. Perhaps you should look at those dreadful papers you brought. No doubt you shall wish to rage at the stupid children who write them and stop worrying about other things."

He nodded. "I think I will," he said, wishing he dared to express his gratitude at this offer. Even if she didn't mean it, or couldn't bind anyone else in her family, it meant a lot just to hear it. Snape glanced at her fingers, which had thick nodules around the joints. "I have heard an application of bee venom, followed by hot plasters and no use—or very little, anyway—of the hands for two weeks is helpful in cases of severe arthritis or spell damage residue."

"I have not yet tried that treatment," she said. "You only wish revenge for the regime we have inflicted on you, I can tell," she said with a smile.

"The Headmaster was a trial to all around him when he used it a couple of years ago," he said. "The house elves were delighted to have an excuse to wait on him, though."

"Gerry would likely be just as pleased," the woman said with a sigh. "I don't suppose you have the details with you?"

"I shall send them by owl as soon as I return." And he would go back to Hogwarts; he knew that now.

"Then I thank you, and shall let you rest." She stood, but gestured at him to stay.

He inclined his head, and was grateful. Patient gowns came in only two sizes—tent-like and skimpy. He had been favored with the second kind today.

Once she left, he levitated the satchel out of the closet and over to his bed, and picked up a sheaf of essays and a marking pen before he could change his mind. He had best try to educate his dunderheads before it was too late.

Malachite

She let her great-nephew assist her through the Floo back to her chalet, smiled briskly at him, and closed the connection from her side. Then she sat down in her chair and wept. _Such a brave young man! I wish I had not embarrassed him by finding him in a dark moment. I am as bad as Albus, to encourage this professor to keep fighting, when it is clear he thinks his end is staring him in the face._

Francesca remembered all the times she had despaired, as well, and the quiet nights she had faced the same struggle. _I lived through it,_ she thought. _Perhaps he will, no matter what the Headmaster thinks of that prophecy. It is well, though, I did not try to give him hope of that. He would not believe me._

She had understood what Snape had tried to say when he'd offered the arthritis cure. _So many things he cannot say out loud for fear someone will find them in his mind. And he is wise not to trust me, or everyone in this clinic. Allard told me someone was sending owls to England from here, though he didn't know who just yet. _

She looked down at her crooked, painful hands. _It would be nice to have them work properly, and not hurt. Perhaps I shall try this new cure. If nothing else, hot plasters for two weeks and letting my elf look after me should rest them. I still don't see why the family insisted that Gerry live here, but it's a small price for not having to move in with Marlene, I suppose. _She wished she could talk to the one at Hogwarts that Albus had said was looking after the professor. _I would learn a great deal from this Winky, I think. Elves see more than anyone thinks._

Gerry came in the room and made her some hot chocolate. "You tired, mistress?"

"I have done so little, I should not be, but I am," she confessed unhappily.

'Too much Floo," he said.

"I only visited Allard and then returned," she complained. She sat back in her chair and hoped if she stayed quiet for a few hours, her old complaint would _not_ flare up this time. It was bad enough to have sore joints, but to feel her limbs cramp the way they had once in a Dark prison so many years ago without real cause was disturbing. She was not the only one to suffer so, according to Johann—a most disturbingly cheerful young man, though he was kind and considerate—and yet it was not fair that what she had endured should come back to haunt her. In fact, Allard's assistant had told her he'd mentioned his theories to his latest patient.

_He does not expect to live long enough to worry about such things, I expect,_ she thought as Gerry brought her the chocolate and a thick straw. It was easier to hold the cup in her lap these days than up to her mouth, especially on such days. She had learned the hard way to rest, and to enjoy the good times more. _I have noticed I do not tire so easily when there is really something for me to do,_ Francesca grumbled to herself. _Or perhaps I do not care, as long as I have enough rest afterwards,_ she amended. _One must be truthful to oneself. In times like these, that poor professor dare not trust or lean much on anyone else._

The Manticore had been like that, though he'd been better than most at hiding it. This new one had far fewer resources, she thought, and less hope to draw on. _Then again, Gerard thought to please me by showing a happy face, and could not bear the knowledge it was no use when the war was finally over. Perhaps Snape is wiser. He knows that none care for him beyond what use they can make of him, save that mediwitch who is so angry on his behalf. With any luck his elf shows him love outright and without condition. It is all he will likely have._

She mourned over the tragedy of a life spent in such harsh conditions. _Yet he and those like him will save the rest of us. I nearly died because I had so little experience of real war before I learned enough to survive. I am surprised I did not kill any of those on our side in the process. It was cruel of Albus to deliberately create another such by leaving the Potter boy with those terrible Muggles. And it was wrong to pit the two of them against the other vying for his favor. I think he regrets it now, but does not know how to repair the matter. He enjoys his court and his favorites there at his school. I still do not think he understands how his shunning of this house called Slytherin has damaged things so._

She called for Gerry when she'd finished her chocolate. The hot, sweet liquid heartened her, and she did not feel so low. _If the professor lives, I am certain Allard will offer him either a place of safety, or a post brewing, or both. Perhaps his older brother will enjoy snarling at a younger version of himself, after comparing stories about this potion regime._ She smiled. Michael believed he had no rival in Europe, but she had occasionally heard him grumbling about 'that damned upstart at Hogwarts' at the few family functions he bothered to attend.

Francesca closed her eyes, pretending she was only resting them and not taking a nap.

Harry Potter

He'd never seen Hermione's hands shaking in rage like this, though she tried to control it for the sake of the potion they were all brewing. The first day with the substitute had started out well, as Madam Tranh had lectured them, mostly, and gone over their progress for the year.

But Tuesday had started what almost everyone in sixth year potions thought of as The Disaster. At first Harry hadn't minded. The new teacher was really kind, not just faking it the way Umbridge had. They'd assembled their ingredients and the cauldron, and she'd written the instructions up on the blackboard. Everyone had thought it would be a normal day, only without Snape looming over them.

Then she had diligently directed their every step and motion. Madam Tranh had been careful to explain the reason for each one, as if they were first year students. "This is a new educational technique that is called automated brewing," she said. "Once every student has the proper feel for how it is to make a potion correctly, it will be easier in the future to remember. This way fewer mistakes are made, and there is less danger."

_I would have learned a lot more if Snape had directed us like this at first,_ he thought. _And Neville would never have melted so many cauldron._ He still kept an eye on Longbottom, even though it was technically Ron's week to watch him. The Quidditch captain had enough on his mind with the next game, providing the weather held and there _was_ one.

Harry had actually enjoyed himself on Tuesday. It felt good to know there was no possible way he could screw things up as long as he followed directions. Neville had had a stunned smile on his face when even his potion came out just fine. The Ravenclaws were restless, even Luna who was normally serene, though, and Malfoy was furious. Zabini and Bulstrode didn't look happy, either, but went along with the gag like everyone else.

Wednesday was more of the same.

Now it was Thursday, and Hermione looked ready to explode. Malfoy had become completely stony-faced, while the Ravenclaws muttered among themselves in open revolt, and even the few Hufflepuffs looked bewildered. MacMillan even grumbled, "But when are we going to really _learn_ anything?" Neville didn't look nearly as happy any more himself. Harry had to admit that he was bored, and just doing as he was told. He'd had enough practice.

By the end of class, Madam Tranh stood. It had been funny how she'd sat at her desk the whole time, instead of checking their cauldrons and commenting on technique. Even when Snape had to sit because he was obviously sick from whatever his potions were doing, Harry knew those black eyes were checking everyone out and generally not liking what they saw. _He would have been even more careful this week, with tonight being Halloween. We always play more jokes on people around then. But we didn't have a chance to do anything interesting this time, not with being turned into robots for the duration._ He discovered, surprisingly, that he didn't like it much.

"Class," she said. "I am happy to announce that your professor will return tomorrow, or on Monday at the latest. It has been a privilege to teach you. I hope to see your names on papers in Potions Monthly someday." Madam Tranh didn't look as if she really expected it, though.

The room erupted in cheers. Harry hoped the woman thought they were for her. As she departed, directing them to put everything away, the Slytherins looked much happier, and started chanting, "Snape! Snape! Snape!" Most of the Ravenclaws, including Luna, joined in. Even MacMillan and his two friends went in on it.

Hermione glared at other Gryffindors defiantly and added her own voice to the chorus. Neville, looking as if the world had ended, included his own surprised whisper. Ron gulped, looking stunned as well, finally went "Snape?"

Harry sighed. _Better him in this class than someone who doesn't trust me to stir in the right direction._ "Snape."

The classroom fell silent. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'll be glad to work my own cauldron tomorrow, and not be someone else's hands," said Zabini. Malfoy nodded, clearly too worked up to say anything.

"Thought you had that privilege last week, Malfoy," Ron shot.

"It's different when it's one on one, Weasley," the blond Slytherin said, but not in a nasty way. "That's just the old apprentice system. Besides, I was coughing my guts out most of last Friday afterwards even with a Bubblehead charm part of the time for the fumes. Whenever you suck up to your precious werewolf, remember who's keeping you alive during the full moon."

Hermione bit her lip and looked green with envy. "What good will this automated brewing do when we're on our own?"

"Not a bit," Neville said.

"I thought you liked it," Harry replied.

"There…there's no _glory_ to it!" Longbottom said, looking surprised at himself. "I know I don't finish most of the time, but when I do, and when it's right, it's _good_. It's _me_ that made the potion then, not someone else and it just happens to be my hands."

Luna nodded. Then Ron chimed in. "Mum would think so, too. When she was making me practice, it wasn't like this at all. This last week, I was just doing it without thinking what I was doing, and I don't remember half of it now."

"You don't remember half of it anyway," said Padma Patil.

"But the half I do sticks when I do it myself," Ron said without any visible resentment.

The next bell rang, and they were _all_ going to be late for class. Neville said, "Better one of us is in trouble and not all of us. I can put the cauldrons away and take the point deduction."

"No. If we work fast, we can still make it," Harry said. "Let's do some automated levitating and see how it works. One, lift. Two, line up. Three, first one sets the cauldron down, move out of the way," he chanted.

Of course, they were _all_ late to class as things turned out, but Harry noticed they had put things away a lot faster than usual. With a little more drill, they would be even quicker. But it wouldn't have been fair to make Neville the scapegoat again. He realized with amazement that even Malfoy and the other Slytherins had stayed, and not left the rest to take the hit on points.

Maybe…maybe there was something to this automated business when something was really simple and everyone had to do it all at the same time, like some Quidditch patterns. He didn't have much experience with those, because he'd always been a Seeker, but the rest of the team flew patterns all the time. Maybe he should talk to Ron about this.

Harry thought some more about this when he really should have been paying attention in Transfiguration. Of course there were times when you had to fight by yourself. But there were other times when working together in a pattern was better. _I need to talk to Hermione some more about what she knows about Muggle wars. It's not just flying and dueling, it's how we fight in the Wizarding World. It's always one on one, or maybe more than that on one, but it's not really _organized_. From what I saw in the DOM, the DE's are like that, too. If Ron can put together Quidditch plans the way he does chess, maybe he can do that with fighting, too. But Hermione is the only one who knows anything about Muggle warfare. I've picked up a little from Uncle Vernon's war films on the telly, but I bet Hermione knows more, or which books to learn from_.

He knew _he_ didn't know enough. None of them did. Maybe the Headmaster came close—but there were reasons to have more people in the Order and to let them talk. _If you have automated brewing in war, then if you knock off one person, the battle's over. If you have too many people going off in different directions, it's a mess, like the Ministry. You have to find something in between, and everyone has to know what the real goal is, or if something goes wrong everyone is stuck. This way, if Ron or Neville spot the Snitch first, they can grab it off and not have to wait for me._

_And you can't waste anybody, or think they're useless, because everyone has different abilities that can help. Neville can do plants like nobody except Sprout. Malfoy must be at least ok at potions, or Snape wouldn't have had him help with the Wolfsbane. He and Zabini and the other Snakes helped with the cauldrons, too. They never would have done that last year. _

_Last year I never would have cheered for Snape coming back, even if Umbridge had taken over for him. He probably was sick from all the fumes. Malfoy wasn't joking about coughing so much last Friday. McGonagall tried to send him to the infirmary, and he actually said he'd be all right. He never would have done that before. _

_So I have to remember that people change. It's scary, though. Maybe the Wizarding World is in so much trouble because they _don't_ change._

Severus Snape

Returning to Hogwarts last night had momentarily cheered him up. The Slytherins had been openly glad to see him back, and full of tales of Madam Tranh's new educational technique. The first years had not been quite as negative about it; he would have to investigate her methods further and see if any of them could be adapted.

He had been extraordinarily pleased by his reception in class on Friday afternoon. The Gryffindors were far less hostile than usual, and Miss Granger had actually _smiled_ at him. He hadn't the heart to take points from her just for that, and had merely reminded the class that they were there to brew. Snape wished the fumes had not made him so ill.

Halloween had been fairly quiet, since it had been a school night. He would have thought that he and Lupin would have been needed more than ever this Friday evening, since any high spirits might be only waiting to manifest themselves. However, Albus had decreed an Order meeting was necessary to go over the raid, and therefore he and Lupin were here instead of preventing the children from turning the castle into a fun fair. He grumbled about it to the Headmaster on their way here.

"They would do it whether we were there or not, Severus. You still aren't well enough to maintain order by yourself anyway. I reinforced the wards with a little help, and anything done tonight can be repaired tomorrow," Dumbledore blithely replied.

Snape was glad he'd ordered several owls to bring in treats from Hogsmeade to be dispensed in the Slytherin common room by Winky. That should keep most of the younger students from participating in the riot. There had no been incidents he knew of while he was away, but some ugly things had happened when supervision had been temporarily withdrawn in previous years, and he didn't like to take chances. "Filch should receive a bonus for overtime tonight," he said. "Frankly, he should receive one for all his work this year. It can't be easy taking up the slack, and he's not a young man."

The Headmaster had looked more serious then. "He really needs an assistant, though the house elves take most of their direction from him. Mrs. Norris can only notify him of trouble, and not do anything to help. I shall consider it."

Snape had to content himself with that. Once at 12 Grimmauld Place, he saw the real reason for the meeting. Lupin was the center of attention this time, and rightfully so.

Severus wearily sat while the others celebrated at the safe house. He was there to be briefed, and not much more. He _was_ glad Lucius hadn't escaped, though he was disgusted once more at how glad he was not to have been there. The wolf had risked himself and his friends, and was now reaping well-deserved rewards. In fact, the money had been found somewhere for the other wolves to be paid what the Dark Lord had promised them.

_Just as well_, Snape thought. _After a failure like this, Voldemort would pay them off _permanently. It really was important for Lupin to keep his pack together, as there would undoubtedly be other operations requiring their use that might not turn out so well for them.

The latest Prophet was passed around, with a full recap of the entire fiasco. _Perhaps the Ministry thinks the paper's readers will ignore everything else the Death Eaters are up to by concentrating on this one failure._

However, it had definitely not been a success. Three prisoners had escaped, though one bitten; Malfoy taken back into custody; and at least one Death Eater dead, officially identified as Rodolphus Lestrange. _At least the werewolves were blamed for being part of the escape attempt along with the Dementors,_ he thought.

"It's a good thing the Prophet doesn't really know how heroic those wolves really were," said Shacklebolt as he sat next to Tonks.

"Yes. It may be the only thing that saves their worthless lives," Snape growled. Yes, he'd stay here instead of going back to Hogwarts and trying to maintain a semblance of order, but nobody could make him like it. With him it had been "give us the information—oh, you seem to be bleeding on the kitchen floor, go see Poppy, and of course Black and Moody still think you're a traitor, you know." He had never been feted like this. He supposed he shouldn't grudge Lupin his hour of glory, but it was hard.

He grimly endured the merriment and congratulations till he could bear no more. He'd learned all he needed to about the break. If the other wolves were to be used in more missions, he would need to make a larger batch of the Wolfsbane every time, and even more if one of the Death Eaters ended up as a wolf as well. _I should probably tell Lowenstein, or I'll be as sick every month as I was this one._

Snape stood up and began easing himself out of the kitchen towards the Floo in the parlor. Then Lupin smiled at him and said, "Don't go yet! If you hadn't warned me it might not be a rehearsal or told me about the centaurs, everything would have gone wrong! You deserve some thanks, too."

He managed a wintry smile, then reluctantly sat down again. The others looked his way, barely acknowledging his existence, and went back to praising the wolf. What made it worse was that the DADA instructor deserved it. All he'd done was to cower in the clinic and throw up. Lupin's charity struck him on a raw nerve.

Molly came in to replenish the teapot. She laughed, and teased the wolf about his valor. "You'll have to come practice on the gnomes at the Burrow if you need to bite anything! Stay out of the barn, though, I need those chickens!"

Lupin grinned at her. "I usually prefer being asleep during the full moon, but I have to admit it was a lot of fun. I wish England had a hunting preserve for werewolves the way I've heard there is in the States. My transformation was a lot easier this time, and I recovered much more quickly than when I have to use the potion at full strength. But without at least a portion of it I wouldn't have stayed rational enough to understand what was going on, and the others wouldn't have understood what I wanted of them."

Again the wolf's kindness irked Snape. He grimaced and tried to look as if he deserved it. Most of the time his efforts were taken for granted.

Molly leaned down to speak to him. "Don't go back to Hogwarts. Arthur and I need to speak to you once most of this mob is gone." She stood back up and said, "Professor, why don't you lie down for a bit? You haven't been back from the clinic long yet, and you're looking fagged out."

Snape gratefully fled towards the room on the ground floor allotted to him this year. It did feel good to lie down and close his eyes with the door shut. He knew it was petty to be so jealous of Lupin, but he couldn't stop himself. He was better out of the way, where he wouldn't diminish the others' enjoyment.

And…and it had been a mistake to indulge himself with Margot. She hadn't really been that much like Molly, even if her body had for a little while. Now whenever the real one came anywhere close, he wanted to bury his face in her breasts and seek comfort that was never going to come. _I brought that on myself,_ he admitted. _I could have chosen someone else in one of the pictures. The Dark Lord was probably watching anyway. But no, I had to give in to what I really wanted for once._

He sat up on the bed, wiping traitorous tears of self-pity. Blowing his nose was best done in a vertical position. A good thing he was alone. It was bad enough being Snivellus again without anyone watching. _Most of the people in the kitchen put on a token on a table to save my life,_ he reminded himself. _I have to remember that. Even Moody and his damned gorse helped bring me back._ If truth be known, he was still glad he hadn't been on that raid. Deep in his heart he really was a coward.

Damn these potions for making him so weak! He ought to be used to be it now, but he wasn't. He stood up, washed his face in some cold water in the small adjoining bathroom, and dried it. Snape realized something. When finally given a room here, he hadn't been stinted—in these older houses, only the most important guests had their own loo. Sirius Black must be fuming, wherever he was.

That cheered him up a little. Even the prospect of going back to the kitchen where the celebration undoubtedly continued didn't seem so bleak now. After all, it was Lupin who was the center of attention tonight, and not the mutt. In the past, the wolf had always been the one protected by the others, and now he was the hero. Black would have had to pretend to enjoy his friend's celebrity, though Snape was certain the man would have thrown some sort of fit to make sure all the attention was on him.

_Some might say I do the same,_ he thought ruefully. _It's time I grew up. _He opened the door to see Moody facing him.

"May I come in?" asked Mad-Eye.

"Of course," he said without much enthusiasm. "I was going back to the kitchen for another cup of tea." _And to enjoy the sight of Molly Weasley, if truth be known._ "But have a seat." He closed the door as the old wizard stumped in and sat down in the chair by the bed.

"It's safer in here. Molly Weasley is thundering up over something, but she won't say what. I thought this was a good time to find out those details you mentioned in that note I picked up Monday before last. It was from you, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Severus said with a smirk as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He didn't have to hide things any more, at least not from Moody. Still, it was fun making his former interrogator work for the information.

"Well? The girl's a juicer, I found that much out, and doesn't look like your usual type in her normal skin. Not enough meat on her bones, for one thing. So, who was your choice for the evening?"

"She had a table full of photographs. One of them was a red-haired woman, but I'm afraid I didn't use that hair. Mrs. Weasley sometimes drops one or two when she wraps up a sandwich. She should really be more careful. I must admit, I didn't think about it at the time."

"Most men don't go to a woman's room to think!" Mad-Eye snorted.

Snape looked down at the floor. "Now every time I look at her, I—well, it was a mistake. Although I'm still glad I did it." He might not see another Christmas. Why not have one present early? Even if Flitwick turned out to be wrong, the time left to him was still all too short. Knowing what she felt like wrapped in his arms and held tight against his body was a comfort he would take with him to the grave, even if it was a false one.

"I've had a few mistakes like that," Moody said in his gravelly voice. "I don't regret them either. Here, have a drop of something stronger than tea." He held out his flask.

"Only a drop or two," Snape said ruefully. "The last time I had more than that, it bounced back onto Hagrid's floor."

"Where it promptly killed a hundred fleas."

"Probably." He accepted the flask and took a sip. Fiery warmth trickled down his throat. Odd how he felt safe around the retired Auror these days. It was probably a huge mistake that he'd pay for someday, but he decided to enjoy the novelty for now.

"I was surprised you stuck it out in the kitchen as long as you did," Moody said after a moment of silence. "You looked in prime sulking mood."

"Lupin deserves better," Snape said.

"Well, yes, but you normally don't worry about that. I can't believe he thought it was fun!" Mad-Eye looked disgusted.

He wasn't going to tell Moody about the penance that Madam Pomfrey had helped impose on him. "He'll get over that the first time he or any of his pack are hurt. Any more questions?" he said, keeping his tone neutral. It was fun keeping Mad-Eye off balance like this.

"Oddly enough, I can't think of any."

"Then I'm going back for another cup of tea." He stood up and went out the door before he could change his mind. If nothing else, the wolf _had_ kept Malfoy from escaping. That was worth quite a few hours of helping Lupin celebrate.

Moody blinked, but joined him out in the hallway. Snape walked to the kitchen and found a corner. People were starting to leave, but he had at least one more thing to say to the DADA instructor before they were gone.

Dumbledore sat in the wide captain's chair, looking half-asleep, though his eyes opened a margin more once Snape sat down. "Is everything all right, Severus?" the ancient wizard asked, and glanced at Moody who had entered the room as well.

"Yes," the Potions Master said, glad his own seat had cushions. Molly walked through, smiled at him, and found him a fresh cup. To see her like that was reward enough for returning.

Lupin brightened to see him. How odd. After so many years of insults and acrimony, the wolf still didn't hate him. "We probably need to go back to Hogwarts soon," the wolf said, regret in his eyes. "Filch shouldn't have to manage a Friday night all by himself."

"True," Snape said, staring down into his tea. He could be summoned this weekend. Or tonight. The Dark Lord would not be happy at this failure and would require scapegoats. "But I have to say this. It was a brave thing you did, Lupin. I should have been there myself. I was glad I wasn't. But you were." He let his hair fall down in front of his face, embarrassed at showing his cowardice to anyone.

"Oh." The wolf was silent for a moment, then spoke. "That…that means a lot."

Snape looked up. Lupin was flushed with pride. Even Dumbledore looked slightly stunned. "If nothing else, I owe you for keeping Malfoy in there," he added.

Everyone seemed happy about what he'd said, except for Moody. The one-eyed wizard stared at him with a _what the hell are you up to now?_ expression.

"Well," Molly said. She was sitting over to one side by now, looking happy to be off her feet. "It's been a long day and longer evening, and everyone can find the teapot themselves."

Everyone heard a thump from out in the parlor and Arthur Weasley walked in, slightly sooty and holding a sheaf of papers. "I found everything, love," he said.

Molly smiled at her husband in a way that made Snape's chest hurt. "Oh, good! Right now we're going to go over some paperwork for the guardianship hearing. If you want to help with that, fine, if not, go home or go to bed."

That cleared the kitchen in a hurry. Even Mad-Eye scurried out, with Lupin following. The Weasley couple, Dumbledore, and he were the only ones left.

"I thought that would start people moving," Mrs. Weasley said triumphantly. Then her face clouded. "I didn't want to ruin things for poor Remus, but I so wanted to slap the others. You've put yourself in danger so many times, and all we ever do is kick you in the face for it."

"You never did. Neither did your husband or the Headmaster." The others didn't matter, at least not as much.

Arthur patted his wife's hand. "It's all right, dear."

"No, it isn't!" Molly said. "But I do want to thank you, professor, for putting up with the celebration so well tonight. I tried to help, but Moody _would_ have to chase you back out here just to find a little peace. And what you said to Remus will put his tail up for days. He hated being trapped in this house last year just as much as Sirius did, and with better reason."

Snape took a deep breath. "It was only the truth." He could sit and listen to such compliments for hours from Molly Weasley—or anything else she said, for that matter.

"But it was well-spoken anyway. And we're glad you _weren't_ there, as sick as you've been. You need to get well soon. You see, Arthur's had an idea about the hearing." She glanced over to her husband, as commanding him to speak.

The Minister cleared his throat. "I think we're going about this the wrong way," he said. "The more we delay, the better your side will be prepared. The case Molly and I have is pretty simple. Molly's about as closely related to Sirius as Mrs. Malfoy is, at least in Wizarding Law. We've raised seven children. Our finances are finally beginning to see daylight with only two in school, so if we have to use our own money to care for Harry it won't be a problem. Harry…we've thought of him as our own since the day Molly saw him at the platform looking more Ginny's size and age than Ronald's. We have a mob of witnesses lined up already who are more than willing to testify to all of this. That's all we have. Waiting won't help.

"In fact, it will probably hurt. Some of our friends are starting to hear what a bad idea it would be for them to show up to testify. There's been two anonymous stories in the Prophet's gossip problem about 'a Minister's wife with a shady past'. Too much of that, and Molly won't have a chance no matter how good our claim. Lovegood's willing to go the limit for us in the Quibbler, but since he was a Hufflepuff and one of Molly's erm, friends back then it might not help as much as anyone thinks." Arthur blushed. "Madam Umbridge hasn't returned any of our calls, and Percy's been told to keep me out of her office. Skeeter hasn't written anything yet, but how long will that last?"

Snape nodded. "I have some influence with her. However, she may not have much choice before long. As the Malfoy advocate, I'm supposed to plant those stories, not quash them. I've been able to delay the worst so far. However, that assignment has clearly been given to another in my absence." He must have been more ill than he thought, since he'd missed both items when he'd read the Prophet at the clinic. "What is your proposal?"

"To move up the hearing as soon as possible. Your side won't expect that, since we've been trying to delay till Harry becomes of age," Arthur said. "I've had a word with Fudge, and he wants this out of his hair, too. You aren't the only one who's happy Malfoy didn't escape from Azkaban, Snape. Cornelius poured me a tot of whiskey with his own hands once that night was over. I know he's trying to play both sides, but I also know when he's trying to fake being sincere by now." He smiled. "Besides, any dirt on Molly could hit him, too, especially after that Christmas party back in 1973."

"What if you lose?" Snape had to raise the possibility.

"Then we have till Christmas to find Harry a place to hide," Molly said. "He managed almost ten years and every summer since he was eleven with those horrible Muggles. If he has to stay there till he's of age, well, he's old enough to take less hurt from it now."

Severus could just imagine the Dursleys' reaction, but knew things were not as bad now as they were. Some blunt talk and a healthy bribe might be enough to keep Mr. Dursley from blowing his top, and the other two would follow the man's lead. _I must go to Gringotts' this weekend,_ he thought. Any withdrawal from his account would be noticed, though. Then he remembered the small passbook from the bank in Switzerland. He could always return to the clinic for a quick checkup next week and draw from it.

"How soon is soon?" Dumbledore asked.

"End of next month, maybe?" Arthur said. "I know Fudge would love it over before Christmas. We could go tonight if we had to. Frankly, the sooner the better. Our witness list is held pretty tightly, but it's obvious who some of them are. Like I said, a few of them are starting to hear how much better off they'd be if they kept their mouths shut. But I wanted you to know the schedule might be moved up, professor, so you can arrange some time off to prepare and rest. It's a good thing you didn't go on that raid. You're our hole card."

"I hope you're right," Snape said. He felt exhausted and terrified all at the same time. Perhaps holding the hearing sooner meant he had a chance of surviving it; but it could also mean he would 'win' and the boy's legal custody given to Narcissa Malfoy.

"We know what you're risking," Molly said softly. "It's worth any number of prison raids to see Harry safe, to my way of thinking. You won't find us ungrateful."

He smiled wanly, knowing he'd do it just for the kindness she'd showed him tonight. Well, he'd do it for the Order and even for Potter's sake as well. Considering how many times he'd already gambled with his life to keep the boy from ending up in the Dark Lord's hands, only to receive suspicion and snarls, it was a nice change. His neutral mask always slipped around her, but somehow he didn't mind.

Besides, he was the one who had suggested a suit for guardianship in the first place last summer. It was only right to do what he could to keep his idiotic idea from coming back to haunt everyone. _At least someone cares what happens to me,_ he thought. "Thank you," he said.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, a look of concern on his face. "You should return to school. You've only been back from the clinic for a day, and should rest as much as you can this weekend."

"Perhaps you're right," said the Potions Master, though he really needed to consult with Binns and speed up his preparations. Oh, yes, in his copious spare time he also needed to find out what sort of hash Madam Tranh had made of his classes and see what little remained of his yearly time-table. "I should feel better tomorrow."

"You should have stayed in bed," Molly said.

He repressed some exciting thoughts of what he could do if she were with him there. If nothing else, they showed no respect for Arthur or the Headmaster's extraordinary ability at Legilimency. "I had to learn what happened during the prison break," he said mildly. What had happened to his anger? He would normally be in a fine rage by now. It felt odd to face the world without it.

He glanced at Arthur Weasley, and shied away when the man looked back with a smile. The Muggle-loving Minister deserved better than to have him fawning over his wife. "I'll go back to Hogwarts now, unless there's anything else."

"No," Dumbledore said. Both Molly and Arthur shook their heads, and almost became a Greek chorus urging to rest, either here or at the school.

He obeyed, and stepped through the Floo that exited in the Headmaster's office. Snape left it and checked Filch's quarters. If the castle was as peaceful as it seemed, Argus should be done with rounds by now.

In fact, the caretaker sat yawning over a cup of tea, with a hint of extra seasoning from the bottle of Firewhiskey on the table. "I'm to tell you the little brats are down for the night," the Squib said.

"Are they?"

"As much as they ever are on a Friday. You might want to take another turn over in Slytherin, but for once the other House Heads are actually looking after their own instead of leaving their darlings to us. You ought to leave more often."

_They'd better get used to it soon,_ Snape thought mordantly. "Need some Pepper-Up? You're starting to wheeze a bit, and it's early in the season for that."

"This medicine will do me fine for now. You know I don't touch a drop unless the bastards really are down for the night. Oh, I'm sure there's a few strays yet, but most of them know you're back. Winky's good at nabbing yours before they can get too far out of their dorms anyway."

"I suppose." He resolved to have his classes brew more simples against the onset of winter. Filch wasn't getting any younger, and neither were his lungs. The caretaker had to deal with dust and residue, much of it from uncertain sources. "I wish I could sit down with you, but I'd end up asleep in back again. Perhaps tomorrow." Then he remembered he needed to send a copy of the bee venom cure to Switzerland, or at least mention it to Lowenstein where it could be found in the literature. Wait, he could insert it in the middle of a complaint about Madam Tranh's educational reforms. Nobody on either side would be surprised to read _that_.

"Go on, the place will keep," Argus said.

Snape nodded his thanks, then slowly walked down to the dungeons. He kept an eye out, but for once the place was quiet. _I will have to become used to others taking my place,_ he thought, and wondered why it grieved him so, when for many years he'd dreamed of escaping this castle.

Winky was overjoyed to see him, and chattered like a mad thing as she helped him get ready for bed. Normally that much enthusiasm bothered him, but he let the squeaky voice wash over him. At least the elf was learning to wake him for important things.

He hoped nothing happened tonight. He was still tired from his stay at the clinic, the day's work, and the Order meeting tonight. Saying something nice to Lupin was still a bit of a strain, though it seemed easier as he practiced it. Yet part of him was at peace, as if he'd done something right. If nothing else, Poppy would be happy he was still trying to work out his penance. Funny how Lupin had looked at him, though—it had been a mixture of surprise and joy, as if the wolf had finally disposed of his own self-doubts.

He lay down, ready for bed at last, and knew he would have to make some decisions soon. Time was running out.

Albus Dumbledore

Molly shook her head. "I wonder what came over him? I've never heard him say such nice things to Remus before. I tried to give him an excuse to leave earlier, when he wasn't feeling well, but Moody had to go and chivvy him back out again. I'm still unhappy about that."

Albus wasn't pleased, either. It was a strain on Severus to emerge from his normal funk and exert himself socially. He remembered Pomona's lecture on it just last month. Of course, she'd given him others in the past, but he liked to think he'd listened to this one. Well, except for tonight. _He's exhausted and ill. I really should have let him rest._

"It does help that no one went on about him being a traitor, though," Arthur added. "Unless Moody was up to his old games again. Headmaster, I hope you don't mind me saying so, but it was a mistake to have Black stuck here all the time last year. Snape gave as good as he got, but it was pretty nasty there for a while. The professor couldn't even talk to Harry without Sirius popping out and waving his wand around, or so someone said. Remus urged the boy to go back to his lessons after he'd been thrown out, but with his godfather telling him Snape is no good, of course you know who Harry was going to listen to."

"I know," Dumbledore said wearily, who had heard this before. He had told Sirius Black why the lessons were necessary, but Harry's hurt feelings had come first with the boy's godfather.

"Why did you have the professor give them in the first place?" asked Molly. "Till Harry learned how to block, er, _him_, Snape would have to pretend to be on the other side. That's what the boy was worried about last year. He thought anything his teacher found out would go straight to someone else, never mind that _he_ was actually the leak. Of course he wouldn't listen to us. Not that I'm complaining," she said, patting Arthur's hand. "We never would have found this foolish lad in time if Harry hadn't been inside the snake. But it doesn't make sense that Snape had to be the one. He must have felt we didn't care if he was turned into mincemeat by the other side because of it. Of course, he already knew we'd sell him to the gypsies if we thought it'd help Harry, so he was probably used to it."

The Headmaster sighed. "I hoped if Severus saw what was in the boy's memories he would realize that Harry had some of the same problems he did, and would understand the child a little better. It did work out that way, I have to admit, though not as quickly as I had hoped."

"He probably wondered why you kept sending the boy back to the Dursleys to begin with," Molly said with a spark of anger in her eye.

Albus knew he was on shaky ground here. "I must admit I didn't expect Harry to go into the pensieve the way he did, although looking back I should have warned Snape to keep it locked at all times." Severus had been furious, both over the humiliation when he found out which memory the boy had snooped into, and because of Montague's severe injuries. Dumbledore had been quite firm with him, even though Snape had been right on both accounts. It must have been about that time when the Potions Master had begun dropping hints to Moody about Harry's home life.

"Well, it doesn't matter now," Arthur said. "Snape must have thought we were all eager to shove him into his grave tonight when I talked about moving up the date of the hearing. Do you think he'll survive if we win?"

"He knows Harry's welfare must come first." The Headmaster hated how that sounded.

"Resigned to it, more likely," Molly said. "Pity he's not married. He deserves to come first with _somebody_ in his life. I'm glad that little Winky's taken him on, but that's just not the same. I know how it'll be—we'll all be so glad Harry is safe we'll forget what it cost, since we're not the ones making the payment. When does the professor get anything he wants?" She held Arthur's hand. "I worry sometimes that our payment is only put off. There are stories about what happens when one person has to sacrifice for another too long. We can do a lot for Harry, but…well, it's easy for the Order to let Snape carry so much and not worry about what's in it for him, isn't it?"

"All of Hogwarts gathered together to save his life last summer," Albus protested.

"And hasn't that worked out handy for us!" Arthur said, making a face. "He's come a long, hard road and worse facing him at the end. And for what?"

"He feels he has a great deal to make up for," Dumbledore said.

"But when does it end? Never mind, we all know that one," Molly added sadly.

_Not even then,_ Albus thought. _Not even death will free Severus, unless we can find a way. Oh, there are lots of advantages for the Order. Tom will not like what he's linked to once Snape no longer has to fear reprisals to the living. But there must be an end to his sacrifices. Molly is right, there is always a price, and it can't always be shoved off to someone else. I owe a great deal myself for what I have put him and Harry through and never suffered myself._

Arthur stood up. "Well, I'll have to go in tomorrow. Come home when you can, Molly. I miss you dreadfully. Why, even the ghoul in the attic is pining away."

"Probably because you forget to feed him and he's run out of mice," she said, though she smiled to take the sting out. "I miss you, too, love. The Order people will be in and out all day tomorrow, it being a Saturday and all, but I'll close down the kitchen after supper and be home as soon as I can after."

The balding man smiled back, then went into the parlor and out the Floo. "You'd best go back yourself, Headmaster," Molly said. "If you can think of something we can do for the professor that he'd like, let me know. He deserves better than he's had so far."

"His birthday is a week from tomorrow," Albus said. "But I don't know what he wants. I mean, something we can give him." He hated thinking he knew the Potions Master so little after all these years.

She nodded. "A good excuse as any to let him know what he means to us, while he's still around to hear it." Her face went sober. "Is winning this suit really worth Snape's life? If we can hide Harry till he's of age, maybe it doesn't matter quite so much."

Dumbledore knew what Mrs. Weasley was giving up by saying that. "I wish it was that simple. If she wins the suit, Narcissa Malfoy will not only have a legal tie to Harry, but a magical one. Since he's still a minor, the rite can be carried out with his consent. I don't think the other side has any of his blood, but they could ask Severus to obtain some. Given how many accidents there are in Potions classes, it wouldn't be difficult."

"I thought you said You-Know-Who had some in his veins already from what he and Wormtail did to make a new body for him." Molly started stacking plates.

The Headmaster bit his lip. "And it would be a very bad idea to remind him of that. We _must_ win this suit." For a moment he sat and thought. What did Severus want that was in his power, or the power of others in the Order, to give him? Snape had done some extraordinary things tonight. He almost never left his privacy once he was allowed it after any function like tonight's. Moody had only been an excuse. The Potions Master was quite capable of ejecting the older wizard if Mad-Eye was too annoying.

Then he remembered the way Severus had looked at their hostess. His face had been more human, somehow, and less stony. He always ate better around Mrs. Weasley, too. Albus recalled the symbol for 'unrequited love' in Snape's teacup months back. "He's not doing this for Harry, or even for me," Dumbledore said. "He's doing it for you."

Molly flushed red. "Well, so what? If a few warm thoughts keep the cold away when he's dancing with knives, that won't hurt me. He's not lifted a finger that way, and I would know."

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley," said the Headmaster wearily, who wondered at the woman's reaction. Usually she dismissed such things with a laugh. "I suppose it's none of my business."

"You're right, it's not! I wouldn't hurt Arthur to take _Merlin_ to bed, but I won't crush a man for the fun of it, either. Discouraging Fudge was different. You wouldn't have believed the look on his face when I…well, never mind. But if Snape _does_ have any such dreams, he can enjoy them all he likes. Albus Dumbledore, if you weren't head of the Order I would slap you. Do you go around like this to every woman you think he likes?"

"Well, no, of course not…" Now it was his turn for his face to feel hot.

"I certainly hope not! I swear, I think you pulled him out of Azkaban just so you could be his jailor at Hogwarts! I don't know what's wrong with you tonight, but sitting up late obviously doesn't agree with you. Go home!"

Albus knew that Mrs. Weasley was right and that he had stepped out of bounds. He numbly rose and went through the Floo back to Hogwarts. Both Minerva and Poppy were waiting for him. He briefly told them about the possible change in the hearing schedule for Harry. Both of them would want to know that. "Severus must rest as much as possible for the next month. With any luck he won't be summoned till then."

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "I'll have Winky watch over him more closely," she said. "I had better be with you for your meeting with him Sunday evening. He's undoubtedly terrified that both Flitwick and Trelawney are wrong, and he has every right to be."

Minerva said, "And I will watch over you, Albus. You're obviously shaken yourself, and should spend most of tomorrow in bed."

Oh, for the days when he would gladly do so with the Transfiguration Professor beside him! _I shouldn't be jealous of Severus for still enjoying such pleasures,_ he thought. "I probably should," he said, looking into Minerva's eyes.

She smiled back at him. "I've been told I ought to rest more, too," she said, glancing at Poppy. "I should probably stay with you, just to make sure you're following orders yourself."

He smiled back. "Perhaps you should."

Madam Pomfrey left. Albus sighed, and knew Poppy and Molly would probably compare notes in the next few days. _I will undoubtedly be lectured by both of them, perhaps in tandem. And I will deserve it._

However, for tonight he would accept the comfort Minerva offered him. It had been too long since either one of them had been together in any way. Even if she only slept on his chest as a cat.


	56. Chapter 56: Interlude

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Hail to thee, Snape's Nightie, and zafaran, my brave betas.

Chapter 56: Interlude

Severus Snape

He awoke knowing what he had to do. Snape ate, dressed, took his potions, and walked a turn around Slytherin to make sure he hadn't missed any problems the night before. Then he talked to the Quidditch players, briefly. They were to play Hufflepuff this afternoon, and he wanted to make sure the team wasn't overconfident. The Badgers had been a great deal more aggressive this year than usual.

Then he left a note for the Headmaster and flew his broom out to Hagrid's hut. The groundskeeper said he'd keep an eye on it while Snape went to Diagon Alley. The Potions Master walked out into the Forbidden Forest and Apparated to the long street, and hastened to arrive at Gringotts before noon. He'd heard in the Muggle world that few banks were open on Saturdays at all and kept such hours that most had to interrupt work or lose a lunch hour in order to do any business. Such was nearly the case in the Wizarding World as well, but fortunately the Ministry had induced the goblins to open the place for a few hours on Saturday morning.

He glanced up at the huge clock in the lobby, and sent a note to his account manager, who also handled the Malfoy funds that were in Britain. Snaptooth was not pleased to see him, but no goblin and few humans were anyway. "Malfoy or your account or both?" the goblin said in a sharp voice once Snape was ushered into his office.

"Mine. I want the complete box in a private room, with official paper and some official ink and quill." Politeness was seen as weakness here.

"I can't let you have any more money. The Board said no to the Headmaster and they'll say no to you. Besides, there should be a few Galleons left in that new account. Run through it already? You spent enough last summer."

Snape didn't know Albus had made yet another appeal. "None of your business what I do with it, and it never has been," he snarled. "Now. The room, and what else I asked for. No more delays." Snaptooth was always like this whenever he dealt with his own funds. He should ask to take a look at the Malfoy account, too, just to watch the goblin's manner change into a cringing one, but he didn't have time today.

The bank official slowly complied, clearly aware how close it was to noon. Snape sent a stinging hex just at the back of the goblin's heel. Snaptooth moved a little more quickly then.

Snape glanced up at the shelves behind the goblin's desk. One box was more untidy than all the rest. "Your filing system is sloppy," he observed.

"The Weasley account," Snaptooth grumbled. "They keep making their mortgage payment on time, though barely some months. Just signed up for insurance, too. I wanted to refuse him, but he's a Minister, and could make a fuss."

The Potions Master blinked. _I wonder why he's telling me this? I wonder if he's talking about my account or the Malfoy one to others, too._ "I've heard their finances are much better than they used to be," he hazarded. He should show curiosity, considering he was supposed to be looking for ways to pressure Molly Weasley in the guardianship case.

"Unfortunately, that's true. They were close to the edge for years, and only the man being an official kept us from closing them. The Old Man personally authorized the overdraft." Snaptooth looked quite unhappy about it.

Snape knew who the goblin meant, too. Why would Fudge protect Arthur Weasley? Everyone knew what the Minister for Magic thought of him. _Wait. Molly said last night something happened at the Christmas party in 1973. What if he's afraid of that coming out? His wife Mildred is said to be quite jealous. Did he care enough about Molly to keep her from being thrown into the street?._ He merely nodded, though, as if he'd known about it all along. "Where's my box?" he snapped.

"Here. And the key to room 43. It has quill, ink and paper already there. You don't have much time."

Snape hurried along the hallway, cursing the random numbers on the doors. Then he kicked a smaller goblin intern, and had the fellow lead him. He never would have found it otherwise, at least not in time. His watch matched the clock in the lobby, and he had just a quarter of an hour.

He quickly wrote, knowing already what he wanted to say. _This will and testament dated November 2, 1996 overrides all others made in the past. All my funds in Gringotts in Britain are to go to Molly Weasley after my death for her sole use and pleasure. With those go my claim to the funds the Ministry currently has in escrow. Since she is under no legal restrictions, I strongly suggest that they be released to her. I testify with this drop of blood that there is no scandal between us and that she is a faithful wife to her beloved husband Arthur. _He quickly pricked his finger and left a bloody thumbprint on the lower left hand corner, as was the tradition. _All my funds in Switzerland are left to Draco Malfoy, for his sole use immediately. I suggest he file for them in person._ The funds in his locked drawer would help the boy leave if he had to, and the money in the other bank help support him till he was of age and could draw on the trust fund left him by his grandmother. _I also suggest Mr. Malfoy assist others who may be in need. _Snape hoped that was ambiguous enough, and that Draco would help the rest of his apprentices when he was no longer here to protect them. _I leave all the books in my possession in English to Hermione Granger. All the books in other languages are left to Draco Malfoy. The executor of my estate remains Albus Dumbledore, who may remove any items he deems unsuitable from my property and dispose of them in a safe manner. _There. That should do it. Albus would save out mementoes and such to any who wanted them. No doubt the old wizard would also go through the books and weed out those he thought too Dark for Miss Granger, though he would have to do so rather hastily before the girl decided to show up with a floating trunk, her wand, and an attitude.

"Time's up!" snarled a goblin just outside the door.

Severus signed it, dated it, and had already sealed it with the thumbprint. He hastily filled in the remaining blank page below his signature with slanting lines, so nobody could add any exciting codicils, then thrust the folded paper at the goblin when he opened the door. "This needs to be filed. And yes, I realize this involves overtime, so here's something to cover that." The office goblin's eyes widened at the sight of gold, and the fellow sped away with the paper and the box holding Snape's accounts.

"The bank doors will close in two minutes. Please leave. Those left behind will be put to work," said a Sonorus-amplified voice. Snape knew they meant it, too. He hurried out, and barely made it. He and the few other customers glanced at each other, all of them silently agreeing on the subject of goblins, and departed in their separate directions.

Snape was surprised at how nice the weather was here in comparison to Hogwarts. He lingered along Diagon Alley, and stopped at Fortescue's. The hot beef sandwich wasn't half bad, though he could only manage half of it, but decided there was always room for dessert after having the remainder wrapped. A small dish of ice cream with sprinkles went down quite nicely, actually, and he felt strong enough to Apparate without splinching. It was a short walk to Hagrid's, where he meant to just pick up the broom and leave.

But he stayed for a little while instead. The game would not start for another hour, and he had not been good about following Pomfrey's prescription to play with Fang. Hagrid didn't seem to mind his presence. "Have a seat. Stupid hound never gets enough petting, do you, old fellow?"

_I didn't put Hagrid in my will,_ Snape suddenly recalled with dismay. _I'll have to write down more instructions. He's been a good friend to me over the years, and I've done so little in return. I probably won't have time to brew him anything. Perhaps a note to Albus to order him—no, I'll need to do it myself. The Headmaster might not approve of his drinking. A case of Ogden's to be drunk in my memory at some Saturday night card game should do. That will make sure everyone is plastered enough to say what they really think of me instead of fumbling for compliments. But it'll be more of a wake than Sirius Black ever had. _

"How old is Fang now?" Severus asked. "He's been around for quite some time, though not as long as Mrs. Norris." _I'll have to do something for Filch, too._

"Oh, he's getting up there all right," Hagrid said, then started counting on his fingers. "About ten years now? No, more than that, has to be thirteen easy. I dunno how old that mangy cat is. But animals live longer here, everyone knows that."

Fang's head was in his lap, looking up at him ecstatically and drooling like mad as Snape scratched him by the ears. He was glad the dog didn't bother him. _Maybe I can find a puppy for Hagrid. Animals live longer, but not forever. He'd like that better than any drink._

Then he heard a shout from over by the Quidditch Pitch. "I'm late for the game!" he said. Severus gently removed the dog from his lap and stood up. "Come and sit by us, there's always room," he said.

Hagrid looked startled. "I know, you usually sit with the Gryffindors," Snape said. "But the invitation's there."

The half-giant stammered out a few words, which the Potions Master took as declining the offer. He bit back anger and resentment, and merely nodded his understanding. Then he hurried over to the stands.

His students were pleased to see him, and quickly moved so he'd have an easy path up to his usual seat. Once he sat down, he noticed he still had dog hair and a darker patch for the drool on his robe, but ignored it. Winky could wash that out later.

The game was an exciting one, though nobody caught the Snitch during the first half. Bulstrode and Crabbe worked together extremely well as Beaters. He was a little surprised Winky hadn't caught up to him and given him his noon potions, and decided he would summon her during halftime and drink the horrible things.

He left his seat when the whistle blew, though several students offered to fetch him whatever he liked. As he went around the side of the stands, he saw Hagrid standing in its shadow. Snape understood immediately. From there the half-giant could see the game, but none of the Gryffindors who had bothered to attend could see him. "Glad you could make it," he said with as much cheer as he could muster.

Hagrid glanced down at Snape's robe. "Fang shed all over you, didn't he?"

"Always does. I just forgot to take it off. Don't worry, if this is the worst thing the elves have to deal with on my robes, they'll probably throw a party." He absentmindedly pulled a wad of fur off.

The groundskeeper chewed his lip a moment. "Still have room up there for me?"

"Of course. These stands are stronger than they look. Flitwick reinforces them at the beginning of every season." Snape looked back up them. "My seat is right up there by the box for guests. You can sit by there or down closer to the ground if you like. I have to warn you, if you sit down at the bottom you'll have half a dozen first years in and out of your lap. I try to teach them manners, but you know how it is."

Hagrid nodded, and carefully sat his bulk down on a lower seat. He looked behind him, obviously not wanting to block anyone's view.

Snape realized Hagrid normally sat in a lower seat. _Probably terrified of crashing to the ground,_ he thought. Then he summoned Winky, who had several flasks of potions and an apple. He brought out his wrapped sandwich from Fortescue's and ate it instead, then washed it down with the glop from the Swiss. "Winky," he said, "if you could bring me a flask of hot lemon tea, I'll sip on it during the rest of the game and rinse the taste of _this_ out of my mouth."

The tiny elf eagerly complied. "Good to see Master Furry with you, Master," she said once she returned with the tea. "Your robes smell nicer when you see him."

_Well, that was certainly a matter of opinion,_ he thought, but nodded. "Thank you, Winky." Then he began the climb up to his regular seat. He was glad to be in it as the potions began to take effect. _I shouldn't skip them any more,_ he thought. _Having to catch up just makes their effect worse._

The game dragged on a bit after the end of the half, though. Few goals were made through the Quaffles and judging by their flying, Macmillan and Malfoy were not on the best of terms. Hagrid, as he expected, was being used as an auxiliary couch and leaning-post by the first years who sat by him. He decided to look the other way. It was good to see Mr. Andreas, in particular, warming up to someone. _Though I will definitely have him turn out his pockets after the game,_ he thought. _He may not realize till it's far too late just what Hagrid keeps in his own._

The game was finally over, though with a Hufflepuff win by just one goal through the Quaffle. Draco was clearly unhappy he hadn't been able to catch the Snitch, but the Badgers still had a higher foul count. "Remember what game we're really playing this year, Captain Malfoy," he said gently to his godson. Now go shake hands with your counterpart, and remember how stunned they will be when you're polite about it."

Draco smiled, happy with the thought. "Of course, professor. Father always said if you can't win, make them wonder if they really did."

"He is quite right." Snape looked at the other players. "You all did extremely well today. It was a well-fought game, and none of you have anything to be ashamed of. We play them again in three weeks. May I suggest a little more drill for the Chasers? Next week, when we play Gryffindor, this may make a great deal of difference. Potter doesn't always catch the Snitch, and Malfoy may not be able to. I believe this game has taught us all not to be too dependent on that aspect. Beaters, you were excellent. You have discovered exactly how to proceed with proper aggressiveness, without drawing fouls that could have increased the Badgers' margin."

"I still think I could have smacked Bones and not been caught," Crabbe grumbled.

"Then you would be wrong," Snape said. "And it will not work to pass off such duties to Miss Bulstrode, either. Madam Hooch is quite used to female players. Miss Weasley has already drawn several fouls as Chaser this year, and the coach will not be afraid to call them on your partner. Mr. Zabini, I saw you were occasionally in difficulty as Keeper. Are you having trouble seeing?"

"Yes, sir, my allergies kick up this time of year. I wish it would rain some more and settle the dust."

"See me for a potion for that two hours before the game next week if the weather remains dry. It will make you a bit sleepy, but that part should wear off in time while still keeping things clear for the rest of the afternoon."

"Yes, professor."

"Again, you have done well today, even though you may not feel like it. The Quidditch Cup is not determined just by wins and points, but by fouls as well. In the past, unfortunately, the spread has been so great that fouls have not come into it. However, there is a chance this year that may not be the case. And as I told your captain, the game we're playing is somewhat different and far more important."

The team members agreed out loud, but Snape knew they really didn't believe it. He softened his voice. "I am very proud of you. Even while I was at the clinic, I heard how well you were doing. I was glad to be back here in time for this game."

"Aren't you supposed to stay there for the whole treatment?" Macnair asked.

"Probably. But since the potions they give me are equally horrible no matter where I am, I can throw up here as well as anyplace else." Fortunately the students thought that was funny. He nodded to them, then hastened to the small lavatory out here as quickly as he could, since he'd only been telling the truth. _I'll have to tell Winky and probably drink more of this swill,_ he thought. _Or maybe not._ He rinsed his mouth out with the lemon tea, and that helped a little.

Hagrid stood outside the doorway. "Here's your broom, perfesser," he said. "You look like you'd better use it instead of walking anyway."

"Thank you," Snape said, and took it. That reminded him. "Oh, Mr. Andreas, please come over here."

The first year student hastened over with a guilty look on his face. "Yes, sir?"

"Check your pockets, please. Our groundskeeper occasionally has extremely friendly items in his pockets, and they may have migrated to yours while you were sitting next to him."

"But I put the wiggly ones back—" The boy flushed red.

Snape tapped his foot expectantly. Mr. Andreas pulled everything out, including a pocket handkerchief the size of a young tablecloth and a sleepy mole.

"What have I told you, Mr. Andreas?"

"To keep my hands to myself, sir."

"And how many hours are you going to help Professor Hagrid out in his barn?"

"Two, sir?"

"Aw, that should do it, lad," Hagrid said, petting the mole before putting the small animal back in his pocket. "You won't want to pick up anything in _there_ to take home, now will you!" he said with a huge laugh.

"Now move along," Snape said tersely, though without venom in his voice.

"I guessed he'd winkle out some of it, but I never thought that much," the half-giant said. "I mean, I knew he used to work for Mr. Bartholomew when I fetched him to help him with his supplies."

"Never underestimate a first year," Severus said. He felt sweat rolling down his forehead.

"Sure you don't want me to walk you back? Winky fusses at me to watch over you."

"I'm sure she does," Snape said, and barely repressed a smile. "I'll ride on the broom, I think. Two inches off the ground won't bother me."

Hagrid waved him off. "Better have a lie down when you're back, then."

Severus nodded back. The broom ride was better than walking, even for the short distance between the pitch and the entrance to Slytherin. In fact, he cheated a bit and continued to ride while inside rather than walk down the stairwell and hallways. The students blinked, but nobody said a word, except in greeting.

He did lie down once he reached his rooms. Winky fetched him peppermint tea, which he hoped would settle his stomach and nerves. "Master do too much," she said softly once he was sitting up in bed drinking it.

"I know," he said. In an hour or so he would feel better, though, and could take a look at the essays. There were a few left from the stack he'd taken with him to Switzerland not graded yet, plus he was certain there were more waiting for him from whatever Madam Tranh had assigned. _I also need to speak with Professor Binns about his research for the hearing. If it is to be sooner than anyone thinks, I must be prepared. _He set the empty teacup down on his nightstand and slept, despite the terror that thought brought.

Poppy Pomfrey

She waited with Albus in his office late Sunday afternoon. "I hope the hearing is delayed longer than you told me," she said to the Headmaster.

"On the other hand, Arthur Weasley may have saved Snape's life."

"What?" She didn't follow the older wizard's thinking.

"You see, even Flitwick is quite certain the prophecy cannot mean anything earlier than the end of autumn. If the hearing is held before, it's quite possible Severus could survive losing this legal battle."

"Immediately afterwards, of course," Madam Pomfrey pointed out. "That could also mean the Dark Lord will put off any punishment till the appointed time. I hate prophecies, Albus! What this really means is that Severus must work as hard as possible to guarantee his death, since he knows he dare not win this suit."

"That was always going to be the case, Poppy," Albus said gently. "I…I don't want to lose him, either."

She sighed. "Of course not. None of us do. I hate it when you're right. I just hope we can remind him of how much we care for him. I'm glad he has the table down there, but I suspect he won't turn down anything we do for him now, either. Since his birthday is next Saturday, that will make an excellent excuse. It should be a fairly small gathering, since crowds do bother him."

"I want the Order to do as much for him as they did for Lupin Friday night," the Headmaster said, drumming his fingers on the table.

Pomfrey nodded. "Then two parties. We can call it a bit of making up for all the ones he should have had and hasn't. They shouldn't be surprises, either. I know you meant well in the past, but it just doesn't work out well with him. He nearly hexed off Flitwick's nose the last time. But I think he will take the attention better than in previous years. He knows he doesn't have much time, and between the potions and everything else, he's a bit more open to affection than he used to be. He sat in Hagrid's hut for over an hour yesterday and invited him to sit with the Slytherins at Quidditch. What's more, after half time everyone saw Rubeus there."

Dumbledore looked a little happier. "You're right. He was much more civil than anyone expected at the safe house Friday night."

"Yes," the mediwitch said. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that." She'd heard an earful about it from Molly Weasley the day before. "You're lucky you didn't get a Howler at dinner last night. If you _ever_ think to interfere like that again, you'll find one from me as well. Mrs. Weasley is fully capable of managing her own affairs, and if you don't think so, ask Cornelius Fudge. There's a reason he had to go to St. Mungo's to have those donkey ears removed, never mind what else, and you're lucky you didn't acquire a set of your own." She knew half her anger with the situation was the suspicion that Albus was right. _I couldn't expect Severus to ever look at me, I suppose. But if the Headmaster sees things clearly, well, there are worse places for a man to place his heart than in Molly Weasley's care. I'm surprised she didn't just laugh the whole thing off. I've never seen her so upset._

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'd rather stick my foot into a nest of scorpions than open my mouth on that subject again. I won't say a word to Severus, I promise. Or hint, or drop little allusions, or anything of that sort."

"Good. Now, I'm going to do something a little different tonight than I think has been done before. I had a little talk with Sybil, and she's very concerned. In fact, she volunteered to be here tonight, but I didn't think Severus would care to be reminded of her prophecy any more than he has to just now. But she took me through something she called a guided meditation, and it was quite nice. His stress level must be quite high."

Albus grimaced. "And so is yours," she said primly. "I want you both to go through this. It won't hurt you a bit to slow down a little." _I'd have all the staff and the students have this kind of rest if I could,_ she thought. _It certainly did me a great deal of good when Sybil did it for me, and she was gracious enough to say it helped her when I practiced it on her._

"Well, here I am," Snape said ungraciously as he walked into the office.

Ah. So he was back in full Potions Master of Doom mode again. "I'm glad," she said. "Please sit down."

The dark-browed man flung himself into a chair with more energy than he'd shown in weeks, though his face was tight and drawn. "Let's get on with it," he said.

_He's playing with the doses of his potions again,_ she thought. _Yet how can I blame him?_ "I hope you have rested a little this weekend," she said gently.

"I did after the Quidditch game yesterday," Snape said, this time with less venom. "Winky helped me with some cataloging today, and I worked through another stack of essays. In fact, I have lesson plans to go over when this is over."

"How was your dinner with Mr. Malfoy?" Albus asked.

"It went well enough." Severus looked glum, though. "Has anyone given thought to how he will be protected when I am gone?"

"That is why I wished him to join the Order in the first place. I shall not make the errors with him that I did with you when you were that age." The Headmaster looked serious.

Pomfrey understood what Snape was really asking. "If he will accept any kindness from me…after that…or from anyone, then we shall provide it, dear, and to the rest of the apprentices as well. It might be easier for him to explain to _others _if he drew most of his detentions with me. Everyone knows how much he loathes cleaning bedpans, and how much malingerers annoy me."

The Potions Master shot her a grateful look, no doubt trusting her more than he did the older wizard just now. Well, she couldn't blame him. "In fact, after this little meeting is over, I'd like to see you in the Infirmary. The Swiss are changing your potions again after seeing how badly you suffered this last time."

He nodded, then let his shoulders slump. Pomfrey could tell without her wand that he was a great deal more tired than he was letting on.

"Now what was it you had planned, Poppy?" asked the Headmaster.

"Something for you both," she said. "First of all, each of you cast a Cushioning Charm on your chair. This is supposed to be restful." The mediwitch waited while each obeyed, though she suspected Albus often used them already. He had more padding, but his bones were older. "Now, both of you close your eyes," she said. "Breathe evenly and deeply. Yes, that's right. Let your heart slow down a little as you continue to breathe deeply." Severus was still fighting it, she saw, but she continued on till she was certain even he was beginning to relax.

"You are now in the most beautiful place outdoors you can possibly imagine or remember. The air is perfectly warm, neither too cold nor too hot. There are only a few clouds in the sky. No one is around, only you and the trees and the sky. Perhaps you can hear water not far by. Breathe softly and deeply, all is well." She read this all of in the gentlest voice she could, with pauses in between each statement. Even now Snape looked tense, as he could not quite believe what he saw behind his eyelids was real.

"Imagine you see a place close enough to walk to. One of your friends is there and you can't wait to see him." Again she paused. Albus was already asleep, and snoring a little. Well, good. The Headmaster drove himself as hard as he did those around him.

Severus had his eyes closed, but his face twitched a little. "If only I can get to Hagrid's, I'll be safe," he said to himself in a younger voice.

No doubt that had been true for a dreadfully long time. "Yes, you are safe now," she said, agreeing with him. Pomfrey knew she was going off script now, but felt confident about it this time. "He's sitting on the stoop, smoking his pipe, and that great dog of his at his feet. Both of them are happy to see you. You can rest there." She let silence fill the room, pretending not to notice tears trickling down the poor man's face.

Poppy knew she would have to bring them out of this eventually, but didn't have the heart to do so just now. She continued to reiterate that everyone was safe, the weather was warm, and all duty could be laid down for the moment.

She felt like falling asleep herself in the office. When Fawkes came in out of the fireplace, the bird bristled at Snape's presence. Pomfrey hushed him with a gesture. _If you can't bring yourself to sing to him, that's one thing, but for Merlin's sake you'll not wake him!_ she thought ferociously, hoping the bird would sense her thoughts. _Besides, you'll keep Albus from his rest, too._

The phoenix fluttered his feathers in one last gesture of protest and settled down. After over fifteen minutes, she began murmuring again. Technically the two men were supposedly to be in a light hypnotic state or in meditation, but both of them needed their sleep. She hated to be the one to drag them back to their duties. "Wherever you are, it is time to return," Pomfrey murmured gently. "When you awake, you will still feel healthy, happy, and relaxed. Now begin to rise from the depths and back to me. Take a few more deep breaths, then open you eyes."

The Headmaster responded almost immediately, but Severus resisted. She couldn't blame him. "You will be safe when you awake just as much here as you are there," Poppy said, knowing she lied. "Open your eyes now," she said, her tone a little more insistent.

Snape took a deeper breath, more like a sigh, and obeyed. He clearly didn't want to come back from wherever he'd been, and Pomfrey couldn't blame him a bit. He blinked when he saw the phoenix, and immediately tensed up again. "If you like, you can leave now. I need to speak to Albus for just a few more minutes and then I'll return to the infirmary. We can discuss the new potions then," she said gently.

He nearly bolted out of the office. She hated to see her attempt to ease his distress ruined so quickly. As soon as the door closed behind him, Fawkes fluttered over to the Headmaster and began singing. She was drawn to the bird, yet disgusted with him at the same time.

_You silly bird,_ she thought, _don't you know he had no choice? At least he had no choice if he is to save the rest of us from a similar fate. Blame the man you're trilling to now, not Severus._

But of course a phoenix had little true understanding, only instincts. It still wasn't right. She stood up the moment the bird finished, and said, "I should be going now."

"We really had more to talk about," Albus said. "Is that going to be all?"

"I had hoped it would last longer," Pomfrey said grimly. "But let me just say that with some patients, there comes a time when one must give up on forming a foundation for healing and just pour down the pain potion as fast as possible. I saw no need to harrow his feelings, especially when he'll need to set them aside for the sake of the guardianship hearing. I hope Fawkes is a comfort to you, Albus." She knew the ancient wizard really did care for the Potions Master, and was already beginning to mourn his loss, but so was she.

She left the office and returned to the infirmary, surprised to see Snape actually waiting for her there. Ostensibly he was checking over her potions supplies, and looking to see if any members of his house showed up for Sunday Excuse Night. He nodded to her and followed her into the office.

Both of them sat down. "The Swiss have sent over a new formulation for your potions this week," Poppy said, looking at Snape's worn face. "As you know, they may react badly to whatever your children or you are brewing. I have in mind a different procedure. I want you to have some rest, and take only the potions for the side effects instead for a few days."

"Why?" Snape looked surprised.

"Because you are probably psychologically dependent on the mood enhancer by now. You have enough on your plate without having to fight ill-temper on top of it. You have stopped losing weight, but you could gain two stone and no one would notice much change. You need your sleep as well, so I would also keep the sedative. At the beginning of next week, you'll probably be back to the original schedule in your class that you gave Magister Lowenstein, and so this new formulation would have a better chance of working properly." She always retreated into being clinical when her feelings threatened to overwhelm her.

"I must admit, I'm tempted," Snape said. "But Lowenstein needs to know if I do this. I can't ruin his data by pretending I'm following his regime when I'm not. I had best try out this new glop, Poppy, and if it doesn't work we can talk to him about it then. I am feeling better than I was. What was the spell you used in Dumbledore's office?"

"None at all, actually. It's a Muggle technique that uses no magic at all, only the power of suggestion. Sybil tried it out on me, and it's quite relaxing." She remembered the vision her reverie had brought her, and regretted only the waking from it. "It is a bit hard to come back to the real world afterwards, but she said it was something one could eventually do by oneself if there isn't anyone around to lead the way."

The Potions Master nodded. "I hate coming back from that kind of dream."

"We all do, Severus," she said. "Even Albus didn't seem happy about it."

He stared at the little flasks intently. "I may as well give these potions an honest chance," he said. "Did the Headmaster tell you about the possible change in the guardianship hearing schedule?"

"Yes, and that's why I want you to have more rest," Poppy said. "I know you won't till you have everything organized, and that's why I want you to take just the potions for the side effects for a bit."

"But neither you nor I know what they will do combined with the usual suspects trying to poison me, either," Snape said. "I've been panicking the way I usually do after I heard Friday night's proposal. Let's face it, if the hearing is by Christmas that means the Ministry _is_ moving faster than usual."

"And you will be in much greater danger," Pomfrey said.

"It doesn't need a prophecy or Flitwick's analysis to tell me how things really are," the Potions Master said softly. "I must admit I relaxed my guard a little thinking Trelawney was actually on to something. But I'm glad our Charms professor pointed out the fallacy in my belief. I should know better than to be certain I have any time at all. I can take precautions, of course, but it's clear that they will fail at some point. However, being terrified because of the possibility the Ministry might do _anything_ quickly for once is quite foolish. I will need to spend more time in preparation, of course, since failure to do so will certainly guarantee disaster."

She gazed down at the flasks herself. "Then we'll try this new formulation," the mediwitch said. "But I would like to examine you briefly each night. Also, if you feel you must skip any potion for some reason, don't double up on them later. That can have ill effects as well." Winky had confessed to just that, and how her Master had smelled of sickness after the Quidditch game.

Severus nodded, though for a moment he looked as if he'd been caught with his hand in her biscuit tin. "Is the detoxicant a lighter dose, or a heavier?"

"Lighter, if I'm reading the instructions right. You should be careful if you cut back on the sedative, though. I remember the problems you had before you began using it."

He grimaced. "That made it difficult to brew the Wolfsbane Potion. It was a good thing I had Mr. Malfoy with me. He's much better at watching time than Winky is."

"You should have someone with you from now on whenever you must sit up all night anyway," she said, "especially when brewing. I don't mind losing a little sleep, and it would save time during an emergency anyway."

"Can't risk _your_ health, Poppy," Snape said with a hint of a smile. "Who's going to patch me together again if you are harmed?"

She flushed, knowing he meant no more by the comment than friendliness but she couldn't help her heart beating a little faster. "You know I don't mind, Severus," she said.

"I do," he replied. "Well, I can hear them outside shuffling in line and preparing their complaints. I'll swallow this down without too much whinging. It's the least I can do to return all the kindness you've showed me." Snape stood and offered her a hand to assist.

Pomfrey took it, happy to see so much progress. The Slytherin rarely voluntarily touched anyone, and his normally forbidding manner made sure few did so to him. She knew how much trust such a simple gesture showed. "Then rest as much as you can," she said as she rose from the chair, his warm hand holding hers.

"I'll try," he said as he let go.

By now it was easy for her to tell when he was lying to her. "I know there is much to do," she said. "Let us get on with it."

He nodded again. "If you can, take time to look at Filch," he said. "He's wheezing again and doesn't want to admit it. I can't help him as much this year, and I think it's wearing him down."

Pomfrey nodded as they both left the office. The aging Squib hated knowing he needed magical help. Snape scowled at the students in line, none of whom looked especially ill or injured, but Pomfrey felt his expression was more a matter of expected form rather than any real unhappiness.

She knew why Severus proposed that both Flitwick and Trelawney could be wrong. If he was truly in that much danger now, there was also a possibility their error offered a slim chance of survival past the appointed time, even if it was less than two years from now. _Hope is such a precious thing,_ Poppy thought, _that he's willing to accept the chance of death now rather than the surety of it later. _She couldn't blame him.

Madam Pomfrey looked at the usual suspects and a few that might actually be ill. She was glad young Malfoy was no longer among them, but wished his reformation had not come at such a high price.

After she dealt with them, and put two of them to bed for the night, she allowed herself to remember what her meditation had been like. At first her mind had been full of thoughts that sprang up twice as fast the more she tried to beat them down. At last she had slowed and let her mind drift into reverie. Her waking dream had been most pleasant, really—she'd lived in one of the cottages near St. Mungo's. There her evenings had been her own, as others were on duty for various emergencies. And in it her husband Hubert was alive again, or at least so she'd thought as she had imagined lying in a double bed again. Yet in that dream the man had been taller and long-boned, though she had never seen his face.

_I hated waking from that one, and told Sybil so to her face,_ she thought ruefully, sitting in her office with the door open to keep her eye on her patients. One girl might be coming down with a severe rash from trying out self-made cosmetics, while a first-year boy from Slytherin had been attacked by one of Hagrid's pets while working off detention. _Not another like poor Mr. Longbottom_, she hoped. Yet his friends had been there with him, urging him to get some nasty scratches looked at. The others had been the usual sort, though only three of them had purchased Skiving Snacks.

She began half-dozing over her tea. Pomfrey was used to snatching sleep when she could; emergencies could happen at any hour and usually did. At least she had cleared out everyone injured, poisoned, or somehow transformed from Halloween, and in a record two days at that. Usually she took up to a week to reconstruct everyone. _They're more serious this year, and the Weasley twins are gone. Most of Slytherin and half the Quidditch players from other houses besides Gryffindor aren't buying much from them because of poor Mr. Montague. Miss Chang never goes anywhere by herself because of that idiotic bet in the Book, and the more imaginative types in Ravenclaw are being kept in line by Filius for once. Minerva is actually spending time after dinner keeping an eye on her lads and lasses, and she hasn't done that for years. The Slytherins are keeping their mischief to themselves, because they're worried about Snape and because Winky looks _sad_ at them if they misbehave. For once, the Hufflepuffs don't have to maintain order by themselves. No doubt that's why they're acting out, and I haven't seen that sort of thing from them since before Albus became Headmaster._

_Some things just aren't funny any more._

The mediwitch couldn't help but admire the courage she'd seen in Severus tonight. Death stared him in the face, and he was still worried about a fellow potion maker's protocols. She had a terrible feeling she would be the one to close his eyes when it was all over for him. In her mind's eye she saw him lying on a bed, looking much older from the pain he had undoubtedly endured, but with the large, dark eyes finally blank forever. An older woman much like McGonagall stood by, weeping, her hair twisted into a bun, but with wild tendrils escaping from their prison, much like Minerva had late last summer when everyone thought Snape was dying.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. When that day came, You-Know-Who would find out no better killer existed than a healer. _There are some vows no mediwitch should break. There are magical consequences to me if I ever do break them. Yet some of us have, and even though they died for it, I cannot help but understand them now. _

She remembered Snape as an undernourished first-year; in fact, she'd wondered if he was of age. Back then the deadline had been January 1, not September. Those like Severus who were young for their age anyway had been cited as reasons for moving the date. She had asked the Headmaster to check the book to make sure, and he'd refused. "It would mean sending him back to Knockturn Alley and with winter coming on, Poppy. Besides, it's never been wrong before."

_I tried to talk to Albus about how many injuries the boy came in with. But I was too busy with Remus to pay as much attention to the other boy's problems as I should. I told myself that Bellwood would never let one of his be treated that way by members of a rival House. Then the problems stopped. Oh, the boy still looked pale, but at least he was eating properly and wasn't being hurt all the time. I heard about rumors about Lucius Malfoy, but I thought he was protecting Severus for the sake of Slytherin honor, and that a young man of his looks and station would never bother making a toy out of a child._

_And then Malfoy left, and Snape was hurt all the time again. I am still glad I taught him a few healing spells he could do for himself after I spoke with Albus once more. Both he and Minerva were both so blind. I thought for certain something would be done after the Shrieking Shack, but there it was. At least I was able to make sure Severus was always put in the corner bed. That one has more wards on it than others, so I was always warned if someone came too close to it. You would think even Potter and Black would not attack someone in a sickbed, but they always had Remus, and sometimes Peter, to visit here. _

_Every once in a while Remus looked as if he knew what happened to his friend, but would never say. Peter, of course, didn't dare squeal on his friends_ then._ I think I was the only one not surprised when the truth finally came out a few years ago. Yes, it was terrible how the rat betrayed his friends, but if he was treated the same way Snape was at times, so much of what happened makes sense. Professor Lupin is the only one who knows the truth of that now, and he'll never tell a soul._

Some inner clock ticked inside, and she made quick rounds. Miss Wilson would feel better by morning, while Mr. Andreas would undoubtedly sneak off in the middle of the night back to his own room, so she made sure an extra dose of his medicine sat on his table and he knew he must take it in the morning. _Like Master, like house,_ she thought ruefully.

_Oh, my children, my poor children! What will this war do to you?_

She resolved to heal them all when they came to her, no matter what robes they wore. Yes, even the worst of them all. Despite her anger earlier, she did have vows to keep.

Even Tom Riddle had once been a Hogwarts student.

Severus Snape

The new potions were as bad as he'd expected, but Snape grimly followed the regime. Lowenstein deserved a week's worth of data before abandoning the experiment. Perhaps it took time to adjust to the new formulation as well—it certainly had taken him long enough to manage the old one. Yet he was annoyed by the waves of heat surging inside him, the night sweats, and the sudden changes in his emotional state. It was Tuesday when he finally realized what the symptoms resembled, and vowed to sympathize with any older witches suffering the same sort of thing. He mentioned his theory to Pomfrey that night during his brief visit to the infirmary, and she shook her head ruefully.

"I know this is wrong of me, but sometimes I wish I could make all men go through this, if only for a little while," she said in her office. "Older witches go to female Healers because they're tired of being told it's imaginary, not severe enough, or they should be strong enough to manage things on their own. Of course, most male Healers stop that the first time they're hexed enough to need their own services, but it would resolve so many problems if they simply took what they heard for truth. I know it's hard on anyone, Severus. I'm not laughing at you, and I truly do sympathize."

"I know," he growled.

"What are you brewing in the classes this week?"

"Cold and flu season simples, as I normally do this time of year."

"There shouldn't be anything in that to affect your potions, but I'm certainly not an expert. If anything, the fumes from those cauldrons should actually help."

Snape had to admit his ear, nose and throat were clearer than usual. "I should make Filch sit in a corner and just breathe in everything."

"I do wish you didn't think you needed to sit up with Professor Binns so late, though."

He flushed. He thought he'd been careful to conceal his nightly expeditions to the History professor, even from Winky. Then he realized how she knew. "The daybook," he said.

"Got it in one."

"I will be less anxious once my strategy for the hearing is settled, Poppy," he said in a low voice. "I should only lie in bed and worry about it if I were not talking to him."

She frowned. "I wish you weren't right. I also wish I could treat your symptoms the way most of us do, but I will have to talk to the clinic first. I know you feel time pressing on you, but you really should rest when you're supposed to. You are wearing yourself down again, and that won't be helpful if you are to perform as expected."

He knew she was right. _I wish I had felt well enough to have another massage by that delightful Swiss woman when I was at the clinic,_ he thought. "I can't sleep anyway," he said. "Of if I do I wake up and can't doze off again, even with the sedative. I'm having to work at not snapping at the children again, even though they are being quite good. Well, for them."

"It is odd," she said. "If the detoxicant dose is less, I would think that the potions for the side effects would be more effective, not the other way around. I'll talk with Lowenstein first thing tomorrow morning. Have you tried the meditation yet?"

"Yes, but every time I do there's an interruption. Frankly, I have better results that way talking to Binns. At least then I feel something has been resolved. We're firming up the witness lists and prioritizing them so if either side is limited in their number, the correct ones will be chosen. I haven't quite settled on the proper order to achieve the desired effect, and I'm still trying to arrange for one who isn't in the Wizarding World." He was talking too fast again. Snape knew he sounded driven.

"You must rest and eat better than you have been," Pomfrey said unhappily. "I'm tempted to send you to Mrs. Weasley's table and have her feed you up."

Severus flushed guiltily, knowing he would like nothing better. "I don't see how that could be arranged," he said, though he was tempted to let Poppy have her way.

"I don't either, unfortunately." She drummed her fingers on the table. "I suppose you ought to be able to finish out the week, but if you're not better by then we'll have another talk with the clinic and go back to the old formulation. This isn't working."

Snape had to agree, especially when he began sweating right there in front of her. She offered him a large cloth to wipe it when it became obvious his handkerchief wasn't able to cope. He handed it back. "Another sample to send to Switzerland," he said in a light tone.

"Thank you," she said. "Be sure to drink lots of plain water, as you did when you were adjusting the first time around. Perhaps you could try the meditation again late at night if you can't sleep even after talking to Binns. Don't go back to walking the night patrols. You are exhausting yourself as it is, even if you don't feel like it."

_It's terrifying how she reads my mind. She's almost as bad as Albus that way._ He nodded in agreement, then returned to Slytherin for the evening. Late that night, when he once again awoke and had to put a Drying Charm on his nightwear and sheets, he decided to try what the mediwitch had told him, only in a different way.

He had neglected his House of Memory lately, and it had been a long time since he had put a new token of happiness in his sanctuary. It was still rather empty after the way he'd sacked it last summer for the Potter boy's sake, though some new additions had been made since then.

Snape lay in bed, but his mind was in the small room that all his own. A small statue of Winky presided over a flock of tiny teacups, while a red hair wound in the wrapping paper around a ham sandwich now smelled like cinnamon. He imagined a gilt picture frame with Molly's photo in it, to commemorate the night in Knockturn Alley, and then added a miniature empty massage table for the sake of Gerte's marvelous hands. He added a tiny broom for Madam Hooch's sake, along with a small mortar and pestle for Pomfrey's. For a brief moment he imagined a figurine of a wolf bending down to rip out the throat of Lucius Malfoy. He let that scenario fade. All of this had to be real.

Or did it? He mentally built a model of a cottage surrounded by a white picket fence, with a miniature lawn and garden. Snape allowed himself to imagine two small girls forever chasing a gnome on the outside of the small house, and a woman's head bending out of a window to call them in for dinner. Severus then put an image of himself, one hand on the gate, and smiling. _Let's pretend,_ he told himself. _Let's pretend I live through the war and I'm not sent to Azkaban. Let's pretend a woman like Molly loves me as much as I love her, and these two children belong to us. Let's pretend we have dreadful trouble with gnomes, but the children complain if they don't have one or two to play with. I work for some lunatic who lets me do whatever I like and pays me enormous sums for inventing new potions. I don't have to teach, unless I take an apprentice or two so I have someone to blame for my mistakes._ Then he added a tiny figure of Winky in one corner. _She's happy to help my wife and children, but is always glad to see me home from work._ Oddly enough, a third child flickered in and out of existence—a boy, he thought, but wasn't sure.

For a brief moment he really was standing by the gate, one hand on the latch. _Oh, if only this could be real!_

Snape withdrew and found himself looking at the model again. _I can make it real, at least in here,_ and thought furiously. Suddenly the model was gone and there was another door in the 'office'. He opened it just a crack and saw the cottage and fence, only full-size now. Severus swiftly closed it. He had other things to do before he could indulge himself this way.

He added a second cauldron to the silver one already standing in one corner, the model of the one Draco had used the night he and the boy had finished brewing the Wolfsbane. It was easy to put the Malfoy crest on it. Snape glanced around at the rest. The rose he'd set in here for Lily was reassembled now, instead of only scattered petals. Time had healed that damage.

Then he worked on the door. This was _his_ place, and if Albus wanted to come in and look, he would have to ask. Once he was done, it was stouter and could be bolted from both inside and outside. _I will simply ask him to respect my privacy next time,_ he thought. _He may actually listen now._

Snape left the 'room' of happy memories, and desires. It was terrifying to exercise so much freedom, but he liked it, too. He barred it from the outside, knowing only he had the counterspell to open it again.

He allowed himself to drift back into reality again. Winky stared down into his now-open eyes, softly saying, "Master, please wake up now. Master, please wake up now. Is Master all right? Master, it is time."

Severus smiled at the elf. "Yes, I am, Winky. Thank you." He was free inside these real rooms to feel and act the way he wanted, too. Of course he had to assume his usual masquerade outside of them. He dare not let himself drop the mask _there_. But here, he could be himself. _I wish I had realized this a long time ago. Better late than never._

He rose and dressed, and barely made it to the Great Hall in time for breakfast. Snape picked at his food and thought about how to make it through yet another day. Then he looked down at the Slytherin table, then at the rest of the students, and knew he would. _For the most lot, they are a bunch of dunderheads. Yet even Mr. Longbottom deserves better than to be just a pair of hands for someone else. _

The Potions Master spoke about some aspects of that to his first years that day. "Don't start up the fires under your cauldrons yet," he said once they were all sitting down, even Mr. Andreas, who had a bandage around his right arm—ah yes, a flobberworm had bitten the boy while he'd been working off his sins for Hagrid. "I want to talk a bit about what you learned from Madam Tranh last week. You see, brewing is done on a much larger scale in both the rest of Europe and in the States. In France, it is quite common for someone to work in potions without really learning it. They still have the three levels we have here, of course. Apprentices learn under masters and complete their learning, since their schools do not cover the subject in nearly as much depth as we do. Journeymen brew potions on their own, and may direct up to ten pairs of hands when they brew in quantity, while masters train apprentices. In some facilities, they direct up to fifty pairs of hands, though it is more common for them to oversee the journeyman in such places"

One of the Hufflepuffs raised her hand. "How do—how does one become a master or mistress of potions, sir?"

"I had to complete a term as a journeyman. Since I passed my potions NEWT as such a high level, I was allowed to skip the apprentice stage and function as a journeyman right away. However, I wouldn't count on that." _Given where some of my training came from, I'm surprised I didn't lose that status as well. _"I had to show my expertise at brewing a very difficult potion, and then suggest improvements on it. After that I had to invent one of my own. I chose the Wolfsbane Potion to both brew and improve, and my version is now the standard one. However, I still have some ideas on how it can still be adjusted to allow the victim an easier transformation."

"Which one did you invent?" Mr. Andreas asked.

"Raise your hand to be called on, young man. 1 point from Slytherin." He almost smirked at the looks of utter surprise from the rest of the class. The boy then raised his hand and re-stated the question.

Snape nodded. "Better. I invented a potion for headaches first, which worked differently than the one considered the standard back then. I recently completed an Evanescence potion, which cleans better than the standard charm and doesn't leave the underlying surface discolored, as is sometimes the case with a spell. It is suitable for delicate surfaces such as artwork, for instance." He had a wicked thought. Would it work on enchanted portraits as well as Muggle ones? "In this case, accidents are sometimes good, as long as the brewer survives. Now, Madam Tranh is understandably concerned about preventing them. French safety regulations are the strictest on the Continent, and their record is to be envied. Those in the States are not far behind, at least on paper, though one suspects some researchers pay little attention to anything authority tells them. The Russians are often quite bold in their experimentation, but their results are often difficult to reproduce." He knew he was going quite over the heads of most in the room, but Miss Marcher and a few others were appearing to follow. "Our own record of progress is comparable to that in the States, and when you compare absolute numbers, we are quite ahead in terms of percentage of population. You are part of the tradition of Hogwarts, and you should be proud."

Yes. He should have spoken to all his first years like this a long time ago. Their faces shone with happiness and pride. "You are far too intelligent to be anyone's pair of hands," he added with conviction. "Even though it would be somewhat less mindless than some Ministry jobs I know of." That brought smiles and a few giggles from the children. "Now let's learn how to make Pepper-Up. Remember, you will be drinking most of these potions later on, so try not to poison yourself or others while brewing today."

The fires were lit, the ingredients were laid out with varying degrees of care, and the children began to brew. He strolled up and down, knowing that even the least talented could create disaster if they weren't paying attention—or even if they were. Yet he could never bring himself to turn potential brewers into automatons.

Albus Dumbledore

As he walked by the Potions classroom on his way to have a quick word with Winky, he heard _laughter_ from the room in the hallway outside the door. Dumbledore stopped to eavesdrop. He heard Snape make a few sharp comments, but nothing like the venomous slashing words from past years. _No. I dare not interrupt this. I have interfered enough._ His heart warmed as he heard the progress of the class, then left to look for the little house elf. She was in a back room, preparing ingredients, and resplendent in her _equipment_. "Master Headmaster!" she squealed happily. "Wait just a moment, Winky done with this soon."

He waited patiently. The elf quickly finished, then sorted out twenty lots of various herbs. "There. That for next class," she said. "Now I help you?"

"Yes, Winky," he said, sitting down in one of the chairs. "I am worried about your master. He hasn't eaten much at meals in the Great Hall lately, and he doesn't look well. How is he sleeping?" Poppy had told him much, but he wanted to hear it for himself.

"Oh, Master Headmaster!" she wailed, and wrung her tiny hands. "He stay up too late, tosses in bed, and wakes up too early. But not this morning. I have to wake him this morning, and he looks happy, like have nice dreams. Sheets dry, too, not sweaty. He so worried about something, but won't say what."

"I know what it is, Winky." Albus remembered what it had been like to struggle with the terror of certain death during the Grindelwald War, and earlier, during the Great Plague of 1918. Instead, he'd been condemned to life. Once more he faced losing someone as he had so many times before. "He's trying to help us, and he's afraid of what will happen to him. Of course he's trying to be brave about it."

"Winky knows, Master Headmaster," the elf said softly, looking down at the floor. "Dark Lord. My Barty work for him, make me help. You fight him. Master fights him. Dark Lord hurt him _bad_ last summer. Winky afraid, too, Master Headmaster." Then she looked at Dumbledore in the face. "But Winky fight if have to. House elves _protect_ masters."

Dumbledore's heart almost broke as he realized she was serious. He could not laugh at her resolution. Great hearts had come in small packages before. Harry had been only a child the first time he had faced Tom Riddle as his essence hid on the back of Quirrell's head.

"Help your master as much as you can," Albus said, his voice shaking. "I will help him, too, little one. We all will."

"Thank you, Master Headmaster!" she said, and rushed into his waiting arms. He patted her on the back and let her sniffle on his shoulder. By the time she was ready to return to her work, he didn't know who had comforted whom the most.

"Oh, must not leave mess!" she said once she stood back, and made a quick gesture to clean his robe. "That better, now. Master Headmaster must look nice for school!"

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry, then, but decided to just smile. "Thank you, Winky. You are a good elf, and I'm glad you're looking after Severus for us."

"Oh, he a good Master," she said. "Much nicer than Barty."

_That wouldn't be hard,_ he thought, but gravely nodded. He rose and patted her on the head, then left the room before she could see his own tears beginning to seep out. _Enough sentimentality,_ he thought. _Yes, Fawkes will be a comfort the way Pomfrey said last Sunday, But a better one will be to do whatever I can for my Potions Master before it's too late._ Dumbledore went back to his office and sent a note to Mrs. Weasley about Saturday night. He would have the staff gather together Friday night to present their gifts and best wishes, while the Order would do the same Saturday night. This would give Severus all of Sunday to rest.

The Headmaster smiled when he thought of a proper gift for Snape. Lowenstein had spoken highly of the masseuse who had offered therapy to Severus during his first visit to the clinic last summer, with a sly look in his eyes that said more than his words. Gerte Muerren had an ad in the local newspaper for Geneva that showed she was the type of woman Snape preferred, with both strength and flesh. _I can't give him Molly Weasley, but I can certainly help him find the sort of comfort a wizard his age is likely to enjoy,_ Dumbledore thought. _I have a lot of Galleons that are doing nobody any good sitting where they are. For all I know, Severus enjoys Molly's company because of her resemblance to this other woman. _He wrote another note, which appeared to be only a business proposal. After all, Hogsmeade once had had a house with a special teacher's entrance less than fifty years ago. And massage was said to be extremely healthful and stress-reducing. He suspected Snape would not be the only customer. In fact…well, his bones _were_ old. Everything about him was old. And it would be wrong of him to invest in such a service without being able to vouch for its wares.

Albus knew he must act quickly. Severus might not live long enough to enjoy any gift otherwise.


	57. Chapter 57: Storm Clouds

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once again, thanks for Snape's Nightie and zafaran for reviewing and comma-hunting beyond the call of duty.

Chapter 57: Storm Clouds

Dedicated to the Amish families who took the family of a murderer into their hearts.

Severus Snape

He delivered a modified version of his lecture to the first years to the other classes, but was especially pleased with the reaction of the sixth-years. When he mentioned inspiration from mistakes, Miss Granger muttered, "Nasty great mold you've got there, Alex…" No doubt it was an allusion to some Muggle researcher who'd discovered something fortuitous that way. In the past, he had thought her skilled, but unimaginative; yet compared to those who were less skilled and all _too_ imaginative, he rather preferred the second. However, the mad gleam that briefly shone in her eyes boded well for the future. Draco mostly wanted to please him, while Miss Patil and most of the other Ravenclaws wanted high marks, but Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood obviously appreciated the more esoteric side of potions. He briefly hoped the Quibbler had reinforced their wards. The newspaper was likely to be the site of more experiments during the holidays and next summer. Miss Granger had become of legal age in September, and so would not need even a conditional permit to practice all the magic she wished at home. Since the Muggle age was somewhat different, he would need to remind her in case the Weasley boy failed to do so. The magical clean-up squads would be extremely busy next summer, he suspected. Perhaps he ought to suggest a joint project for Granger and Lovegood to brew together. With any luck that might reduce the potential body count.

Wednesday and Thursday passed. By Thursday evening he was exhausted, and looked forward to the weekend. He resolved to spend Friday evening taking it easy, but one more conference with Professor Binns after hours couldn't hurt. He'd do any fetching by magic, instead of forever getting up and down looking for references. A pity he didn't have Miss Edgecombe in any of his classes. She had already been helpful to Binns on several different Sunday afternoons by now, and should have guessed whose guardianship was at stake. Yet he had heard no gossip from any source about the matter in school. A modest detention or two in the evenings shouldn't overburden the girl.

But he rarely came across her during the course of his regular duties, and Binns had given out his last detention in 1952. After dinner, Snape bluntly told Winky he was going to see the ghostly History teacher, and that he should be back before midnight. "Winky should help you, Master," she said. "Not say anything to anyone."

"Yes, dear, I know," he said, letting her hug him before he left his quarters. "But I need you to be here in case the students have any problems. I'll be back earlier than usual. I am tired, and hope to finish what I must do tonight."

"Yes, Master," she said, and took her normal position by his door as he exited into the hallway. "Master should _rest,_ the way Mistress Nurse says," she muttered loudly enough for him to hear as he walked down the hall.

He agreed, but he knew he wouldn't sleep even with the sedative with this tearing at him. It was ridiculous how he let his fears push him around, but he supposed it couldn't hurt to have some details set in advance.

Snape entered the History classroom, only to find Arthur Weasley there as well as Professor Binns. "Mr. Weasley?" he said.

"Have a seat, Professor," Molly's husband's said. "I know you're worried about what Fudge might do, and decided we may as well settle some things well ahead. Binns has told me about the progress you've both made on the witness list. The last thing the Minister wants is to have this dragged out, so we'd best choose our top ten on each side and rate them in importance. We could also pick out the ones we want to see start off and the ones we should finish with."

Snape sat down, quietly flicking a Cushioning Charm onto the chair. "I take it you'll present the case yourself, then?"

"Cheaper than hiring someone. If Molly gets into a temper, I'd need to be there anyway."

"You may be setting yourself up as a target," the Potions Master warned.

"And we aren't already? Tell me something new, Snape."

He nodded. Arthur Weasley was no fool, no matter how he seemed to others. "I will have to try to set your wife off, you know, and I may well succeed."

The other man flushed red. "She knows that already. I've told her to look at me whenever she feels like hexing someone, and promised her a well-muffled room to shriek in before and after. I don't suppose it would help if it came out that she's a quarter maenad."

_He's probably promised more than that,_ Severus thought, suddenly envious. "No, it wouldn't," he said. "However did that come about?"

"Mother's side. That Nanny Ogg of hers met up with a satyr one warm spring night, and the woman was always a bit on the adventurous side. Only met Molly's mother Brianna once, and I'm glad my wife's only a quarter, you know what I mean?"

Snape thought of the rumors of satyr heritage in his own ancestry by the way of _his_ mother, through the Sorcerer of Russia. No, it would be too easy for Arthur to track down the taint in his own blood. "I won't use it or bring it up," he said abruptly. He bit his lip and bent his head towards the papers he'd pulled out to lay on his lap. "Let's talk about the witnesses," he said. "I think Narcissa should go on first. She'll make an excellent first impression."

"Ah, but I know how to make her ice up a bit," Arthur said. "Facing me she's likely to do that anyway. Bring on the purebloods who think we're traitors, Snape, as many as you like. Unless we draw one of them for judge, of course. Do you have any idea who it might be?"

"None," Snape said reluctantly. "Narcissa hasn't heard a thing from any of her friends. But I think you're right about how to face some of them. Weasley, if you can look sad and forgiving instead of wanting to tear their throats out, my next proposed witness is just the sort to please my side while still making your side look better." He grimly offered the name of Elizabeth Goyle. "If you can trigger _her_ temper without losing yours, you have my permission to roast her as much as you like."

Arthur put on reading glasses. "That's one of the families who, er, lost one of their own this summer, isn't it?" He seemed conscious of treading on shaky ground.

Severus tried to swallow his rage. "She made a choice. She made a choice Narcissa didn't make. Fortunately, she feels _honored_ by being on the witness list. Feel free to _sympathize_ with her for the loss of her son."

The man went white. "She _didn't…_she _couldn't!_"

He tried to breathe slowly to contain his fury. Snape remembered seeing the black box on the front of the Prophet. Then he fiercely nodded his head, unable to speak.

Arthur stared at the paper. "So that's the sort of people we're dealing with," he said in a flat tone Snape had never heard him use before.

Severus wiped the sweat from his forehead, and the moisture that threatened to spill from his eyes, with a handkerchief. "Yes." _My hands are not clean either, Arthur. There is blood on them I can never wash off. You must not forget that I am one of them, too._

The other wizard slowly shook his head. "How can you be around them, Snape?"

"Because I must," he said. "I have to protect the rest of them. Goyle wasn't the only one in danger on that Sunday morning. I have to fight for them, and for the others, too. I just…I just don't know for how long I'll be able to do it."

"Then give me their names!" Arthur said in a hoarse whisper. "I already owe you for Percy's life—oh, yes, I know, though Molly doesn't—and soon we'll both owe you for Harry. I won't care which of them took the Mark for real, either. We both know Albus will try to watch over them, and we also both know he won't have time. There's room enough in the Burrow for them all if need be."

Snape shook his head. "It would be too dangerous for you to have that knowledge in your mind just yet. I'll—I'll leave you a list. You won't be able to trust them. A couple of them joined because they're as stupid as I was at that age. Some of them have families who will pressure them. Only a few, I think, will even want to stand up against the Dark Lord." He was thunderstruck that anyone would want to watch over _those_ dunderheads. He sat with a bowed head for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

The Potions Master looked up to see Weasley looking calm and collected, not as if he'd just volunteered to take a nest of serpents to his bosom. "Then someone had better watch out for them," Arthur said. "From the little I've heard, no one seems to be doing it but you. Percy hasn't said much, and Moody less, but things haven't gone well for them."

"I suppose you could say that," Snape said with a mirthless smile. He remembered how Miss Edgecombe had looked when she'd been brought into the infirmary. "At least one of them will never feel safe again." He took a deep breath, and tried hard not to let it turn into a sob of relief. The other wizard was right—Dumbledore would try, or at least promise to try to watch over his apprentices, but somehow Order business or the Trio would be more important. No doubt each decision would be correct at the time, but Severus feared when the Headmaster realized his neglect, it would be too late for his children.

"Well," Arthur said. "What other witnesses are you proposing?"

Snape was grateful to leave off wallowing and go back to work. "I am attempting to arrange for someone who can testify as to the unfitness of Potter's Muggle home. We have another agenda in mind as well as the guardianship aspect. Narcissa has a theory that any Muggle home is by its nature unfit for a magical child. The boy's relatives are such that it will not be difficult to begin to sway public sentiment in that direction by showing what Mr. Potter's home is like." He'd had to withdraw some money from his Swiss account for that.

"I always wondered. Whenever Harry visits us, he's grateful for things no boy ought to have to be grateful for." Weasley had a hard look on his face again. "I hate to think the Headmaster knew about the place and still sent him back there."

The Slytherin compressed his lips and said nothing. The Dursley household might have to become the boy's last refuge till he was of age if Narcissa won the suit, but nothing could make him like it. If the Dark Lord ever realized the blood in him that Pettigrew had stolen from the boy invalidated the protection of the wards, Potter would have to be moved anyway.

"I know he might have to go there again," Arthur continued. "But that's what we're here for tonight, to make sure that doesn't happen."

That was something Snape had no trouble agreeing with. "You'll want to put Mrs. Weasley on last, then?"

"Next to last, actually. Professor Lupin saw something last year I think will make more impact if he's our final witness."

"I'll have to object to his presence, you know. And you had better hope Fudge does not call the hearing for the full moon."

"Oh, good point! I'll have to make a note." Arthur scribbled down a few words. "I'll have a word with Remus, too. He's been told he's a Dark Creature before, but if he has a party trick or two to show he's really a wizard, too, that should help. If only I knew who the judge was going to be!"

"I can drag things out long enough for the Headmaster to gather the Wizengamot if you think that will help," Snape offered.

"That should…" Weasley tapped his pencil on his notebook.

"If the Wizengamot is allowed to ballot with any degree of secrecy, you may be unhappy with the results," Binns said, speaking for the first time that evening.

Both living participants blinked and looked at the ghost. "But Albus is the head of it," Arthur said.

"Yes. There were not many objections as one could wish when he wasn't last year," the History professor said calmly. "Naturally, sentiment was on the Headmaster's side after the Ministry raid last spring. However, I think many would still remain neutral if they could. Also, the wizards and witches who grew up with Dumbledore as Headmaster are beginning to reach their maturity and grow in political influence. Their numbers are sadly diminished because of the first War, but only one-quarter of them are Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. No one came to Professor Snape's aid while he was a student here till he paid far too high a price for protection, but many saw, and feared to become targets themselves if they spoke out against the Marauders. Part of the war is seen by some as something the Gryffindors have been asking for, despite the obvious lack of logical thinking in those who believe it, given the conduct of the Slytherins and others who have become followers of Mr. Riddle. I'm afraid the behavior of your sons has not helped the cause of the Ministry or the Order, Mr. Weasley. Despite the unpopularity of Madam Umbridge, their patent disregard towards the results of their pranks on other victims has been spoken of as well."

The wizard flushed. "I tried. I told Bill and Charlie that both Molly and I would be ashamed of them if they became bullies. I tried to tell Fred and George that as well. But no, they had to pick and pick at Percy till he can't come home any more."

Snape had to speak up. "Both of the twins regret the damage they did to Mr. Montague, Mr. Weasley. I was visiting the boy at St. Mungo's the day he was taken home when they showed up. They were not pleased with themselves when they saw how badly he was injured or how slowly he seemed to be recovering."

Arthur looked bewildered. "I heard talk of some boy they played a prank on, but Albus told me not to worry about it."

Professor Binns interrupted. "Mr. Montague was captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team last year. He had been given a commission by Madam Umbridge as one of her Enforcers to attempt to restore some order to the school. He caught the boys out of their dormitories and tried to take points from them. He disappeared for nearly three days, only to show up in the Slytherin lavatory with his head wedged in the toilet. Professor Snape was called there when the boy was found and helped take him to the infirmary. At first everyone thought he would recover completely, but he remained dazed and somewhat uncoordinated. He spent some time in St. Mungo's, I believe, but was discharged to his home at the end of this summer. The Quidditch team that had made an offer for his services withdrew it."

Arthur Weasley turned beet red. He stood up and walked a few paces, stared at the wall for a few moments, then returned, somewhat calmer. "How is he now?" he asked, once he sat down again.

"Not entirely well, though his speech was clearer when I spoke to him a couple of weeks ago. He has been allowed up on a broom again, though his mother still casts a Cushioning spell on the boy's head whenever he's out of bed. I cannot say I blame her for her anxiety." Snape was glad his voice came out with so little venom. "I must admit, I was not pleased with Madam Umbridge's idea of punishment for your sons, especially since it was for disrespect to her rather than for any injuries inflicted upon a student. However, Montague's mother did say your sons were continuing to send items they probably hope will cheer him up. I naturally cautioned her to inspect them carefully, but told her it would have to be up to Mr. Montague to decide what to write back to them."

"What you must think of us some days," Arthur said, shaking his head. "No wonder you've never accepted Molly's invitation to the Burrow."

"I do realize how difficult it is for parents to control some children, especially the twins," Snape said quietly. "However, my presence at your house would be noted, by both the Ministry and other parties. It is not through any grudge of my own that prevents it." _Not now, anyway._

Weasley's eyes flashed. "I never remember that," he said ruefully. "How do you keep everything and everyone straight?"

"I don't know," Severus said. "I'm still here, though, so clearly I have succeeded."

"Yes, that sort of thing would keep anyone sharp."

Professor Binns coughed. "As I was saying, a vote in the Wizengamot is problematic. A vote that is public will undoubtedly support the Headmaster. However, if the judge, or the panel in charge, insists on a procedure that allows for privacy, I suspect the count will be far more even. I suggest devising ways of invalidating some of the voters if possible."

Snape remembered something. "Albus can disqualify mine any time he likes. I am still under his jurisdiction as a parolee from Azkaban. If the balloting is truly secret, that will allow him to dispose of one vote supposedly in favor of the Malfoys without any trouble."

"Merlin, I hope it doesn't come to that!" Arthur shook his head. "I'll have to talk to the Headmaster about all this."

"Please do it soon," Snape said. "I know I seem too anxious about matters, but…well, I suppose I am."

"I shall manage that once we are done," Binns said in his colorless voice. "When I was living, my memory was quite good. Now it is nearly perfect. I shall, of course, fail to recall any personal remarks or digressions."

"Thank you, professor!" the other wizard said. "I do let my mouth run on at times."

Snape was equally grateful. He would not care to be the one to tell Albus he was not universally well-beloved, but from what he had gathered over the years, Professor Binns and Dumbledore had been friends for a long time. That sort of discussion was best left to someone besides him, and he was glad of it.

"Anybody else on your side we can disqualify?" Arthur asked hopefully.

"I don't know. Albus has the list I gave him of current Death Eaters who are not out in the open, but I hope it doesn't have to be used. Narcissa is definitely _not_ one, or why she still retains control of the estate. If the Headmaster challenges voters on that basis, I hope he uses the list the Ministry gave him a couple of decades ago. However, since the Ministry reinstated membership in the Wizengamot for most of them quite some time ago, it may not help much. If the vote is against us he may have to use my list anyway."

"I hope he doesn't have to. I won't forget my promise about your lads, but Molly and I have been used to having a _little_ room at the Burrow!"

"Three of them are girls," Snape said.

"Ah. Doesn't matter really. We'd hate to see your death warrant signed in public like that anyway, even for Harry's sake. Oh, I almost forgot! If Molly and I can't offer you anything at our house, then we'll use Grimmauld Place. A little bird told us you have a birthday coming up, and it's about time you had one that wasn't spent grading papers. Now, don't fuss, we won't ask too many, and any time you feel too crowded, just have a lie-down in your room there. I'll sit on Moody myself to keep him from following you about. We haven't done right by you, Snape, and it's time we did."

Severus nodded his acceptance. It would likely be more of a farewell party than anything else, but he could mind his manners long enough to let people like the Weasleys believe he was enjoying himself. Clearly, Molly had seen him pouting at the last one. It was only right to make the effort. "Thank you," he said.

"Now, I need to return home," Arthur said. "No, don't get up, you've had a longer day than I have." He waved at Binns. "I'll see myself out. I know a few of the better ways around, and I don't think anyone will notice." He left the room.

"I shall visit the Headmaster now, professor," Binns said. "I suggest you rest here. I shall have Winky informed to come help you back to your rooms. Or Madam Pomfrey."

"Winky, then," Snape said reluctantly. He was asking too much of the little elf. Once Binns disappeared, he pushed himself up till he was standing. He wasn't weak or dizzy as he feared, and began walking slowly back to the dungeons. He met the elf along the usual path, and was able to reassure her that he wasn't ill, and that she could return to her post by his door. She refused to leave him, though, till he was there as well. He would rather write these notes in his office, but he could always add this new packet to the locked drawer in the morning.

Snape sat in the desk-chair with his feet up and quickly scribbled. _Theodore Nott—probably true believer. Whole family is. Father left—has Ministry file, I'm sure. Stepfather doesn't, but should. Jake Macnair—nephew to Walden. Don't know him as well as I should. Had no doubts last summer, but may by now. Josh Avery—father's an idiot, he's not much better. Now the bastard's escaped from Azkaban. Good luck. Blaise Zabini—had trouble on that Sunday. Talk to his grandmother, she rules the whole clan. Rosier twins—also had trouble on Sunday, but father is a true believer. Their Uncle Evan died at Crouch's hands. I've tried to see that file, but you may have better luck. Pansy Parkinson—betrothed to Draco, but I have no idea what is under those blonde curls. Molly could find out? Vincent Crabbe—still grieving for his friend Greg, though no problems last summer. Natural Occlumens. Or mind a total blank, can't tell which. Marietta Edgecombe—ask Flitwick for file. Had trouble that Sunday. Raped at Death Eater meeting a month or so ago. Potential suicide._ He paused a moment. He was certain Arthur Weasley had opinions about Draco Malfoy. Unfortunately, Snape agreed with many of them. _Draco. Mother chose him on Sunday when affected by loyalty spell. Trying hard not to be such a prat. Order member, ask Albus. Still loves his father. Apprentice to Bella Lestrange, his aunt. Not nearly terrified enough of her yet. Good luck persuading him to listen to you or your wife. _He paused a moment. _Thank you. Severus Snape_.

The Potions Master folded the paper, wrote "Arthur Weasley" and tapped it with his wand. It would go into his locked drawer tomorrow. Or later today, given the hour. He sat quietly for a moment, trying to feel his connection to his apprentices. All seemed quiet, though he didn't want to wake them, and he was shy about forcing any connection with the girls. Crabbe, of course, remained an empty slot. Wait…Snape closed his eyes and concentrated. Miss Edgecombe was caught in a nightmare. _Wake up, girl!_ Snape thought sharply. _Wake up! _Fortunately the mental command worked. The temporary disorientation and fear he felt from her ebbed quickly, and soon turned into normal wakefulness. Naturally she reached for a book, and soon her mind was full of inheritance laws and revocable trusts.

Severus felt utterly foolish doing so, but he imagined the golden vine his apprentices had once sent to save him still existed, and that he could send them his love and hope for them back along it. Oddly enough, the exercise left him feeling better rather than worse. Even though the connection was supposedly gone between him and Draco through the Mark, he still had a sense of the young man this way. _I'm probably just fooling myself,_ he thought, but didn't care just now. Then he realized there was an extra person he hadn't accounted for among the hearts and minds he felt connected to him. _Could Goyle's spirit still be linked to mine even as a ghost? _Yet the lower level Dark Mark ceased its influence upon death. Only a member of the Inner Circle continued to be part of the Mark's network after the mortal body perished. He pondered the conundrum for a moment, then filled the part of the golden vine that stretched to this person with his protection as well, especially when he felt something sharp and nasty approach the glowing sphere in his mind's eye. For a moment his head hurt, but the ache faded quickly once the vine filled with love and light. _Perhaps I'm finally discovering what poor Crabbe is like,_ he thought.

Once he let his mind resurface, he looked down at his desk. As long as he had a bit more paper in front of him, he thought about his replacement here. Would Hogwarts end up eliminating the Potions OWL and NEWT the way Beauxbatons had?

He scribbled several names. Frogarty was far too dull. He'd put the children to sleep the way Binns did now, even though his expertise was unquestioned. Jules Tremain was an excellent teacher, but Snape knew the real reason he'd been sacked from Durmstrang, and it had nothing to do with the Dark Arts. He put the fellow's name down anyway, with a question mark. Dumbledore could make sure Tremain was properly supervised, though after DADA teachers such as 'Moody' and Lockhart, one had to wonder.

_Perhaps the portrait of Mrs. Black could be moved to the dungeons,_ he thought with a faint smile on his face.

Then there was Madam Tranh. She would be more than adequate for the first and second years, but he suspected she would soon be overwhelmed by rioting for more control by older students who were used to a different regime. He also wondered how much brewing she had actually done over the years. Could she manage the needs of the infirmary, or of Lupin?

Snape looked at a calendar. He really shouldn't let anxiety overwhelm him. In case he had at least more one batch of Wolfsbane to prepare, he should arrange to have Miss Granger brew her own cauldron this time. _I know Albus won't think it's fair, but I'll have Draco make his own batch next time as well. For one thing, I can claim he would help provide necessary chaperonage along with Winky. _It was far too soon to either one to have that much responsibility, really, but it would be better if both students saw the process from start to finish. He suspected the Gryffindor know-it-all would not require nearly as much practice as his godson would anyway. He wrote another brief note, this one to be left out in the open. _Frogarty--dose with large amounts of caffeine and Pepper-Up. Tremain—keep him on a leash. Tranh—first and second years only._ Then he added another one at the bottom. _Make sure Winky is treated well._ It wasn't quite a will, but would serve.

Winky walked in with two flasks. "Oh, Master, you _must_ lie down!" she wailed. "Take potions and go to sleep!"

"I will, dear," he said gently. She wasn't to blame for his current state. It was late, though, so he waited till the elf was out of the room and cut the dose of both in half. He would never wake up in time to teach if he took the full amount of the sedative, and would wake up rather too soon with the full dose of the detoxicant. He made ready for bed, feeling a little more at ease than before. Even if Arthur Weasley found it impossible to fulfill his promise, at least he'd made it.

Arthur Weasley

He knew the boys stayed up later than most. _I used to be a night-owl, too, though Molly was always more of a morning person. Now that turned out well—I'd spend half the night with whoever was colicky, and catch up on sleep a little when Molly awoke. _It was a different pattern than most, but it worked for them.

The twins had taken after his side that way, while Percy was more like his mother. Bill and Charlie were reflections of each other that way, too—his oldest was a day-time sort, while Charlie could sit up all night with a sick dragon. _Both Ronald and Ginevra can fall asleep any time, though, so maybe even they don't know which time they prefer,_ he thought absentmindedly as he left Hogwarts and Apparated to the twins' shop in Hogsmeade. He hoped they weren't in Diagon Alley this late at night, and was glad to find them at his first choice to visit. He entered the shop with the key they'd given him and found them sorting inventory in the back.

"Dad!" said Fred. "What brings you here?"

"Heard something funny about someone named Montague," he said, gauging the effect of his words. Snape probably wasn't making anything up, but it might not be as bad as the Slytherin had said.

Both boys turned beet red. Neither one could really hide anything from him, though they tried to fool their mother twice a week. "So, tell me what happened," he said, letting his voice go a bit colder than usual.

"Well, Umbridge's Enforcers were getting in our way," George started. "Nobody liked her, Dad, not even the Snakes, and she was playing favorites with them all year."

"What a rude shock that must have been," he said. "Go on."

"She and Filch were thick as thieves," Fred added. "Definitely cramping our style. So we were out after hours seeing to our swamp. And before you say anything about that, Dad, whenever we ran short of something we needed, it'd show up in an unlocked cabinet in Potions."

"We just don't know how Snape figured it out…"

"But we didn't blame him, the way Umbridge made sheep's eyes at him…"

Arthur smiled to himself. Then he let his face go expressionless again. They didn't need his encouragement just now. "So, what happened with Montague?"

"He showed up when we were on our way back," George said. "He wanted to take points from us!"

"So we shoved him into a Vanishing Cabinet—"

"And we didn't worry about _him_ for a while!"

"Oh?" Arthur asked. "They usually come in pairs. Did you know where the other one was?"

"It didn't matter, we just had to get rid of him!" Fred added.

"And what happened after that?" he asked.

"Nothing! It wasn't our fault he ended up in a toilet in one of the loos!"

"How long was he gone?" Arthur asked.

"Almost three days," George said. He became sober suddenly.

"A man can die of thirst in three days. A good thing he taught himself how to Apparate when he did, even if he ended up hurt like that," their father commented softly.

"But it was his fault!" Fred said shrilly. "He shouldn't have tried to interfere with us!"

"Oh? Seems to me you _were_ out after hours."

"But nobody's ever stopped us before—"

"We never should have given Harry the Map. We should have kept it."

Arthur thought. "What did you do with the rest of his gang?" he asked, suspecting what the answer would be.

"He…he was by himself," Fred admitted.

"How very brave," Arthur said softly. "Remember what I told Bill and Charlie about bullying? I never thought to raise cowards in my family."

That silenced them for a moment. Then George spoke up again. "But why should we care? He was only a Slytherin. The Headmaster never said anything to us about it later, even when we were at the safe house, or something."

"That's a good question," their father said. "I heard you cared enough to visit him at the hospital, though."

"Well…that was after McGonagall came by and roasted us last summer," George said. "When it first came out how badly the Snake was hurt, though, the only one who made a fuss about it was Hermione. Of course no one listened to _her._ We made sure of that."

Arthur was quietly furious. "Oh, yes, a very good thing to persuade Harry and Ron not to listen to Miss Granger, I'm sure. That worked out so well later, didn't it? Sirius Black is dead of it now, if I understand things right. And let me think. Gryffindor wasn't doing so well with Harry off his broom and Ronald as Keeper still learning the job. They won more games once Montague wasn't captain of the Slytherin team, didn't they? Of course, that had _nothing_ to do with what you did to him," he said, his voice thick with scorn. He was glad Minerva had said something to the boys, though, even if the Headmaster hadn't. He didn't really want to be ashamed of being a Gryffindor.

Both boys were quiet now. "Don't tell Mum," said Fred.

"Yeah, we'd never survive _that_ Howler."

"I don't think she'd be angry," Arthur said. "I think she would be beyond that. I think she would blame herself for not raising you to care about others, even if they _are_ Slytherins. She might even be as upset as she was when Charlie and Percy fought last summer."

They babbled on, listing every thing the Slytherins or done, or the boys thought the Snakes had done over the years. It made for a long list.

"Right. And how long is _your_ list?"

The twins looked pale now. "I'm surprised you don't hate Snape," Arthur added after a couple of moments.

"Never! Harry does, but last year he was asking for it," George said. "Like we said, any time we were short on something for the swamp, it showed up where we could find it."

"Yeah, and when we were at the hospital, we thought he'd hex us into next week even if he did look half-dead, but he only made us take a real look at Montague." Fred grimaced. "Wish he'd hexed us instead."

Arthur thought of the sick man he'd seen this night, clearly in agony over knowing he wouldn't be able to watch over those he loved for much longer, and all for Harry's sake. He recalled what Binns had said about the Wizengamot, and what generations of arrogance might cost. "I remember what Minerva told me at a meeting last month," he said. "Did you really hiss at the first years when they were sorted into Slytherin last year? Seems the others took up where you left off at the Sorting this year, and she read them the riot act over it."

"Oh, Dad, it was just a bit of harmless fun," said George. "Why should anyone make a big thing over it?"

"Let me tell you what I did when I was in my sixth year," Arthur said, who dreaded having to admit it. "The first years then were a horrible lot, even ours. But the worst was a fancy-pants Slytherin who thought he was going to rule the school the day he walked in. Even his fellow Snakes looked at each other when they saw him posturing like a baby cockerel, and you could tell that boy was going to learn a few lessons from his own kind. I made it my task to help cut him down to size, and so did a couple of my friends."

"See?" Fred said with a grin. "Even you couldn't resist!"

"It's not funny," Arthur said, remembering how that proud little first year had been brought low. "It was me and mine who had the fun. But it was your sister who paid. Lucius Malfoy has a long memory, you see, but it was us who started it."

Both boys were sober now. George still had one last objection. "But they're all Dark anyway!"

"Oh? Maybe they say to each other, 'all Lions are bullies, and there's no point trying to deal with them any more.' Maybe they're tired of being treated like dirt. And maybe, just maybe, the other houses are tired of _both_ Gryffindor and Slytherin, and would like to chuck the lot of us out and start over again."

"How can you say that, Dad? You're in the Order, and not…not on the other side." Fred looked concerned.

"If I have to give up saying what I think just because we had best clean our own house and not just fight, we all have more problems than You-Know-Who. That's the sort of rot I hear at the Ministry. Not all Slytherins are evil, and not all of us are good. Tell it to Pettigrew, why don't you? I'll grant you they do to us without waiting for us to do to them, but somebody has to quit the game sometime, or it will never be over." He took a deep breath, and wondered if he ought to be talking out of turn. At least he'd stopped himself from saying too much about Snape. "Now, this is something you'll probably hear about soon, but I don't want it bandied about. Your mother and I are suing for Harry Potter's guardianship, now that Black is dead. Mrs. Malfoy put in the first suit, and we're filing the second one. I don't know when the hearing will be. But if we lose, I might ask for some help hiding the boy."

"This back room isn't very big," George said, looking thoughtful for once.

"He's been in smaller ones," Arthur said, who still didn't understand how Dumbledore could keep sending the boy back to those horrible relatives of his. "We'd rather win, of course, and then you'll be part of his adoption rite."

Fred blinked. "Won't Ginny set up a howl! She doesn't want Harry for a brother."

Arthur hadn't thought of that. "I'll speak to your mother about that," he said, grateful once more he only had one daughter. He wouldn't tell them the rest. _They_ would set up a howl and then some once they learned they might have a Slytherin or two hiding out at the Burrow. _You might lose your life for Harry's sake, Snape, it's only right I help look after your loved ones if you can't,_ he thought, though he quailed at the thought. No Malfoy had ever crossed the threshold of his house, but that might just have to change.

"Well," he said, and suppressed a yawn. "Tomorrow comes too early for me, and your mother is probably fretting a bit, even with the clock telling her I'm with you. I'd best go home and then to bed. Don't stay up too late, lads, with two stores to run it's probably hard on you."

They both hugged him. He embraced them fiercely, hoping they'd learn to see a human face behind the victims of their pranks. Arthur walked out the back way, then Apparated home. Oh, Merlin, he was tired!

Molly had tried to sit up for him instead of staying at the safe house tonight, and snored lightly on the couch. _She's so beautiful,_ he thought, loving every fold and wrinkle because she had gained them all for his sake, and the children's. _She will never believe me when I tell her that her double chin is adorable. _He sat down by her for a moment, hoping desperately not to wake her. She worked so hard, not only making a home, but watching over the others in the Order who had no one to go home to. _That feisty old bastard Moody would walk on coals for her, and I'm afraid to ask what Dung Fletcher would do to bring a smile to her face. When she told me that Dumbledore had told her he thought Snape was mad for her, I had to laugh. Albus just doesn't understand that I think it's perfectly normal for anyone to love Molly. As for being jealous, not one of them has tried anything beyond a kiss or two. I might not like it if she returned them better than she has, but then again, at our wedding I felt proud as a stag knowing she'd chosen me over all the others. _

His face went a bit warm when he remembered the time he'd uncovered a cache of Muggle gentlemen's magazines when looking for some missing artifacts, and the wife-watching letters from men far braver than he would ever be. Not that Molly would ever stray, of course. Oh, she had her little impulses at time, but always worked them off with him. He tried to ignore the part of him that grew hot thinking of what she'd look like in another man's arms.

She blinked, whuffled, and suddenly sat up. "When did you come in?" Molly asked.

"Just a minute or two ago. Couldn't bear to wake you up."

"Ah, we're both growing old, aren't we? I remember how you used to wake me…"

"So do I," he said ruefully, and rumpled her hair. He wondered how he was going to break the news of his promise to Snape to her. Arthur was going to look into the Montague situation himself before telling Molly about _that_ boy, though.

"You only do that when you're trying to get me off the subject," she said. "So, how did your conference with Professor Snape go?"

"Well enough. We settled the witness list, more or less, at least the first and last on each side, and Professor Binns helped us through what might happen if the Wizengamot happens to become involved."

"Wouldn't that be a sure thing for our side?"

"Not if the voting is private, Binns thinks. He reminded me that people may be tired of Gryffindor versus Slytherin, round one hundred and ten, and decide they hate us both. Fortunately, he said he'd break the news to the Headmaster, rather than sticking me or Snape with the job."

Molly didn't say anything. "I know, love, I'm as bad as all the rest for forgetting the other two houses," he said, picking up her hands and holding them in his. Hers were cold again, and he rubbed them briskly to warm them. "I went to see the twins after that, and let them know about the hearing. I don't think they'll gossip about it. They like Harry. But erm—Fred, I think? He said Ginny would set up a howl if we adopted the boy all the way as ours. That one's been off and on again, and last year I thought Harry was set on that Miss Chang."

"No, that one's over," Molly said, "not that it was ever properly started from what I heard. But I'll have a talk with Ginevra, and find out if she thinks Harry will ever come up to scratch. He's young yet to make up his mind, but you had already started throwing snowballs at my other boyfriends by the time I was in sixth year."

Arthur blushed. "I was a silly prat that year, wasn't I?"

"Yes, love, but I didn't mind," she said, and yawned. "So, what is it you don't want to tell me this time? It can't be serious, you're looking far too guilty for that. Out with it, lad!"

He swallowed. "You know how I fuss a bit sometimes when you've brought home another stray? I never minded the overtime and all, not when I saw how hungry some of them were, and I helped find room for them, but…"

"Who is it, dear?" She smiled at him. "Some poor clerk at work who's been thrown out of his cushy nest?"

"Er, well, it's more than one." He wanted to shuffle his feet. "Or maybe not at all, depending. See, Snape is worried about some of his lot if he's, um, he's not around to look after them any more. Since he's risking so much for Harry, it only seemed right to promise we'd try." Now he realized what an open-ended promise he'd made, Arthur wasn't sure he'd been wise to make it, but he couldn't go back on it now.

"How many?" Molly's lips were pursed.

"Er, I'm not sure. I don't think it's more than ten, what with the Goyle boy dead this summer. They do have homes of their own, but if they make the wrong decision it might not be a good idea for them to go back to them. Three of them are girls, Snape said. He said one of them won't ever feel safe again, but I don't know if he meant one of them or one of the boys."

"Draco Malfoy," his wife said with a sigh. "That little prat!"

"Neither Ronald or Ginevra have said much about him this year," Arthur said. "Their letters were full of what the Ferret was up to last year, and none of it good. I haven't talked to him myself, and I hope we don't have to look out for him, either. But I could see Snape was just sick worrying over his lot. He even tried to warn me off, saying I couldn't trust some of them. But he acted like I'd handed him the keys to the Malfoy's vault at Gringotts."

"Wouldn't they be the Headmaster's problem, when and if?"

Despite her words, he could see Molly weakening. "Love, he sent Harry to those horrible Muggles all these years."

"So he did." She was quiet for a moment. "I won't have Harry bothered if he's living here, and I won't have any hexing in the kitchen, at the very least. I hate it when the oven explodes."

"And this would be different from the way our lot acts?"

She laughed, though somewhat mirthlessly. "All right," Molly said. "Merlin knows how Snape can bear those Snakes of his, but if he dies by saving Harry, we'll owe him this much. Did he tell you any names?"

"No. Probably wouldn't be safe for us or them till we have to," he said. "He keeps lists the way little Hermione does, so he'll probably have files waiting for us."

"That Malfoy boy has to be one of them," his beloved said with another martyred sigh. "I'll ask Poppy what she knows about the lad this year. Isn't he captain of his Quidditch team this year?"

"Yes," Arthur said, though he was prouder by far of Ronald wearing the sash.

"Then I'll ask Madam Hooch what she's seen. If his team is still up to the usual, we'll know better just who we could be dealing with." She looked into his eyes. "You're well revenged for all the strays I've brought home. Here's hoping we don't have to come up to scratch!"

"I hope so, too." Then again, Snape had saved Harry's life a few times no matter what James Potter had done to him, and that was clearly too sour for the Potions Master to swallow at times. "I'd rather You-Know-Who dropped dead this night and we could throw a party at Grimmauld Place that would light up all of London."

"Well, Snape ought to be happy with the dinner he's served this Saturday," Molly said. "I keep a little notepad with who hates and likes what, though he seems to eat anything I serve him without much complaint. Maybe I'll have a word with that little Winky of his and find out if she knows what his favorites are."

"And that's something you can worry about in the morning," Arthur said, noticing how tired his wife looked. "To bed with both of us, to sleep. I'll try to come home earlier tomorrow. If I find you napping on the couch _then_, maybe I will wake you up the right way!"

She laughed, and they both went up the stairs together. Oh, there were some of his friends who were richer, but he thought even his enemies would envy him the joy he knew with Molly by his side. He didn't blame Snape for wanting this for himself, or even for loving those Snakes of his. Someone had to, Arthur supposed, and given the Slytherins in his charge were the only children he was like to have, naturally the Potions Master felt for them. _I'll deal with them if I must,_ he thought as he made ready for bed, though he knew each and every one would have a hideous tattoo on their forearms. _But then, I was stupid too at that age. I almost listened to my friends when they told me Molly was the school broom and I needn't treat her with respect—and definitely should not marry the slut!_ _Where would I be now if I had listened to them?_

Instead, here he was, lying next to the most wonderful woman in the Wizarding World, with seven healthy children all still living, and the promise of another son that any man could be proud of. _Harry will be so happy here. But he could do it as our son-in-law as well as an adopted son. Perhaps we can anchor him in this family with a betrothal instead of the blood rite. Wait. Even if Mrs. Malfoy wins, that's a possibility. I'll have to mention it to Molly first thing. Someone will have to talk to Harry and find out if that's what he wants, though. I love my daughter too much to link her to a man who doesn't love her as much as I do my Molly._

With that, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Severus Snape

He felt a little light-headed when he first woke up, but otherwise had few ill-effects from the too-short night. Snape was tempted to check on his apprentices through the golden vine again, but decided he would probably end up drawing health and strength from them this morning rather than giving them his love and support. He was no parasite to drain those dependent on him. Winky helped him dress. She moved more slowly than usual, though.

"Winky," he said, "This afternoon I want you to lie down and rest. I have the older classes then, and they are all perfectly capable of preparing their own ingredients. You are on duty without rest too much of each night, and that will make it easier for you to make mistakes. I am not angry with you," he said as he watched the tiny elf cloud up, "I only worry about you."

"But you so angry in that one class, Master! Winky try to help you feel better. Mistress Nurse say it bad for you to be angry like that."

Snape was startled. So that was why the elf interrupted him with a question or handed him something he was going to need so often in his sixth-year class. "If you will rest, I will not be angry no matter what happens," he said. "I have to learn to stop it by myself, and today will be a good trial." As soon as he made the promise, he regretted it, but knew what he said was true. "I will have Dobby bring my afternoon potions and I will lie down when I'm supposed to as well." _Poppy, you should be proud of yourself. I'm turning into you._

"Oh, you is a good Master! Come back here to eat, too, you have hard time with noise and talking." A breakfast plate was already laid out for him in his parlor. He sat and took a few bites, knowing it would be better for him than trying to eat in the Great Hall.

Once he finished all he could, he discovered he hadn't missed the meal. Oddly enough, he found some appetite remaining. It helped that the kitchen elves no longer heaped his plate high in some misguided attempt to feed him up. Winky, no doubt, had had words with them. Perhaps it was when he became too hungry he was unable to eat at all.

Between bites he made desultory conversation with McGonagall and looked out at the students. For a brief moment he imagined there was a golden vine between him and all the children, and decided that would be too much of a burden. _Yet if I were ever Headmaster, I would have to try,_ he thought. _Even when the links must be broken for the older students at the Leaving Feast each spring, or one at a time through some disaster. It would be hard, though. I can't blame Dumbledore for not doing it. Just being linked to the school the way it's said he is would be extremely difficult. I have trouble managing just a few of them. I would have to become much stronger and wiser before attempting to do this with more._ It was a thought, though; he could attempt it beginning with each new class till he held all his Snakes in his arms. _I wish I had thought of this long ago. It's too late now. And in some ways, it might be seen as an intrusion or attempting to control a student magically. I wonder how many the Dark Lord manages, or if he does anything but take?_

Snape noticed Albus looking at him with a rather startled expression on his face. "Headmaster? Is anything wrong?"

"No, Severus," the ancient wizard said. "You just reminded me…it's just that I wish you _could_ feel the school the way I do. I think you did for a little while that morning last summer. I wish I took more time to do so as well." He looked as if he had regrets.

"Well, do it today sometime," the Potions Master said. "I am learning the hard way that _today_ is all we really have." Merlin, he was sounding like one of Sybil's books. How annoying! He really needed to get more sleep. Well, tonight he'd be in bed as early as possible. Perhaps he'd take a nap during his morning break instead of inflicting the increasingly cold outdoor air on himself. Or he'd send a note to Flitwick asking about that Filtering Charm. Soon it would be extremely difficult to vent the dungeons each day without risking the students' health.

The morning classes went fairly well, except for Mr. Andreas and his surprising variation on a cleaning solution, which ended up staining everything within the class bright blue, including Mr. Andreas, his fellow students and Snape. Winky was also affected, but quickly turned herself back into her normal color. The Potions Master noticed it. "Winky, how did you clean it off you so soon?" Even her lab coat was its usual shade again, including the embroidery.

She shuffled and stammered. Perhaps she didn't know. Then Snape had an idea. "Is this just house elf cleaning magic, and not something special?"

She jumped up and down and grinned. "Yes! Just something elves _do,_ Master Potions Master."

"Then can you clean off the rest of us?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, but skin only. Sorry," she said.

"No, that will be fine. None of us here are Ravenclaws, so we'd like to be the same color we came in."

That pathetic witticism garnered far more laughter than it really deserved. Fortunately, Winky was able to manage the change for all of them, so everyone's skin and hair returned to normal, even if the clothes didn't. His robe remained dark black with only a hint of blue, but some of the other students would have to have talks with the laundry-elves soon. This gave him the inspiration to talk about dyes and pigments, the difference between them, and why it was a good idea to button one's robe all the way in this class.

"Mr. Andreas," Snape said. "One point from Slytherin for your unique brewing style. However, you can gain it back if you write a report explaining what you did to change your solution into a dye instead. Remake this cleaning potion correctly under my supervision, and then make the dye properly without involving anyone around you and you can gain points."

He knew he was off his timetable with this distraction, but he would catch up somehow. If he didn't, then at least the students would have an idea that brewing could be both dangerous and interesting if one didn't follow the rules—and that in either case, a lab report would have to be written about it.

Snape kept Mr. Andreas back for a moment. "We were all very lucky today," he said quietly. "Imagine if you had created a burning acid instead of turning our skins blue. Many of your friends would now be in the Infirmary, and you could be dead."

The boy turned pale. "I am going to have some additional time for brewing in the next week or so during a few evenings," Snape said. "One of the older students has trouble as well, so I am going to work with him. I want you there as well, and perhaps Miss Marcher, too. At this stage, you are better off following the instructions precisely."

"Sir?" the boy asked hesitantly. "I know you don't like the way Madam Tranh taught us, but the first time we do a potion, could we do it her way? Especially if it's hard? That way we know how it feels to do it right?"

Snape gritted his teeth and said nothing for a moment. Then he realized it couldn't hurt. "I shall give some thought to it, Mr. Andreas," he said. "I don't want you growing overly dependent on me."

"We're first years. That's our job," the boy said with some cheek.

He snorted. "Here's a pass. Now go along to class, and don't forget to write up that lab report, even if you have to print your letters. At least then I'll be able to read it."

Severus watched the boy leave, then began preparing for the next class. _I can't ask Arthur Weasley to adopt _all _of them, unfortunately. _However, Winky was well on her way to doing so. Perhaps that would give her enough to do once she had lost her new master.

After the next class, which went much more calmly, Snape had an idea. After taking the mid-morning potions, he went to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey had no problem with his request. The private room had no occupants today, and did have a window, thus allowing him to lie down and breathe clean air at the same time. _I am really going to have to learn that Filtering Charm,_ he thought, as the room's temperature dropped. He put a fairly stout warming charm on a blanket, though, and hoped the old wives' tale of chilly air and wrapping up really well was good for his lungs.

The last class before the noon meal also went well, though he was glad he'd breathed better air earlier as the fumes really bothered him this time. Fortunately he had put the dungeon venting on a schedule, so he no longer had to trigger it personally.

Snape sat back and listened to the chatter at the Head Table. Though he rarely participated much, he would miss it. Sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued Minerva once more made mincemeat of poor Trelawney, though Sybil airily ignored the fiercest sallies. "Some knowledge is simply not accessible through logical means," she asserted, and apparently enjoyed watching McGonagall shriek over that. Severus almost laughed. _She's playing the same game with Minerva that the Headmaster does with me at times,_ he thought. Madam Vector looked blank whenever someone tried to address her, and kept her nose in a book. Professor Sinistra ate a hearty breakfast as she normally did this time of day. Flitwick and Lupin were chatting peacefully, part of the time in Latin. Snape didn't know the wolf had worked so hard to educate himself. _No doubt the Ministry made sure he had plenty of time,_ he observed cynically. Madam Pomfrey was able to attend for once, and smiled at him. For once he smiled back, though he turned his head to hide it from the students. They had endured enough shocks from his changed behavior already!

However, the only thing served that tempted Snape's palate today was the modest bowl of fresh pineapple served him for dessert instead of the usual sticky creations designed to send the calmest student into a sugar-induced frenzy. He liked the fresh variety of the fruit far better than the syrup-laden version which was usually served at Hogwarts, though even that kind often settled his stomach when nothing else would. Nobody else seemed to have it, though. Severus wondered who had taken so much trouble. Then he noticed Sprout looking more anxious than usual. He nodded at her in thanks, and to let her know he enjoyed the treat. She brightened. It was odd to realize how concerned people really were about it.

"Ready for the afternoon?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes," he said. "The morning went reasonably well. Mr. Andreas invented a new dye. Winky managed to clean it off our skins, though the laundry elves will be busy soon. I let him know how bad it could have been, and he was properly terrified, though I don't know if that was over the accident or having to write the lab report. I dread the day that he and Miss Marcher are partners in class. I am tempted to have Mr. Longbottom work off some of his sins by tutoring him and a few of the more adventurous younger students."

"Do you think the dungeons will survive the experiment?" The Headmaster wasn't quite joking.

"Good question. If I'm there to keep the cauldrons from exploding, and Winky is there to do the same for me, perhaps it will work out," Snape said. _I will have to do my best not to do so this afternoon, or the silly elf won't ever rest when I tell her to._ "That reminds me, I'll have to speak to Dobby to bring my potions during my break."

"I'll take care of that. Is anything wrong?"

"No, it's just that the little idiot isn't sleeping at night for watching over me, and I'm certain she'll start dropping things from simple weariness if I don't take care," he said with a scowl. "And you don't have to laugh. I see the parallel quite clearly, thank you."

The rest of the meal went as one might expect, though the Headmaster restrained himself from either fussing or twinkling reasonably well. Severus was glad he had only two classes this afternoon, and both were lab sessions.

Snape entered in his usual fashion, then sat and watched the sixth-years come in. Most of them complained loudly about having to haul their cauldrons out from behind those of the older students, though none of them had any real trouble levitating them into position to work. He noticed how Miss Granger hung back and moved hers out by hand when the way was clear. No doubt she had read his notes about the possibility of such magic affecting the Wolfsbane Potion. Draco quietly waited and did the same.

It was odd how looking at Mr. Potter didn't bother him the way it used to. _I have been a fool all these years,_ Snape thought. _A real revenge on James Potter would have been to make his son my own. Even Black could have been managed if the boy's trust had already been placed in me. He would have been furious._

Black would have deserved it, too. He could have escaped Azkaban much sooner than he did, given his Animagus ability, had he been concerned more about the boy's welfare and less about destroying Wormtail. _I had two years to make the boy my own, two years I wasted on useless spite against someone whose life with those dreadful Muggles was nearly as unpleasant as my own childhood. Of course, once Black was back I was even worse. So much waste. _It was quite strange how looking at the boy bothered him so little today. It was a relief, really.

The Potions Master made sure everyone was set up to work, determined from the schedule he had noticed that it was Mr. Potter's day to watch Mr. Longbottom, and tried to push regret behind him. He had no time for it any more, if indeed he ever did. For some things it was entirely too late. However, he didn't want anyone to remember him as only a raging bully. Besides, Winky would never rest when he told her to if she thought he could not control himself.

His resolution was tested almost immediately when blue-streaked white smoke began curling up from Longbottom's cauldron. He doubted it would be anything as harmless as the dye that had come from Mr. Andreas. Snape quickly moved the children away, put a Banishment Spell on the cauldron so it could explode in the peace and quiet of the Forbidden Forest, and counted to ten in Russian, backwards. When he finished that, he sat down again and had everyone else put a Stasis spell on their work.

The class was deathly quiet as he struggled for self-control. The deep breathing exercises recommended by Sybil helped somewhat, although inhaling some of the fumes in the room or his suppressed fury caused his hands to tremble somewhat. Once he knew he could speak rationally, he said, "Mr. Longbottom. Please tell us what you did." Yes, it was better for him to be at his desk, rather than looming over the boy. "Check your notes and your chart first, if that will help."

"Ah, sir, I was adding the maidenhair when I heard a splash. The brew began to turn green. It wasn't supposed to be green! I put in more maidenhair, thinking I had added too much fenugreek by accident, and everything turned blue again, but that's when the smoke started to come out." The boy sweated and his eyes were wide.

"There are times when that actually works, Mr. Longbottom. Obviously this was not one of them." His eyes scanned the room. He believed the story about the splash, though he was surprised that a sixth-year student who was here voluntarily would endanger the class so. One of the Ravenclaw boys began to shuffle his feet, though Snape also stared at his Slytherins, just in case one of them was reverting to old habits. "In the future, if you suspect something is wrong, you are to shut down the potion entirely and start over. As we saw, making assumptions can be disastrous." A low boom, no doubt from the cauldron, punctuated his statement.

Potter stared at him as if he'd sprouted horns, as did Mr. Weasley and Draco. Snape was glad he didn't have to play silly-ass games in class any more. "Now, given the current stage we are in, what could cause the potion to turn green without too much fenugreek, and then react to maidenhair in such an explosive manner?" He knew the answer himself, though where on earth a Hogwarts student had managed to get his hands on some Dragon's Bane he had no idea.

He turned the whole affair into a class discussion. As he thought, the Ravenclaw who shuffled at first was now white and sweating. Miss Patil glared at the boy in a way Snape felt boded ill for his future.

Another Ravenclaw raised her hand. "Yes, Miss Lovegood?"

"You've told us how long it takes to make the Wolfbane Potion, and how easy it is to make mistakes, especially during the last part. Does it have to be one person who brews the whole batch, or can some of the stages be split up?"

At first he wanted to deride her for her naivety. Then he realized that on the commercial level, some potions _were_ brewed in interchangeable batches. "I don't know, Miss Lovegood. I don't even know if it has been tried before. Perhaps that's one thing we can find out. Many of the errors made in creating this potion occur in the final hours when the brewer is the most tired. I'm glad you asked that question."

Time was up and the students began putting their books away. He assigned homework. "Three feet on why it is a bad idea to throw things in other students' cauldrons, although for you, Mr. Whitlow, perhaps you need to make it five." The boy turned red, but didn't say a thing. "Mr. Longbottom, see me after class. Miss Granger, don't apologize for him, you have your own cauldron to watch. Mr. Potter, instead of the assigned topic, look up the various occupations in the potions field. Madam Pince has a book on it. I want an essay on the duties of a firemaster instead. Mr. Weasley, _don't_ say it. Whatever it is. At least not until you're out in the hallway and I don't have to notice it."

Longbottom stood in front of the desk, visibly terrified. Snape thought how good it would feel to erupt in anger and turn the boy into more of a quivering jelly than he already was. Instead, he sighed. "Pull up a chair, Mr. Longbottom. Don't worry, I'll give you a pass to the next class."

"I didn't mean to do it, sir. I've really been trying this year—"

"I know you have. And if you repeat any of this conversation, both you and Trevor will be hopping along the lake dodging the squid. He's very fond of toads, you know." _No wonder Madam Umbridge never walked along the shore,_ Severus thought. "Has the Headmaster spoken to you about the tiles brewers once used?"

"Yes, sir. I'm scared to touch them."

"I don't blame you. However, you may wish to make a copy of them in soft wood or even on squares of paper, just for practice. On your set, you may use symbols or write down words if you like. The tiles are tools, not sacred relics, especially if you create your own set. I also want you coming in three nights next week and working on potions. You are trying to go faster than you want to in order to keep up. Practice is the only thing that will help. Ask Mr. Weasley how he spent his summer."

The boy really started sweating then. Snape continued. "Since I have better things to do with my life, Winky will supervise you. She is trying to learn some potions herself so she can help me. I will be in the next room, attempting to wade through the scribbles I laughingly call essays. Try not to do anything to disturb me on those nights. We will both be much happier that way."

The Gryffindor's mouth hung open. "If you improve, I may allow you to work off points or detentions by tutoring some first years with more imagination than sense. Since you have made most of the mistakes possible, they might listen to you more about why they are generally a bad idea till they learn the right way to do things."

"Ah, yes, sir. Just one question."

"Only one?"

"Where is the real Professor Snape, and what have you done with him, sir? Um…that's supposed to be a joke." Longbottom tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it.

"Oh, I'm still here," the Potions Master said with a cold smile. "You may thank the Swiss and their vile glop for this restraint." _And the penance that Poppy suggested._ He quickly summoned a pre-written pass. "You may go."

The boy shot out of the room as if Dementors were after him. He couldn't help toying with Longbottom a _little_ bit; his arrival at his next class white and shaking would only reinforce the Dreaded Bat of the Dungeon's reputation. But it was right to help the idiot boy.

Now, of course, his nerves were paying for it. He shook as badly now as he had at the clinic. Dobby popped in. "Master Severus, here are potions for you," the elf said, frowning. "Does Master need special help?"

Snape remembered. When he was younger and lived at the Manor, sometimes his fury at the way Lucius treated him would get the best of him, and he was terrified of breaking things inadvertently when he couldn't control his magic or his rage. Dobby would then wrap some kind of ward around him, so he was held still and harmed nothing, not even himself. Severus understood the psychology of it now; no doubt his mother, a Russian, had swaddled him as an infant. "I…I think I'll be all right," he said. Albus disapproved of him needing so much help to control himself.

"Headmaster not teach Mr. Cauldron-go-boom," Dobby said. "You feel better if you let me do this last year, last summer."

No doubt the elf was right, but he should be stronger now. Then a beaker on top of a cabinet shattered into pieces. "I suppose I had better, but not till I drink the potions," Snape said. He forced enough control on his muscles to swallow down the horrible things, and only remembered he should have eaten something first when it was too late.

He knew he should have been frightened by Dobby's assistance when the warm air compressed around him and held him in its embrace, but instead it was relaxing, knowing his emotions could spike and nothing would break. _I should have taken advantage of his help much more often last year,_ he thought, even though the elf's scent always reminded him of Lucius. This restraint felt more like being held without actual human touch than a Body Bind, and never frightened him the way that spell did.

After a few moments, a much shorter time than he expected, he felt enough inner calm to nod at Dobby to release him. His hands still twitched a little bit, probably from an excess of maidenhair, but the rest of him was eased enough that he thought he could sleep a little once he lay down. He went to his office, put the packet he'd written to Arthur Weasley inside the locked drawer, and then adjusted his chair to a lying position. Dobby covered him with a heavier than usual quilt, then departed, looked extraordinarily pleased with himself.

Winky woke him for the last class. "Master, I's much better now," she said. "Glad you sleep. Know Dobby help take care of you before, but you _my_ Master."

He smiled at her, and asked her for something he could eat quickly. Snape felt slightly light-headed, and that wasn't usually a good thing in a laboratory session. The seventh years were working on an extremely powerful healing potion, but some of the byproducts could be_ quite_ exciting if handled wrong.

Winky disappeared and immediately came back with more fresh pineapple. The fruit helped settle his stomach without adding too much sugar on top of his slight agitation. _I should be all right now. The seventh years aren't working with anything with maidenhair in it today, and several of them should finish the healing potion in this session. I shouldn't have much trouble with those fumes, or so I hope._

In fact, once the older students had begun brewing he was able to manage some grading. When she turned in her potion, Miss Chang requested once again to help with the Wolfsbane Potion, though she would have difficulty finding time. She had the same problem Draco did, with the NEWTS on top of it. Fortunately, she spent less time flying as Seeker this year and Terry Boot spent half his time away from his usual Chaser position and learning hers. Snape thought her choice had been wise. Flying against Mr. Potter would undoubtedly bring up past associations, and Seekers were more likely to be hurt seriously.

"I appreciate your offer, Miss Chang, but the terms of the bet specify I must teach it to the sixth years. I would rather not muddy the waters by teaching it to anyone from another class till the bet is won. Of course, I may teach it to anyone I like after that, and I will certainly include you on the list. As things stand now, I prefer to concentrate on potions that will be covered on the NEWTS for you and the rest of those in this class." He should probably follow this advice with some stinging sarcasm about spreading one's energies too thin, but the Ravenclaw girl was clearly aware of the problem already. "If circumstances permit, I may offer some advanced teaching this next summer. Frankly, the more people who know how to make it, the better. If the Ministry continues with its Dark Creature proposals, they will need to fulfill some of the promises they have made about the availability of Wolfsbane."

The young woman nodded and went back to work on her potion. The class was over sooner than he expected, and he had several excellent cauldrons of healing potion to bottle. Winky began filling the empty ones. That had to be done without magic, unfortunately, and he still felt unsteady.

Draco showed up in time to help. "How was practice today?" Snape asked. Quidditch drills had to be earlier now it was becoming dark earlier and the weather worse.

"Um…it was different," the young man said. "Professor Lupin was there. We actually worked on broom practice this time. He had some good tips for me on how to make my turns tighter when I'm after the Snitch even with my height. After that, we went over some basic Dark Arts stuff we needed practice on. Oh, Merlin, I hope my Patronus isn't a ferret!"

"You'll learn to live with it," Snape said, envying the boy. "Of course, I'm certain you've read about the escape attempt at Azkaban and your father's recapture."

His godson gathered up the full bottles and started placing them in a basket. "I know," he said. "I heard…the paper said werewolves were involved, too. Was ours?"

"He didn't harm Lucius," Severus said. "At most, he may have nipped at your father's heels. One of the escapees was bitten, though, and I'll probably have to make larger batches of the Wolfsbane Potion next time, too. I'll need your help. Miss Granger will be there as well."

"Um. I see," Draco said, making a face. "Who was it?"

"I have not been told yet. We will probably learn his identity during the next meeting, which should be soon." He knew Winky was pretending not to listen in, and was glad he could trust the elf not to carry tales. "I am sorry your father was recaptured, but by all accounts he led everyone a merry dance in the process. He provided enough distraction to allow other prisoners to escape. No one should blame you, Draco, either for the attempt or for its failure. I was fortunate not to be included."

The blond Slytherin sat down, looking confused. Snape continued. "I know you still love him," he said. "I will never ask you to stop, and neither should the Order. One can still hope he will see the error of his ways, if only for the sake of preserving the Malfoy estate. But till he does, it is probably just as well he isn't an active participant." Without Dobby's help, he would have found it impossible to speak of Draco's father so calmly.

"I know," the boy said softly, hanging his head. "Sometimes…sometimes I wonder what he would have done if he'd been home that Sunday."

"I think he would have chosen you the way your mother did." Snape hoped that was true.

"I know you would have."

Severus turned his face away as an unaccustomed glow of happiness surged inside.

Then Draco said hesitantly, "Father told me. The last time I visited. About you and him."

The Potions Master sat down. "I wish he hadn't," he replied in an off-hand tone of voice, while blind panic made his heart beat like a hammer. "That is nothing to do with you. He chose your mother, and it's clear he cares for her."

"She didn't like you for a long time," Draco said, his face coloring.

"I know. She had a right to be angry." He remembered how she had met him quietly a few months before Draco's birth and said, "I want my year," across the table. It was a request any new wife or husband might make of a former paramour, and which had to be honored. Lucius must have suspected the reason for his withdrawal, and had said nothing for at least that amount of time. Snape had welcomed the excuse. His life spying for Dumbledore had been complicated enough, even though a stay at Azkaban had been his only reward. Once he'd been safe at Hogwarts, he'd been content to obey Narcissa's wishes till last year, when he'd needed help to stay in the Dark Lord's good graces. _I wish he hadn't told Draco. I can't believe he did._

"Were you…were you only a first year when it started?"

For a moment Severus couldn't speak. He felt trapped in the Silent Place again. But if he were to salvage anything from the damage Lucius had caused, he had to say something soon. Only the truth would serve as the path out of this pit. "Yes."

His godson turned his face away then, his features twisted in rage. Snape waited, knowing he could ruin everything between them if he wasn't careful.

The silence grew. The Potions Master continued to wait, though all he really wanted to do was to curl up and pretend nothing had happened.

Draco faced him again, his cheeks wet. "No wonder you protect us so well," he said, his voice cracking. "How can you stand me? I look so much like him, and I've been such a horrible prat."

Snape took a couple of deep breaths. For a moment he felt the young man's fury and grief. Apparently the connection between them ran both ways. "I admit I despaired of you last year, when you became head of Umbridge's Enforcers," he said gently, trying to fight back waves of other memories from that time. "And I still have a photo of you and your friends on the platform of the Hogwarts Express. I've never seen slugs wearing school robes before—well, not three of them in a row, anyway. The fact you're angry now means you're _not_ like your father, at least not in that way." With iron control, he kept his voice light.

"But you like women," Draco said tactlessly. "The day Mandy Brocklehurst came into class wearing what Pansy told me was a Wonderbra and with her blouse so low, you looked at her for a second the way all the rest of us boys did. I mean, right before you spelled her robes closed and gave her a detention."

"I would rather not discuss the relationship between myself and your father," Snape said wearily. "It has not, and will not affect ours. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." His godson sighed and bowed his head. "Maybe it's just as well Father is still in prison for now. I can't make up my mind how I'm supposed to feel about him now."

"You are not alone." He gathered up the bottles and put them in a basket.

"May I go now?"

"Certainly. Just help me take these potions up to the infirmary. There's maidenhair in the potions the Swiss use, so exposure to more of it earlier this afternoon makes me a trifle unsteady at times." _Yes, blame the fumes._

"I thought it was a muscle relaxant." Draco was clearly as happy to change subjects as he was. He picked up the basket, rather than using magic. Good, he _had_ been listening at times.

"In small doses, yes. In larger amounts it's been known to cause fine muscle tremors. I wonder if there's a greater effect on those exposed to the Cruciatus? One of the sedatives the Swiss had me use last summer helped me endure one better, but I had more after-effects once it was over."

"I've never thought about it, sir," the blond Slytherin said as they left the room and walked down the hall.

"A potions master must take the beginner's mediwitch course. I think the intermediate one ought to be required as well, as there are so many accidents where no time can be wasted trying to reverse the effects. Assistants ought to have some knowledge, too, since in an emergency the master might be the one injured."

"If that's a subtle hint I should help Madam Pomfrey more, I heard it," Draco said, a smile flickering on his face.

"I'm sure I can ask the other teachers to make sure all your detentions from now on are served in the infirmary," Snape said. He noticed how his own self-control reassured his godson. The walk through the halls helped him, if only because it allowed him to glower at a few students on their way to the Great Hall for dinner.

"I found a way to annoy Filch," Draco said. "He'll be happy about that."

"Just being yourself?" He scanned for students to take points from, but they scurried away from him like mice. The Potions Master felt modest satisfaction that none of them thought he'd gone entirely soft.

"No, better than that. I'm just respectful to him without any sarcasm, and I whistle while I'm scrubbing the floors as if I'm enjoying myself. He knows I'm having fun with him, but he doesn't have anything to really yell about. He's even let me off early a few times because I didn't show the proper spirit." The blond Slytherin smiled. "He showed me his manacle collection once, and was really upset when I said Father's was a lot better, and did he prefer certain angles when he hung people up, or what? He said, 'get out of here, you rotten brat!' that time."

Snape rolled his eyes. "I've seen both, and your father does have more. He doesn't use them, though." At least not any more. Lucius had sworn never to do it again after the last time, which had been a couple of decades ago.

They entered the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey was glad to see them, and the bottles. "Oh, my, and just in time for the game tomorrow. Madam Hooch doesn't agree, but I'd ban Quidditch some days if I could. All you young idiots trying to break your necks going after a Quaffle or a Snitch! Even the referee can become injured, and I still don't know how you were talked into doing it that one time." She began putting bottles up on shelves and in cupboards. "Oh, Professor, I need to talk to you about your potions again. The week's trial is almost over on the new ones and I want to go over the data. Mr. Malfoy, if you please…"

"Of course, Madam Pomfrey," Draco said, and turned to leave.

"Do drop by some other time," she said. "Since you're playing tomorrow, I may see you then, though I really hope not."

The young man smiled wanly and left.

They went to her office and she closed the door. Once they were sitting, she added a muffling spell. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Lucius told him about me," Severus said. He bowed his head, overwhelmed for a moment. "I don't know how much. Too much. He knows when it started." For a moment he was that frightened first year student, eagerly accepting comfort, and hurt by its cost.

"Oh, dear," she said.

At least she knew better than to touch him when he was like this. He sat hunched, his arms close to his body. He forced himself to breathe deeply. Lucius was still in prison. After a few moments he sat up straight. If there was anywhere in the world he was safe, it was here. "I told him as little as I could, and led the conversation elsewhere. Fortunately he didn't ask very many questions. I assured him it wouldn't change our relationship." He knew Draco would ask more about it later. "I can't let him fall under his father's influence. But I can't talk to him about this!" Anguish pummeled him again.

"He spoke to me a little about it at the beginning of the year, when I did his health exam," Poppy said quietly. "I let him grieve for his friend, too, whom he still misses. I asked him to come visit me to talk, but he never did."

"I'm going to ask the other teachers for him to have as many detentions with you as possible," Snape said. "Try to gloat appropriately."

The mediwitch laughed. Then she stopped. "I want to talk to you right now," she said. "You have been cutting down on your evening potions, and the daybook confirms you haven't been sleeping well. You were up much too late last night."

"A special visitor and I had to talk about the hearing," he said. Arthur Weasley's promise still warmed his heart.

"There was also something a bit odd in mid-afternoon, just before you rested between the last two classes of the day," she said.

He was a little embarrassed about that. "I'd told Winky to rest, and so Dobby brought the potions then," Snape said. "He um, helped me when my temper started to leak out. It's a technique he and I developed when I lived at Malfoy Manor for a time." He looked up at her, and saw she was puzzled. "It's not like a Body Bind at all, it's just as way for me to feel safe without anyone actually touching me, like being held tightly by someone I trust. I couldn't let out my anger at the Manor, Poppy, I broke too many valuable things as it was."

"I see," she said, blinking.

"I felt much better afterwards. He always drops it as soon as I ask him to. I wouldn't have been able to rest without it. Mr. Longbottom didn't mean to almost cause a disaster this time—someone else interfered, and I will have a talk with that young man quite soon. I had to hold my temper around the boy this time, as it truly wasn't his fault, but I still had to talk to him about some extra brewing he could do to catch up." He felt proud he wasn't cowering any more. "I've…I've been doing the penance you asked me to. Longbottom will have some time in the evenings to brew, and may even tutor a few first years who appear to be following in his footsteps. I've helped Lupin. I…I even congratulated him when everyone was telling him what a hero he was with the other werewolves after the prison break." He hated the way his voice shook. "I…I can't think of anything more to do, Poppy."

For a moment the mediwitch turned her face away, and then wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. She looked back at him. "I can't, either," Pomfrey said. "I am proud of you, Severus. But you _must_ rest tonight, and the next two days. I would ban you from the Quidditch game tomorrow if I thought it would do any good."

"Slytherin against Ravenclaw?" he said. "You know better than that." Oh, good. This was a safe topic, much safer than anything else.

The preliminary bell rang for dinner in the Great Hall, though the sound was much quieter here. "I shall have one of the elves bring us our meal here," the mediwitch said. "Then I will personally escort you to your rooms and tell Winky to put you to bed. I know Dobby means well, but I suspect you have some unpleasant associations there."

"I'll only wake up too early," Snape muttered.

"Not with the potions you're going to have tonight," Pomfrey said. "I'm putting you back on the dose of the sedative you _should_ have been taking and clearly haven't, without any detoxicant at all. You have been a truly excellent lab rat this week, and Lowenstein should have more than enough information to try something else. Next week you are to have the potions for the side effects _only_. Hold out your hands."

He tried, desperately, to keep them firm, but some fine muscle tremors still betrayed him.

"As I thought."

"But the maidenhair in the potions for the side effects is part of the problem," he said. "I use it in the Wolfsbane, and a few other potions I teach."

She let out a noise of exasperation. "That's why he cut down on it in this week's set and increased the lavender and kava even though I pointed out they'd be less effective, I dare say." Pomfrey played with the papers on her desk for a moment. "A pity you don't drink spirits. Alcohol potentiates the sedative effect, without, I think, doing anything else."

"I sometimes have to drink wine or brandy when invited to the Manor," he said in what he hoped was a neutral voice. "My mother preferred gin. I found the ale served at meals at the clinic tolerable."

She brightened. "Pomona and her husband usually drink a nice, dark bock. She won't mind a few glasses sent your way."

He flushed, ashamed once more to be the recipient of charity. "I appreciated the fresh pineapple she sent me," he said. "I noticed she seemed anxious, and I made sure she saw I enjoyed it."

The second bell rang. Snape rose. "Won't you find it easier eating here?" Poppy said.

"Yes. But Winky will be glad to fetch me something in my rooms afterwards," the Potions Master said. "Draco will worry if I don't show up." _Miss Edgecombe missed only a few meals after her ordeal. Sometimes she looks up at me, and for some idiotic reason, clearly finds my presence reassuring. I can rest later._ "You don't have anyone in here tonight. Why don't you come as well?"

"I hate going there alone…" Her eyes darted towards the picture of an older wizard up on a cabinet, well out of harm's way.

"Then I shall escort you," he said, extending an arm. Severus was proud of himself for not flinching when she took it.

"Aren't you afraid of gossip?" she asked.

"I should encourage it, if I were you. Besides, you must keep up your strength as well. I must depend upon it so often, you see." He ruthlessly played on her own sense of guilt tonight. "Besides, I'm the greasy bat of the dungeons. You're the one they'll wonder about."

She looked taken aback. "When you put it that way, Severus, how can I refuse?"

As he thought, absolutely no one noticed him and Madam Pomfrey entering the hall on their way to the Staff table, even when he pulled out a chair for the mediwitch. _If I am ever asked, I will simply say it is a wise man who keeps his healer happy with him. Even Bella will see the sense of that._ He gazed out over the student tables once he was served, and noticed Draco sitting up straighter once his godfather's eye was on him. He tried to spot Miss Edgecombe among the Ravenclaws, and saw how she ducked her head any time someone tried to speak to her. _You are doing well just to be here, _he thought, understanding that impulse quite well. He noticed how Miss Lovegood kept on chattering anyway, judging by the movement of her face, and decided to pay more attention to the eccentric girl's ideas. She could be right. It almost felt as if the golden vine he had imagined earlier was trying to re-form. _I have nothing to give any of you,_ he thought wistfully, _but at least I'm here and not cringing beneath my bedcovers._

Apparently that was enough for now. He took a few bites of his dinner, but mostly drank tea, and tried not to feel how unreal everything seemed just now. _I'll feel better in the morning, after I've slept. No doubt Poppy would like to dose me hard enough so I won't wake up till Monday morning. Right now I don't think that would be a bad idea. _He occupied the time till he could reasonably leave by counting up the comforts he would allow himself once back in his quarters. _Hot bath, thick robes, a quick look at my private brewing—I'm glad I remembered to start Skeeter's Christmas bottle last month despite everything else—and a taste or two of the liqueur for myself just to make sure it's coming along all right, of course. If I can stay awake long enough, I'll even pull out an old book I know will soothe me. _He knew he probably wouldn't need all this routine to make it through just one night, but why not indulge himself? _Perhaps tomorrow night I'll take time to enjoy the magazine Filch found for me as well. With any luck, the team will be too busy celebrating a win to keep out of trouble._ While he was at it, he pretended that Dobby had cast the charm used this afternoon to wrap the air itself around him.

Severus looked fondly at Madam Pomfrey, who appeared to be enjoying herself immensely. _She really doesn't come to the Great Hall often. Is it because of her duties or because she was so used to being married that it really does bother her to come alone?_ He remembered now her husband had been dead for over a decade, at least, and that no one knew much about him. No doubt Molly and Poppy's other friends knew a great deal more. _At least I don't actually have to say much, just nod and make the occasional conversational noise. I should do this more often, actually. I'm learning a great deal I didn't know before about her._

In fact, the mediwitch seemed unusually animated tonight, both with him and Hagrid, who sat on the other side right at the end. The half-giant seemed absurdly pleased to see her as well, and rumbled appreciatively whenever she addressed a remark to him.

At last the meal was over. Snape glanced down, and was extremely surprised to see he'd emptied his plate. The Headmaster, on his other side, had been devoting all his attention to Professor McGonagall and had mercifully left him alone. Severus knew he couldn't say anything about Lucius to the older wizard, not after last summer. He felt himself freeze up inside just thinking of it, nodded blandly at Dumbledore, and made his escape by offering his arm yet again to Madam Pomfrey and taking her back to the infirmary.

She reached out to him at the door, almost as if she wanted to embrace him, then thought better of it. "Send Winky up to me in an hour or so, and I'll have your evening potions ready," Poppy said. "I want to thank you for such a pleasant evening."

He stared down at the floor, mumbled something appropriate, and fled. Snape felt like a first year again, and simply couldn't manage any kind of social grace just now. Fortunately the students kept out of his way, mistaking his panic for his normal routine of spreading terror and despair. Snape noticed once he reached the dungeons that a few students were lounging around. He nodded to them and said, "No mischief tonight, or you'll regret it." For some reason, that pleased them, judging by their expressions. Draco, especially, responded with an outright smile. "I've told the team early to bed tonight, sir. Let the Ravens sit up half the night, that'd suit us all just fine."

"Yes, it would," Snape said. "If nothing else, gather them all together and have a History of Magic tutorial. If they imagine Binns is there, they'll all drift off in no time."

His godson laughed, and lost the last bit of shadow in his grey eyes. "I hope you turn in early yourself, sir."

"I think I will," the Potions Master answered in a warmer voice, despite wanting to flee again. "_Don't_ worry about anything but the game."

"I won't, sir," he said softly.

Snape nodded briskly, then went to his quarters. Once past the door, he leaned against the door, sweat pouring down his face and, oddly enough, his back. It was harder every day, it seemed, to put up the brave front the others needed. Pomfrey was one of the few people he could show weakness to, but she had so many others to look after.

"Time to rest, Master," Winky said in a quavery voice.

He looked down at the tiny elf and said, "I agree. Draw a hot bath first, then have one of the winter nightshirts and a thick robe ready for me after. Once that is done, Madam Pomfrey says she will have my evening potions prepared for me early tonight."

The elf bustled about, though was silent once he was actually in the bath. Snape asked Winky to bring one of the Muggle novels he'd charmed against water damage and read as he soaked. The absurd situation and utter silliness involved in a story about a flock of rabbits seeking sanctuary distracted him from his idiotic feelings for a short time. He had started this book some time ago, but now thought he understood the wretched beasts a bit better tonight. _I have been panicking at nothing all week,_ he thought. _Whether it's the potions or my own stupidity, it doesn't really matter now. I rather hope I'm over this soon. _

Once thoroughly wrinkled, he dried off and wrapped himself up in enough layers of wool that he finally felt safe; well, safer. Snape left off reinforcing the wards till Winky returned with the potions, though.

Odd how the elf's presence didn't bother him. He drank the potions and immediately began to feel sleepy. _Poppy must have increased the dose to make up for all the ones I've missed,_ he thought, knowing he probably should be angry about it, but in his heart he was glad. _Having one night where I can really rest should help the rest of the weekend go better._ Then he set the wards so high they'd make a hippogriff bounce all the way out of the castle.

Once he was in bed, his covers piled high, he murmured, "I wish you could read, Winky."

"Winky doesn't forget what to do in Potions, Master." She sounded hurt.

"I know. It's just when I was little, Doushka or my mother sometimes read a story to me at night." He was ashamed to feel so childish. Snape pulled out a very old book, one of the few he'd been able to find out of those his family had once owned. "Perhaps you won't mind if I read to you," he said, glad of all the wards around him now. He would never live it down. Yet Winky would never tell on him.

"Oh, Master!" The elf shot him a look of bright gladness and immediately sat in a cross-legged position down on the floor by the head of his bed. "The Old One used to tell us little ones stories before _we_ were sent to bed."

Snape didn't feel quite so odd. He didn't know how old Winky was, but knew she was still quite young compared to the others. "Once upon a time, there was an elf named Happy," he started. "He loved his Mistress and wanted to make her happy, too. But she was sad all the time."

By the time he was finished reading the short, illustrated story, _he_ was nearly asleep and barely noticed when Winky took the book from his fingers. He let his eyes close. He was safe.


	58. Chapter 58: Storm Breaking

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Note: the song quotation used in this chapter belongs to the Spice Girls. The Final Fantasy game referred to is Final Fantasy III (or XI in Japan. See my directory for my fic about it, called "Setzer's Christmas"). Hail to thee, my magnificent betas! Read their stories! Duj has now joined the team of Snape's Nightie and zafaran in helping me avoid Stupid Mistakes (any that remain are definitely all mine!).

Chapter 58: Storm Breaking

Winky

The elf vanished from the bedchamber when the Master began to snore. It wasn't late enough for her to take her usual position by the outer door after putting the pallet there, but she was afraid someone would try to talk to her Master while he slept. _Must find Dobby to ask questions,_ she thought, so she put a _Do Not Disturb_ spell on the door. No matter how hard anybody knocked, Master Potions Master wouldn't hear it. Elves used it sometimes when they had to do heavy cleaning without interruption.

Winky remembered the wrinkled Old One in the breed pens, the one who hugged them and told them stories when the Mothers were off on errands. The Old One _knew_ things, and said the marks on the walls changed and told her what was going to happen. Her name was the same as the one her Master had known. Did the Old One ever miss her little boy?

She thought about how nice it would be if her Master had children, too. _Silly elf!_ Winky scolded herself. _He already does! They just bigger, but still miss home._

Dobby wasn't in the dungeons, and not in the kitchens, either. She was afraid to tell the other elves what she wanted. They would laugh at her. It was supposed to be human magic to read the black marks on paper. Wait. One of the elves in Raven Tower, the one with the Ghost Master, said she could. But Winky wanted to talk to Dobby first. If her Master wanted her to learn, too, then by the Eldest One Himself she would.

The other elves in the kitchen said Dobby was in Gryffindor. One said, "Looking for the butterbeer again?"

Winky shook her head furiously. "Winky promised last summer, never again. As long as Master live."

One of the elves looked unhappy. "What if he die, Winky?"

"Then still never," she said softly. "_Promised._" She wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. But that wouldn't help Master. She left the kitchen and went to Gryffindor instead. She didn't go to that Tower much these days. The Lions were lots louder than her Snakes were, and it scared her a little. But nobody yelled at her, just at each other, so she kept looking.

The Common Room there was _really_ noisy. She held her hands over her ears, and didn't see Dobby anywhere. Winky went up to the girls' side, afraid what the boys would do. If he wasn't cleaning anywhere here, though, she would have to go. At least the Scary Twins were gone. They were almost as bad as Peeves.

The girls laughed and chattered, but at least they didn't throw things at her. None of them had seen Dobby. She stumbled into a room where they were having a pillow fight, brightly colored feathers flying everywhere, and automatically displaced herself to somewhere safer.

Winky found herself in a quiet room with four beds, but only one student. She recognized the frizzy hair and started to back away. _All_ the elves had heard of _her!_ Then she took a couple of really deep breaths, the way she'd seen Master do when he was upset. Miss Book-Girl would know about reading!

"Miss Book—Missy Granger, maybe you help me?" she asked, almost in a whisper.

The girl stretched and yawned, while Crookshanks came out from under the bed. Winky almost fell over when the Kneazle gave her an affectionate head butt. He was even smarter than Mrs. Norris, but he didn't know where Dobby was, either.

"Are you all right?" Granger said. "Professor Snape seems fond of you, but…"

"No, Master is good!" Winky said. "He say, Winky, you lie down in afternoon, I command it, don't want you tired and dropping things. Don't want to be gone, not for that class, Mistress Nurse say it bad for him to get so angry. I ask questions, hand him stuff, maybe he not get so upset when something goes wrong."

The girl blinked. "I wondered about that. But he didn't yell at anyone today, even when one of the student cauldrons almost blew up from something thrown into it. It wasn't Neville's fault this time, and he realized it." She looped a lock of frizzy hair around her finger. "Neville said he saw Dobby coming down the hall just as he was going to Transfiguration."

"Yes, must find Dobby!" Winky said. "Need to ask him something." Her Master had slept good this afternoon, but was still sick. Maybe the older elf knew why.

"I don't know, Winky. I haven't seen him today. What do you need to talk to him for?"

The elf itched to have the care of the girl's hair. Master's was better, though it would never be good till he stopped brewing. She stopped. She had to remember why she was here. "Master Potions Master is tired, tired, and doesn't sleep. _He_ drop things soon. I have to help him. Can help more if I can…if I can _read._" Winky let her voice drop to a whisper.

Miss Book-Girl looked unhappy. "Those awful potions he has to take," she said. "I've noticed it myself, and I try to make my friends behave in class more."

"Oh, they much better," Winky said. "Dobby tell me what classes were like last year. Even Snakes throw things, make bad potions, Master sick from fumes. No wonder he yell so much the walls have holes in them, or so other elves say. But want to _read_, Missy Granger." She would never tell the real reason. Elves always kept a Master's secrets. Sometimes Winky looked at the pretty pictures of pretty ladies the Master had in his bedroom and wondered who they were, but she would never tell anyone about that, either.

Granger smiled. "My class load is so light this year I'm bored to death, but Professor McGonagall won't let me add anything. I'm not sick any more, and the weather is too nasty for flying, even if I liked it. What do you do right after supper these days?"

"Go through dungeons and finish cleaning, but other elves help with that. Master has students clean own stuff. He looks at rooms and laughs. Master tells me what classes for next day. I wear _equipment_ to find dry things and wiggly things for them, and always put first year _ingredients_ together, away from others." She was proud of learning such hard words. "He watches at first to make sure it right, but now he doesn't. I clean his room when he outside or resting, but that not much. I help if he brewing in the back. Not much this year, or so Dobby says. Master Wolf is nice, but his potion smells bad. Same as in your class sometimes."

The girl nodded. "How about after that?"

"Try to help Master eat. Has plate sometimes in room, noise and talking bother him. Then have time to myself. I belong to Potions now! When Master goes to bed, stay by door, ask if students need help. Mostly just sleep. Master wants me to wake him up, but mostly is little ones just homesick. They cry with me, then go back to bed. Sometimes Master sick or hurt, then I help, not do Potions till he better." Winky wiped her eyes. "He sleeping now."

"If you can come up here each night before curfew, when you have time, of course, then I could teach you."

The elf was tempted, but frightened. "Like to, Missy Granger, but…"

Granger smiled. "I won't try to give you clothes, if that's what you're worried about."

"Oh, Missy, that would be good! But next week, Master Cauldron-go-Boom will practice. I's to watch, and Master in the next room with papers."

The girl smiled. "You must mean Neville. He is better this year, honestly."

"Oh, they talk in kitchen. Trevor tell us," Winky said.

"Can you speak with all the familiars?"

"Of course, Missy Granger. Crookshanks, Mrs. Norris, all of them."

"Don't you wish you were on your own sometimes?"

Dobby had told her Miss Book-Girl was like that. "Oh, no! Last year I's just a kitchen elf, but now I have a real Master, much better than Bad Barty. Dobby's silly sometimes. But he helps with Master Potions Master too, said he knew him when he stayed at Malfoy Manor long time ago. Master Lucius was _bad_ to my master then, he says," Winky added in a tiny voice. "Oh, I's talking too much. Dobby was right, I's just a stupid elf." She slapped herself hard in the face.

Granger said, "No, you're not stupid." She looked sad. "You are helping Professor Snape a lot this year. I'm glad you're there to take care of him."

"Oh, Missy, you a good girl!" Winky kissed her hand. The young human looked embarrassed. The elf remembered then that she was Muggle-born. But she wasn't scary like the other elves said. She had a nice picture of Master when he was younger by her bed, too, though he wore different clothes.

"Well, I'm not even a prefect this year. Come up when you have time and I'll start you off with your letters," the girl said briskly. "Do you have any just now?"

"Oh, no, must look for Dobby. He the Eldest here, even if not here as long as others. Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Winky was so happy!

Hermione Granger

She looked through her essay on potions overload. Snape had turned it back to her long ago, but she'd kept it despite—or perhaps because of—the acid comments in crimson ink in the margins. _He hates being up on a broom as much as I do, too,_ she thought, after seeing him a few times taking his broom around the same course she practiced on at times. She recognized the grim look of determination on his face from the inside. _I wonder if Dramamine would help? It makes me too sleepy to do much good, though, and it would probably conflict with his potions regime._ Besides, she knew that if she ever had to fly a broom she wouldn't have time for Muggle pills or any Magical potions. Perhaps there might be a charm she could wear to guard against motion sickness.

Winky gave her a lot to think about. Hermione had seen the elf working in the dungeons, as proud of her lab coat and tiny gloves as Pansy Parkinson was of the latest from Madam Malkin's. It was obvious to her that if Winky could manage preparing ingredients and equipment for lab sessions, that she was capable of more than anyone thought. Perhaps this was true of many house elves, though Hermione was trying to learn not to generalize from one example.

It was also obvious Winky had hated not having a real master, and wanted to learn to read mostly to help her current one. Hermione sighed, and lay down on the bed. She was so tired of feeling tired, and for no good reason, too.

She felt stupid envying a house elf. It was idiotic to care that Professor Snape now allowed anyone close to him at all. It was only because he was so sick this year that he wasn't snarling at everyone the way he used to. Even Harry and Ron had noticed how different the Greasy Git was this year, though Harry was still waiting for the inevitable attack.

Hermione thought Neville's mistake today would cue up another sort of pyrotechnic display, but instead everyone had been stunned at Snape's restraint, both in the class and from what Longbottom later reported in the Gryffindor Common Room. Ron had loudly called for an Auror to check his friend for the Imperius Curse and Snape for Polyjuice.

Neville had said, "I'm to brew a few nights next week, but with him in the other room and Winky to watch. I don't see the harm in that. It's that muck the Swiss are giving him. I'm putting together a thank you card to send to them. You'd think he'd be nastier to us with the potions making his sick, funny how that's worked."

Everyone eagerly vowed to sign it. Hermione smiled thinking of it. _We ought to give one to Winky, too_, she thought. The elf had defused Snape's temper several times in the past weeks now she thought about it. _She must really like helping him. All the elves at Hogwarts seem happy as slaves, but that doesn't make it right. How can I help them see that? _Dobby never talked about the Malfoys, but Winky had already started telling her things. She might learn more from the little elf during future lessons.

It was strange how everything was different this year—Lupin back, Umbridge gone, and Snape not ranting or slicing everyone to bits with his tongue. Her class load was so easy this year, she wasn't falling behind on sleep or feeling driven at all._ I'm still tired, though, even with all this extra time._ She'd volunteered to help out at a low-income daycare center this last summer, and one toddler had generously shared his cold with her. But her work there made it easier to deal with Winky, even if she was green.

Hermione looked down at her homework. She'd decided to try to limit the length of her essays in other classes besides Potions, and discovered that she could say what was needed without writing a book about every topic. Her OWLS score had been superb; but McGonagall had told her there were two years between them and the NEWTS for a reason. Hermione thought she was beginning to discover what that was. She'd taken the Transfigurations Professor's advice and began to discover the depths of each topic given her as well as the mass of facts involved. Perhaps it was just her weariness talking, but sometimes it did her good just to sit and _think_ about what needed to be written, the way she'd told Ron to so many times.

While flying her drills on a broom, she'd discovered the gentle motion less disturbing than usual, as long as she kept low, and found the activity a help. It was easier these days to discover the real reason behind some procedures, and what the teacher was actually looking for in their essay assignments. She always answered the basic question involved, but indicated that more material could be found in other directions, instead of blithely riding off in all of them at once. Once she was really well again, no doubt she'd go back to indiscriminate cramming again, which she found more joy than duty. But she was beginning to discern purposes behind their assignments beyond the day to day routine. It felt odd, sometimes, just to let her mind go _still_; but sometimes she ended up with results that astonished even her at times. _And then at other times I actually go out and try to have fun the way the others see it,_ she thought ruefully. Hermione was well aware her social development wasn't good, and had deliberately perused a few of the more popular "So You're A Stuck-Up Wallflower" books for helpful tips. So far, humor seemed to be working the best, especially if directed at herself and her somewhat terrifying reputation.

She had spoken with McGonagall once or twice since the beginning of the year, too, only to find out she wasn't the only one frustrated by a schedule that forced her to rest more often. At first Hermione thought the professor was talking about herself. Indeed, McGonagall sat a great deal more often than she used to in class, and sometimes grew alarmingly pale. But it was obvious that the Potions Master was ill. The Friday afternoon when he'd broken out in that horrible black sweat had been an eye-opener even for her classmates. It had been a revelation for her to see Malfoy so concerned about anyone besides himself. _The prat really cares for the Git of the Dungeons,_ she thought. _It isn't just sucking up. _Of course, Ron had made jokes about all the nastiness in the Potions Master finally coming out.

After doing the paper, Hermione was inclined to agree with him. Her Mum and Dad had to air out the surgery whenever they had several clients in one day using nitrous; why wouldn't Snape be affected by years of exposure to fumes? It was appalling how the list of symptoms overload matched up with what they'd seen from the Head of Slytherin over the years.

She went over her notes from Madam Pomfrey. Snape shouldn't be teaching or brewing while undergoing this procedure, never mind what his Order duties might involve. Harry talked, probably more than he should, about what he knew or imagined about him.

_Oh, why do I care!_ Hermione wailed to herself. _It's such a stupid cliché! Studious girl has a crush on the one teacher who doesn't fall at her feet, as in a thousand idiotic novels. If it were up to me, I would hunt down Jane Eyre with an axe! I'm better off concentrating on my studies, and my friends. _To distract herself, she pulled out her latest letter from Viktor. It drove Ron nuts they were still writing, though he'd been the first to ask for an autograph back in fourth year. Too bad. Krum took her to the ball then, and was the first to see her as more than just a walking encyclopedia.

She started writing a reply. First, she congratulated him on his latest plays for the Bulgarian team, and joked about her own basic drills on a broom. It was easier now than it had been at the beginning, and she'd found a charm to make her cassette player work here. Music helped her find the rhythm of flight and calmed her fear whenever she rose above two inches off the ground. Then she thought about what Harry had said about Occlumency, and grinned to herself. Songs often became stuck in her head. How fast would Voldemort run after hearing _"Tell me what you want, what you really, really want"_ for a half hour at a time?

It was Luna's question in class today that really had her thinking. She wrote her speculations as part of the letter, knowing Viktor probably wouldn't care that much, but she had to make sure her thoughts didn't escape. What if the blonde Ravenclaw was right? What if the class as a whole could brew the potion? She'd always been taught to take one big thing and break it down into parts. The Polyjuice Potion had been like that. At first it had seemed overwhelming, but when it came time to do it, she had simply taken one stage at a time.

If only she hadn't put in a hair from Bulstrode's cat! It had always frustrated her that Harry and Ron had been able to sneak into Slytherin looking like Crabbe and Goyle, while she'd spent weeks in the infirmary with a furry face! Snape's little habit of drawing a small cat by some of her more overreaching statements on essays did not help.

She frowned, quill still over the paper, when she remembered something Winky had said. 'Master Lucius was _bad_ to my master, Dobby says.' That could cover a lot. Harry had dropped hints that his father and Sirius Black hadn't been kind to the Slytherin while they'd been students, and that Remus hadn't told him any of it.

Maybe the Shrieking Shack hadn't been the only time Snape had been in the line of fire. Hermione already knew that Hogwarts wasn't the only school where cliques ran wild, usually because of an administration too eager to kowtow to the athletes or the richer students. Last year had been horrible, considering the way Umbridge had let her favorites run rampant.

_But Montague was the only one who almost died._ She was still upset at the way her classmates had rejoiced in the Quidditch Captain's injuries. No wonder someone had made that awful bet about Cho Chang in the Book. Harry still had the scars from that horrible quill; but that had been Umbridge herself, not any of the students. A good thing Snape had refused to supply more Veritaserum, and a better one that Harry hadn't drunk any to begin with. It had been Umbridge, too, who had sent the Dementor after Harry last summer and attempted a Cruciatus on him last spring. But in everyone's mind, anything that horrible woman did was blamed on the Slytherins who eagerly followed her.

_I don't regret what I did to save us,_ she thought, though she knew she was mainly trying to convince herself. _I ragged Harry for not asking Snape for help, when I didn't do it either. I didn't think of it when he wanted to go to the Ministry, either._

Then she had a horrible thought. Were _they_ the new Marauders? She didn't think so. It wasn't like they picked on one person all the time. Not even the twins did that. Then she flashed on all the things they'd done to Draco Malfoy. Of course, he'd deserved them—and he had those two goons of his to back him up.

She couldn't help remembering how everyone had laughed, though, when the fake Moody had turned Malfoy into a ferret and bounced him against the wall. She had been there along with everyone else when Draco and his thugs had been settled on the train, at least the first time. _Sometimes I still wish I'd been there when _that_ Trio ended up turned into slugs, instead of reading the paper. _Yet the Slytherin and the others in Potions had been civil enough in class this year.

Harry had bragged how McGonagall had given him 250 points for standing up to Malfoy when Snape had wanted to take them away. Part of last year had been fun, since even the Potions Master had hated Umbridge. She'd lost far fewer points than usual for helping Neville last year, she knew that much. _I wish I hadn't found that book about centaurs,_ she thought, still wondering what had happened to the Minister after being turned over to the herd in the Forbidden Forest. _I didn't know what else to do to help Harry, but…_ Umbridge probably should have gone to St. Mungo's instead of staying in the infirmary afterwards. Madam Pomfrey had tried to keep students away, but it had been clear no one here at the school really cared.

_Of course no one paid attention to me over Montague,_ she thought, _not that I said enough._ _I enjoyed setting down Edgecombe too much. _The stakes were far higher this year. Goyle was dead, and nobody thought it was an accident. The Slytherins were quiet, as if terrified into submission. At the first of the year she'd walked by Marietta Edgecombe in the hall, and the girl had practically run away. Now she sat as far as possible from the Gryffindors in History of Magic. The rumor was that the girl had tried to slash her wrists in Moaning Myrtle's, and the boys had made some nasty jokes about why.

_That one is all mine,_ Hermione thought. _Luna tries to talk to me about Marietta, and I keep refusing to hear her. I was too happy to see even Flitwick on our side to care about _why_ Edgecombe told. _Once she thought about it, it seemed obvious. In the Wizarding World, it seemed few married women worked outside the home. Marietta's mother worked for the Ministry. There was a strong chance the woman was the only family income, and being fired from the Ministry with the kind of recommendation Umbridge would give would undoubtedly make it harder to find any kind of job at all. Hermione knew how Lupin hated not being employed, and there were times she wondered how he'd managed before becoming a member of the Order. _Perhaps I have it all wrong,_ she thought. _Perhaps they live in a mansion with a dozen house elves and Edgecombe's mother only works because she's bored. Even then, her job could mean something to her, and to her daughter. Or maybe their status is a sham, and the Ministry position the only thing keeping Edgecombe in school and food on the table. I don't know. I never asked. She didn't have any scars on her hand, but there are other nasty things besides that quill. Maybe Umbridge gave up on Snape, and found some real Veritaserum. _

_But nobody, not even Dumbledore, asked. Something horrible happened to Edgecombe this year, too, and the boys thought it was _funny_. Why should I be surprised? I've been just as bad. Why should they listen to me when it's someone else?_

_What is the point of being the good guys when we act the same way?_

Hermione stood up and shredded the paper, shocked she had kept writing her thoughts. She couldn't tell Viktor any of this. _I'll have to start the whole letter over,_ she thought, then burst into tears.

_I really must be sick yet from last spring._ She'd hated all those potions, but had disliked the idea of her insides turning to liquid a great deal more. Snape had spent as little time in the infirmary as possible then, no doubt from all the glares sent his way by most of the patients, but she had looked up how much time and work had been required to save her life, let alone the rest, just for the brewing. _How long can anyone work for the lives of people who despise him?_ She had noticed the staff at the Head Table seemed more careful to look friendly to the Potions Master whenever he ate there, even if they received no response. Tonight he'd seemed somewhat more animated, while Madam Pomfrey was much more cheerful than Hermione had seen the mediwitch in a long time. Hagrid, of course, was as warm as ever.

_It is really insane to be jealous_, Hermione sternly told herself. _I'm a hand-waving know-it-all, or a stupid girl at best. _She rolled her eyes when she looked at her picture of Viktor. _It's just a coincidence that the one person who's treated me like a person just happens to look like Snape. And if I can find anyone to believe that, I'll sell them Gringotts. _Even now she was looking at the picture of her friend and comparing him to the Potions Master, and not to his advantage. _It was his voice I noticed first, even as a first year. Now I can't stop watching those long hands of his whenever he brews for a bit as part of a demonstration. I hate this!_

She went down to the common room, as she was obviously unable to think clearly tonight. Ron and Harry looked up as they did battle over a chessboard in a corner. _Well, it's nice to make Ron happy, even if I can't seem to do any better after all these years._ "Play the winner?" she asked, as if there were ever any doubt about who it would be.

"Of course," Ron said. His face lit up with a smile.

She remembered now what she meant to ask Harry. "You had an odd look on your face this morning," she said. "Another headache?"

Harry blinked, then moved a pawn over its squawking protests. "No, actually, I had one of those weird boxing dreams. I was up in the ring dodging someone's gloves when I heard Snape's voice saying, "Catch this, you dunderhead!" and it wasn't till then I saw I didn't have any headgear on. I know, I know, I need to practice that stupid Occlumency. But I didn't have a headache this morning, and I thought I would."

Ron looked sober. "You're in a bad way, mate, when _Snape_ has to help you out."

Harry shrugged. "I can do without those headaches, however it happens."

His friend nodded. "Glad nobody bothers me like that. But I tell you, ever since one of those giant brains hit me with a thought, I keep hearing this funny background noise when everything else is quiet, like a hum when there's a lot of people talking, even when I'm trying to go to sleep. Maybe Lord Thingy tries to break through, and can't make it through that."

Hermione agreed. "That's a possibility. I have songs stuck in my head sometimes, and I think that would just annoy him. Especially since most of them are Muggle ones." Maybe she was just seeing things, but every once in a while in Potions she'd try to rid herself of one by singing "Clementine" mentally to herself as loudly as she could, and she could swear Snape had actually winced one or two times. Of course, that had been when she'd had "Time Warp" on her mind, and the mental image evoked was one she'd be pleased to dispose of as well. "Harry, do you have songs that stay with you like that?"

"No, though I do have some videogame soundtracks permanently burned into my brain because Dudley plays them so loud," he said. "There was one game, Final Fantasy something, that I wished he wouldn't finish because the music was actually good. There was even some stupid little opera he had to memorize the lines of, and of course he had to do it out loud." He continued in a terrible falsetto. "Must I forget you? Our solemn promise…" Even the carved dragon on the fireplace winced at _that_ note.

Ron made a face. "I'd rather have the buzzing." He moved a piece and smirked as Harry's king started running off the board and had to be put back in his spot, even though none of the pieces had been captured this time. Then he looked out the window and sighed. "I wish the weather hadn't turned nasty like this. Soon it'll be too rotten for Quidditch. I suppose we could catch up on our pranking. We have to do something about whoever it was threw the stuff in Neville's cauldron this time. I know, Hermione, Snape made that Ravenclaw sweat, but you know he was just covering for one of his own."

"I don't see how," she said. "I sit closest to them, and anything they threw would have gone into mine first, or bounced against my cloak. I'm not entirely stupid, Ron, I hang it from my chair the way I do for a reason so nothing comes up behind me, either. Besides, you saw Malfoy's face. He was ready to murder anyone who made his precious professor sick." Hermione hated talking about Snape this way, but she knew the boys had stopped listening to her about the Potions Master unless she was at least slightly insulting. Every time she did it, though, she felt as if she were betraying him. It was more important to make sure nobody _did_ anything that would end up in people being hurt, but she still didn't like such deception. _I suppose I'm still a Gryffindor at heart._

Harry shrugged. "I hate them, too, Ron, but even you have to admit they haven't done much this year. I'd rather hex Malfoy than have to be in class with him, but even on the field he hasn't fouled me as much as usual. Knowing him, it's all part of some secret plot to make us look bad, but we don't have to fall for it, either."

"It's only a matter of time," the redhead muttered. Then he looked up with a smile. "But it doesn't matter, really. As long as You-Know-Who and his goons are murdering people, everyone will still blame the Snakes here for it."

Hermione was afraid Ron was right. "We all hated Umbridge, but I looked her up and she was a Hufflepuff. She probably picked Slytherins for her enforcement squad just so we'd hate them even more and leave the Badgers alone. So when your dad passes a rule nobody likes, they should take it out on you?" she asked sweetly.

"That's different!" he blustered, but his face told a different story.

Harry raised his head. "Ron, if you're planning anything, let me and Hermione know. It's not fair to hog all the fun to yourself, and you know Hermione can plan it out so none of us are caught. I miss the twins, too. I hear from them every once in a while about their shops, but they tell you a lot more."

Hermione thought she understood what her friend was up to. Pranks could be fun, if no one was hurt. She smiled at both of them. "I have a lot of extra time this year," she said, "and they've put me on restriction at the Library. I know I'm a stick-in-the-mud, but I could be talked into reforming. Besides, if we don't do it right, people will just say the swamp was better." If Winky came to her room for reading lessons, she could warn the Slytherins through the elf about anything especially nasty she couldn't stop.

Ron guffawed. "That's the spirit!"

"After all," Harry pointed out, "If _McGonagall_ could help Peeves by telling him 'it unscrews the other way' there's hope even for Hermione."

All three of them laughed.

Albus Dumbledore

He napped for an hour or so in the evening after dinner. It had been a peaceful week, though last night's conversation with Professor Binns still bothered him. He understood why his ghostly friend had volunteered to be the bearer of bad news. _I wouldn't have believed Severus, and Arthur wouldn't want to hurt my feelings by letting me know,_ he thought as he sat in his office, staring at the usual paperwork. _I'm afraid Binns is right. For all their cheers last spring when I returned, I have been here too long. Marchbanks told me I should have retired ten years ago and start work on alchemy again. I warned her then I didn't want to become another Flamel, especially with no Perenelle at my side, and the temptation might be too great now for me to refuse it._ _He told the final secret just before he died—that the unicorn blood, innocently taken, and the maenad sweat must be combined together in the Great Marriage, or the impact of the antagonists will tear everything apart. Just the two of them properly brewed together offer healing. Perhaps I ought to look into this for Severus. _Still, there were many other fields of learning in the Wizarding World that he had yet to investigate.

_Of course the war makes a splendid excuse, and so does watching over Harry._ Albus winced inside, realizing even now that Severus was never going to be his first priority. _I thought he was doing so well tonight, allowing Poppy to enjoy herself so, but he nearly flinched when he noticed me. Something happened tonight, and I hope I find out what. _

Dumbledore stared at the sea of paper. The ink no longer smeared or had a strange odor, but he still found the Ministry bureaucracy toxic. _If not for the war, I would resign _now. _I just can't bring myself to care about this, and I should._ Well, it was time to hand more things over to Minerva as he'd promised. He summoned an elf and had the lot bundled up for the Deputy Headmistress.

He knew he should probably go back to bed, but he was fully awake now. The lighting in the room matched his mood of half-twilight. _I can easily lose myself in past memories even without a Pensieve,_ Albus thought. _I have so many of them that they have become more of a burden than a refuge, even the pleasant ones. The joys of childhood are more present with me now than this morning's breakfast. _He knew, in some ways, that his idyllic youth was sometimes a handicap dealing with children whose experiences had been unlike his. _I should have loved Tom Riddle more. Was being Sorted into Slytherin why I watched his every move with suspicion, and did my best to thwart all his ambitions? It's possible that by seeing a new Grindelwald in him I actually created one. I know in my heart he murdered my friend, and poor Myrtle._

He knew how he had failed Severus. That was old ground, yet it still rankled. _And still I follow my old pattern, only with Harry I tried to have it both ways. I wanted him as strong as any Slytherin and less spoilt than his father, while still indulging my favoritism. Even now I have not been honest with the boy. He still loves me, but for how long?_

The Headmaster was uneasy, knowing how little he deserved Harry's adoration of him. _Now I have given him some protection from Tom's probing. It's time I gave him protection from mine as well. He should be allowed more grace than I ever gave Severus. _His instruction in Occlumency cleverly allowed him a back door; he should eliminate that this time. As much as he hated the thought, he should close the one he still had with the Potions Master, too. Any mental contact should be voluntary. No doubt Snape was still afraid of him. He had a right to be.

That resolution made, he sat and stared at the fire. If he looked at the flames properly, he could make out the shape of a phoenix somewhat like Fawkes. He was so comfortable with this element that his alchemy had suffered for a long time because of it. Albus remembered the lesson from the Garden, and from Flamel. All four elements, all four Houses, must be strong.

The Headmaster summoned a blank piece of paper, a quill, and some ink. Severus wasn't the only one who cleared things up by writing them down. The next Head of Slytherin must be as strong as Snape, or stronger, and more independent. Sinistra was the only other Slytherin on staff, but hid in the Astronomy Tower even more than Severus did in his dungeon. No doubt she was wise to do so. _I will have to ask McGonagall to think hard on this as well, along with who should be the new Head of Gryffindor when I am gone. _Lupin, of course, was an obvious candidate for the second. Yet thus far he was too easily led by others. Perhaps becoming an alpha with the other werewolves would cure that, but it was much too soon to tell. Albus realized much of this dilemma was of his own making. Minerva had stood up to him at times, but not nearly often enough. The other Heads of Houses, Sprout and Flitwick, had given up trying to tell him anything. Well, not Flitwick—at least not recently. The Charms professor's remarks not too long ago still stung, but the man had been right. Chaining Snape too tightly only encouraged the Slytherin to find ways around any strictures.

Yet he still couldn't think of anyone to replace the dour Potions Master. Madam Tranh would be excellent with the younger classes, and it was in his mind to hire her after Christmas for just that. Unfortunately, he agreed with Snape's note on the other possible candidates, which Winky had brought him. Frogarty was experienced but dull, and Tremain a menace. Others in the field of potions were generally too well-off to want to lower their financial standing by teaching here, especially since they would lose so much research and brewing time. There appeared to be a dearth of tame Death Eaters one could motivate by fear of Azkaban. The two 'traitors' who had nearly died last summer were still there, though in better cells separate from their fellows. Unfortunately none had any potions experience, or could be fully trusted.

_A pity Draco Malfoy isn't ten years older,_ Albus thought_. Yet he'll have enough on his plate should he survive the war, though he might prefer Hogwarts to dealing with his father should Lucius also live and stay out of prison. _He sighed. Perhaps he ought to leave this decision to Minerva as well. _I cannot speculate ahead the way I used to. The war has eaten everyone's future, not just Snape's._

_Including mine._

At that he left off trying to think clearly and began dozing again in his chair. _I should talk to Minerva about all this,_ he mused vaguely, and hoped he remembered to in the morning. He was always stronger in the morning. _I should tell her…I should ask her…I should…_

The knock on the door awoke him. Madam Pomfrey walked in, muttered a quick 'Lumos' and Albus blinked at so much light.

"You know your back is going to hurt tomorrow from sleeping in your chair again," Poppy said briskly, as she sat down and put a flask on his desk. "And Dobby says you're playing with your dosages, too."

"I hate feeling so fuzzy inside," he said.

"You know that passes if you keep up with this for more than three days at a time," the mediwitch said. "If I can persuade _Severus_ of that with his potions, surely you can see it, too."

"You are no fun," Albus pronounced. "The Ministry isn't poisoning my letters any more."

"That you know of," Pomfrey said. "Drink."

Dumbledore obeyed, though he disliked both the taste and the potion's effect on him. "I'm glad you were at the staff table for dinner tonight," he said, changing the subject.

Her face colored prettily and for a moment she looked a decade younger. "I hadn't planned it," she said. "The infirmary was empty, and Severus offered me an escort. It seems silly after all this time, but I'm still used to Hubert taking me with him. I didn't expect it, really, especially tonight."

"Why not?" Snape had been coming out of his shell quite nicely, especially at the Order celebration for Lupin. Albus hadn't expected the Potions Master to return once he'd withdrawn to his room, although Moody was probably responsible for that.

"Lucius Malfoy has been telling his son tales out of school. Draco found the courage to ask Snape if they were true. The boy told me at the beginning of school how horrified he was about the whole thing, and I invited him to have tea and talk with me about it, but he never did. Unfortunately, I wished he'd done so tonight instead of asking his godfather about it. Severus was more concerned about the boy than he was for himself, but I really expected him to flee to his quarters as soon as we discussed it."

Dumbledore hadn't expected that. He ordered tea, if only to wash out the taste of his potion. "A good thing Malfoy didn't escape Azkaban, then."

"Yes. I made sure Severus received a proper evening dose tonight, and had Winky take his potions to him early. The Swiss experimented with him this week, and it hasn't been going well. He's exhausted from not sleeping deeply enough, but his original sedative has ingredients which are aggravated by the potions in his class. Having to stay up to brew the Wolfsbane did not help, and his time at the clinic wasn't as helpful as usual. I am very glad Winky is watching over him."

Albus frowned. "He should spend all day tomorrow in bed, though with Slytherin playing Ravenclaw, he probably won't. I want to have a modest gathering tomorrow night up here, because it is his birthday, but only if he's rested. I hate to postpone anything like this."

Poppy nodded fiercely. "Perhaps he wouldn't mind it on Sunday, then. Is there some way that dear little Madam Tranh could take the lower level classes fairly soon?"

"I have already thought about hiring her after Christmas. She would have to agree, of course, and find some way to continue her editing work. Potions Monthly is quite prestigious, and she may not want to lose her position there. I don't know how much of the brewing she could manage, though."

"I wish she could be hired sooner. Severus is breaking down under the strain, and the only question is when. Winky has taken on about as much as she should be expected to manage."

"If he can make it till Christmas break, then he can go to the clinic for the entire time," Albus conceded. "I hate to think of anyone having to spend the holidays there, but the other side's way of celebrating would be asking a great deal of him to endure as well. I have noticed he hasn't been summoned from Switzerland yet. I suspect Tom has someone there now."

Pomfrey grimaced. "I suppose you're right. I would like to do something for him now, if possible. I'm so glad he wasn't involved in the attempted prison break, but it seems like he's losing ground instead of gaining it. Physically, at least. He's much more open emotionally."

"I hope he isn't doing memory work again. That was how he coped with his temper last time, and it nearly killed him." _What sort of pressure is he under now?_

"He was easier to deal with then, but his emotions were…flatter, for want of a better word. He is slightly more volatile now, but not fighting it as much as he used to. This afternoon he dealt with being upset over a cauldron problem by having Dobby do something rather odd, but he was able to sleep during his afternoon break, so it clearly worked."

Dumbledore didn't know what Poppy meant for a moment, then suddenly remembered what Snape had told him during his breakdown when he'd been rescued from Azkaban. All the more fragile items had had to be removed from the infirmary then, as the young wizard had lost almost all control of his magic. He'd asked for Dobby then, and Albus hadn't understood why till Snape had explained it better when he had become more rational later. "The modified Body Bind? I would think it would make him angrier, not calmer."

"Apparently the elf does it in a way so Severus can rage and not hurt anything or anybody," the mediwitch said. "And, of course, it's dropped as soon as he asks. I suspect he has enough experience with the other kind to know the difference. I wish…I wish I had known this when Severus was so ill from his memory work last summer."

The Headmaster still had the guilt of an Unforgivable on his soul, and would give anything to have had an alternative at the time. "I should have remembered it," he said. Now that he looked back, he recalled a couple of times when Dobby asked if he could help, and had been brushed aside. He had told Snape not to depend on any crutches, either, in those early years when the Slytherin's temper had boiled over, especially since the elf had not been available. _He used some of the side effects of too much Occlumency instead, even with Dobby here. I should have realized he needed help long ago._

"I'd better tell you something else, too," Poppy said. "After he was initiated into the Inner Circle, he couldn't forgive himself for what he had to do."

Albus bit his lip. "That's…oh, no. He…the blame is mine for putting him there. That's why he stayed in bed a day longer than I thought he would, isn't it?" Snape had sometimes had 'accidents' during the First War after doing things to keep his cover before, but Dumbledore had paid more attention then and kept the Potions Master from overdoing it. _Despite all the meetings, or perhaps because of them, he can't trust me any more. And why should he? _

"Yes," she said. "I told him he wasn't strong to allow himself to be injured like that. I suggested the penance of being civil to Professor Lupin, and behaving reasonably to Mr. Longbottom. After all, I told him, that would actually be harder for him than attempting to contact the spirits of his victims." She closed her eyes and sighed. "I wish he could go to the clinic for the rest of his treatment. I know we'll have to do without him permanently if Sybil is right. But I had a terrible dream recently where I had to close his eyes."

"I wish we had alternatives," Albus said. Several prophecies were interlinked here, and changing one of them could easily disturb the other. He knew he'd said a lot about such things before, but unfortunately they were the Order's only hope now.

"We do!" Her eyes flew open. "He could be allowed to complete his treatment properly, and then he'd be able to use the standard potions array for injuries. You and your damn prophecies! One of them has nearly ruined the Potter boy's life, and now you're going to let this one kill Severus. We _can_ do more than sigh at how bad things are, and if you don't, I will."

"The Order needs him, Poppy."

"The Order needs him _alive_! I don't like the idea of strangers helping him more than we do, but so far he's safer in Switzerland than he is here. Also, Lupin was praised for one mission while Snape has been ignored for all of his. That has to stop. Last year was bad enough when he couldn't eat or sleep there at the safe house, and I'm glad that's changed, but it's just plain stupidity to make your best spy feel like dirt. He already knows any Gryffindor's life is worth more than his own."

"Now, really," Dumbledore said in protest. "This is a war, not a kindergarten."

"Of course. If Sirius Black were still alive, Severus couldn't have anything more than a cup of tea there. Molly told me how worn out he was after he came back that one time, Albus. He would have splinched himself into pieces trying to Apparate, never mind making it back from the Forest to Hagrid's. You _do_ play favorites, and always have. Severus nearly died here as a student because of it, and again last summer because Harry was more important."

"I don't know what to do about it," he said. "If his time is as short as Flitwick thinks it is, I truly believe Snape would rather spend it doing what he can to defeat Tom. If he has as much as Sybil believes, then we can make other plans. Do you really think I like sending children to war? I sometimes I dream I'm in the time of Grindelwald again, only this time in _his_ seat. I don't know why I'm alive when so many others died, sometimes from my mistakes. I should be the one to dispose of Riddle, since I'm the one who helped create him. I don't understand why I can't, but the best I seem to be able to do is to rescue others before it's too late."

He shook with unaccustomed rage. "So I send Harry back to the Dursleys, knowing what he's going to. I allow the other students to blame Slytherin for everything, even though I know where that leads. And if Lucius Malfoy ever regains his freedom, I'll send Severus back to him, knowing what that makes me."

"That may be the last straw," Poppy said flatly. "I absolutely forbid you to speak to him about this, by the way. I saw the way he flinched when he noticed you at dinner."

"How can I blame him?" Albus said wearily, sick of this and of himself.

"I know. If he…if he does try to talk about it to you, try to be more patient," the mediwitch said. "I keep hoping for a miracle, too. I was so surprised when he spoke to me about what young Malfoy said to him, and stunned when he wanted to escort me to the Hall rather than cower in his dungeon for a week." She wiped her eyes. "I'm glad Winky is caring for him. She can persuade him to eat when nobody else can. And…and when we do lose Severus, she should be watched. She's already lost one master, and I don't know if she'll survive the loss of another."

"We have enough butterbeer for her, Poppy."

"She works in potions, Albus. I'm certain Severus has already warned her about some of the poisons in his custody."

He hadn't thought of that. House elves sometimes walked into the pyre when a beloved master or mistress died, but not often these days. "I see what you mean." He'd meant to break the tension with his flippant remark, but had sounded callous instead. He looked at Madam Pomfrey, and felt the edges of her own pain. "Perhaps she should be assigned to the infirmary then," Dumbledore said. "She really enjoys helping people." Healers had to bear many losses, too, and he remembered how Poppy had broken down at Snape's death-bed.

The mediwitch smiled wanly. "And who should we assign to you, Albus? I know you've tried to persuade yourself that you can distance yourself from his plight, and that you've hardened yourself to his problems, but we all know better. However badly you show it, your heart is breaking, too."

"I'll survive it," he said, "the way I've always survived everything else." Yet his spirits sank knowing he would have to do it without a surly Slytherin to be a thorn in his side.

Pomfrey sat up straight. "I need to owl the clinic first thing in the morning and tell them about the changes I've made in his potions, and asking for help with the maidenhair problem. He promised me he was done with his late night conferences with Binns, at least for a few days, and with any luck I'll persuade him to lie down in the mornings as well in the afternoons. Today he stayed in the private room with the window open, so he was able to breathe fresh air as well as rest. I should talk to Flitwick about that Filtering charm. With the dungeons being vented each day and the weather growing colder, something needs to be done."

Albus understood perfectly that Poppy needed to _do_ something about the situation. "I'll owl Madam Tranh and find out if she can begin assisting sooner than Christmas. I don't think her methods are suited to the older students, though, and so I'll begin looking for someone else to manage them, and the brewing. I should hate to burden a student with the Wolfsbane Potion."

Poppy looked sharply at him. "You are not to attempt it yourself, Albus. Professor Lupin's health is better, and Firenze has already volunteered to watch the Shrieking Shack when the potion isn't available."

It was disconcerting how well she knew him. "I'd like to be with you when you speak to Magister Lowenstein," he said. "We do need more potions he can use when Severus is hurt." He wearily stood up and stretched. "I'm glad Severus could talk to you tonight."

"Lucius hurt him last year, and he couldn't always hide it. I'm certain I don't know the whole story, but he is reaching out more this year. I hope young Mr. Malfoy feels he can confide in me the way he did earlier this year."

Albus nodded. "The boy's revulsion likely played a part in helping him to decide to join us. He is a member of the Order now. I made sure Moody knew about it, too, so don't look at me that way. I do learn from my mistakes."

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "It's late, and you need your sleep. I should have a word with the kitchen. Snape still isn't eating as well as he should, and I want to see more of his favorites served. If he is able to take a break from the detoxicant, his appetite should be better."

"I'll talk to Filius and see what he's been able to do to reverse the effects of the Dark Mark. Looking back, I think Severus had to deal with it even when we thought Tom had been defeated." How long had Snape fought the darkness alone?

"That's quite possible, even without the effects of the fumes in his class." Poppy paused for a moment. "And…and when he dies, he should be brought here to Hogwarts. After the ritual used to save him this summer—oh, I know it sounds silly—maybe the school itself would help him then."

"That's not silly at all. I wish I had thought of it." It would be bitter beyond belief to see Snape's spirit chained in death as it was in life.

Madam Pomfrey stood after a moment or two of silence. "What time should we be here to give Severus his presents? He probably won't be up to much of a gathering."

"After dinner, I think, depending on how long the Quidditch game goes, and how tired he is after. I agree he should spend as much of the weekend resting as possible." He looked forward to seeing Snape's face when the Potions Master realized how much the staff appreciated him. He rose from his chair and opened the door.

A Ministry owl flew in. Dumbledore read the note. "I can't believe this!" he said. "Fudge has gone too far!"

"What is it?" Poppy said.

"They're holding the hearing now!" If he had thought about it, he should have realized the Minister's position was no longer a controlling one keeping both sides at bay, but rather a rope in a tug-o-war. Even that realization didn't reduce his anger at being caught short. _A good thing Severus felt so anxious last week, or we would be in serious trouble._ As much as he had disliked what Binns had told him, it had been the truth.

"I thought you were trying to delay it till Mr. Potter came of age," Poppy said quietly, and put a muffling spell around them. Wise woman.

"Arthur Weasley said last week he was going to try to have it moved up. I didn't think he would be that efficient, or Fudge so frightened. But this is reaching far even for him. It's one thing to surprise a boy with facing the Wizengamot without his knowledge or even an advocate for something that would normally win him a detention with Filch. Cornelius must be terrified to risk alienating the Malfoys."

"Or he wants the matter settled before either side starts hexing the other," the mediwitch said. "Severus will be called. I must go to the dungeons, but I have to stop at the infirmary first."

"I suspect he can prescribe his own stimulants," Dumbledore said, closing the office door behind him and following Madam Pomfrey.

"That's what I'm afraid of." She was silent as they went down the stairs and through a hallway. "This…this may be...oh, I hope Flitwick is wrong!"

"The timing is off," Albus said, trying to convince himself as well as his friend.

"We hope. We don't know. I can think of a lot of things that would leave our Potions Master lingering till Yule, or even till next year."

So could he. The Headmaster stopped and took a deep breath to calm himself. Poppy could be right. He might be saying good-bye in a few moments. Albus forced himself to step forward. He only had _now_, and he must use it.

They reached the dungeons with only a short delay for the mediwitch to seize a vial from the infirmary. Nobody was in the halls, unusual for a Friday evening before midnight. Another Ministry owl clawed anxiously at the door, while Winky tried to bat it away.

That was odd. Ministry owls were charmed to go through any wards. Then he remembered what Poppy had told him. Severus had likely felt more insecure than usual, and reinforced the protections already in place. Albus stepped forward, and was surprised to find he was blocked out, too. Normally no place in Hogwarts was closed to a Headmaster.

"Please, don't wake Master," Winky said in her high voice. "He's sleeping, sleeping so good, not like other nights."

"If I can't go in, you must," Dumbledore said. "He has been called to duty and must go." No doubt a different summons would soon be sent to the Potions Master.

The elf wiped her eyes. "Yes, Master Headmaster. If have to." She quickly opened the door and slipped in, slamming it shut behind her. The owl just barely managed to avoid the door and went inside as well.

He heard nothing, but much more quickly than he believed possible, Snape was in the hallway, in his best formal wear. "Headmaster," he said in a dull voice. His face was deathly pale and his shoulders slumped.

"Let me give you some of my strength," Albus said, and reached forward. Severus flinched, then clearly controlled himself as the older wizard held the long fingers. Dumbledore let his vitality flow forth, though he would pay dearly for it later.

The Potions Master gasped. "It burns, Headmaster. Please stop."

Dumbledore dropped his hands, and saw red marks on Snape's. "I forgot," he said, ashamed of himself. He'd hurt the younger wizard before in this way. _Like wand, like wizard,_ he thought. "I'm sorry, Severus. I must have more of Fawkes in me than I thought."

Snape looked wide-awake now, but was clearly in pain. Madam Pomfrey said, "I have a potion that will help, but you must eat a little first."

The Slytherin opened his mouth as if to say something, then grimaced and held his arm. "No time. I must go now." He walked rapidly away.

Albus leaned against a cold wall. Even here he could feel the presence of the school. He closed his eyes and mentally begged the spirit of Hogwarts to strengthen Snape as he went away. _And may he give Harry Potter the home he deserves without sacrificing his life for it,_ he finished. _Why do I keep hurting him? I swear I don't mean to, but I keep doing it._

As he opened his eyes again, he realized his legs were trapped by fifty pounds of distraught house elf. "Winky," he said. "Your master will be all right. He's slept some already, which was more than I hoped for. He couldn't have done that without your help. You need to rest, too. He'll need you again when he returns."

Poppy nodded. "You have been very good for him, dear."

Winkly slowly relaxed her grip. "Will sleep by door, Master Headmaster. Little Snakes cry at night, want someone to help. They be scared if think Master Potions Master is gone."

"Very good," he said. "If something happens you can't manage, you are to tell me. I'm Headmaster for this part of the school, too."

The elf nodded. "Little Snakes like hot chocolate," she said. Her lower lip trembled. "Master…master be all right? For sure?"

Dumbledore was tempted to lie, but couldn't. "I don't know, Winky."

"If he's hurt, we'll all do the best we can," Poppy interrupted. "Now it's my turn to play house elf to this stubborn old man. You won't do anyone any good sitting up and fretting."

She briskly escorted him back to his quarters and said, "I'll be by in about an hour or so with a potion if you really can't sleep. Albus, I know you and Severus have had your problems, but don't bother trying to convince yourself you don't care for him as much as you do the others, even if you manage it badly. I know you're worried sick about him." Her voice broke. "We all are. But you need your strength for when…when he returns."

Albus noticed she was trying hard not to say 'if'. "I know I need to sleep for now," he said. "I don't think I'll need the potion." In fact, he needed to send out owls to summon as many wizards as possible to the Wizengamot before he went to bed.

As soon as the mediwitch left, he wrote out a summons, magically duplicated it, and sent for Dobby. The aging elf blinked. "What can Dobby help with?"

"All these messages to the Owlery. You have probably heard by now about a hearing. Narcissa Malfoy is suing for the guardianship of Harry Potter, and the Weasley family is counter-suing. It is very important that the Weasleys win."

"Mistress not cruel," Dobby said, with a faint look of nostalgia on his face. "But Master Lucius still her husband, still bad things in Malfoy Manor. The wonderful Harry Potter must never go there."

"I agree. The Wizengamot must be there tomorrow morning at the latest. These messages must go out now, and I must be there before dawn."

"Headmaster must sleep, Mistress Nurse say so."

Dumbledore shook his head. Who was the real head of this school, anyway? "I will, but I must awake no later than five. I command you to do so. Professor McGonagall and the rest of the staff will stay behind unless any voting is so close we need every one, in which case I will put my trust in Mr. Filch and Hagrid." Neither one would be allowed to vote anyway. "Oh, and when you finish, see if Winky needs help. Professor Snape was called away to represent Madam Malfoy in the hearing. If any students require supervision and not just sending to bed, and none of the prefects can manage, I am to be called. If there are any problems once I have left, the Deputy Headmistress will be responsible."

Dobby looked troubled. "Master Severus in trouble?"

"No. At least I hope not. For now Mr. Potter must be kept out of the hands of the Malfoys." He smiled, as he thought of a compromise that might suit everyone. _Even Cornelius Fudge will like this one!_ Or perhaps not. It had been a long time since the Ministry had taken direct control of a minor's wardship, and there were a lot of good reasons for it. The Malfoys' only goal had to be direct control of Harry, while the Order could manage with Harry in anyone else's hands. _I should greatly enjoy putting Minister Fudge on the hot seat by asking him to nominate his own preference for guardianship,_ he thought.

The house elf left with the letters. With that in motion, and with his lovely new idea floating through his mind, Albus Dumbledore went to bed.

He knew it was a dream as soon as he saw the coffins. His last wife's family believed in burial in the earth, rather than consumption by fire, and had insisted on it for her and their adopted sons. In his nightmare, Melchior Binns was solid and pushed him away, as he had in real life. "You've been here for hours already, Albus. They won't be buried till tomorrow morning. You have to rest before then."

_His wife. His boys. His wonderful, growing boys. They couldn't be dead._ He vaguely remembered how Grindelwald had attacked during the service the next day, believing everyone too prostrate with grief to fight. That had been the final battle in that war. He'd won. At least he'd still been alive at the end of it and Grindelwald had not, never mind the scores of casualties on both sides.

The months after were still mostly a blank to him, as he'd sat in his cottage by the sea and mourned his losses. It had been Binns, again, who had saved him one late summer afternoon by dragging him to Hogwarts. "You have rested long enough. School starts again next week."

And he'd found himself at Hogwarts surrounded by a multitude of children, whose presence had healed him once he'd stopped hating them for living while his had died. _If only Binns had stayed away, he might still be alive. _It had been that year his friend had died, the last year Tom Riddle had been a student there.

But now his dream changed from reality. Instead of letting the History professor take him away from the room of death where his family lay, Albus instead pushed forward. Instead of closed lids, the coffins where his wife and sons rested were open. He saw the terrible wounds the Icewrath spell had inflicted on them. _I wasn't home to guard them, I was on a mission in London instead…why am I so useless?_

Then he looked around. Row on row of coffins sat with their occupants staring lifelessly at him. Some faces were nearly blue with the death of the Great Plague of 1918, while others were mangled beyond belief. Barty Crouch Jr.'s face still moved, and his voice erupted in senseless laughter, as did a few others who had been Kissed.

Cedric Diggory was there, as handsome in death as he had been in life. No wonder Miss Chang still mourned him.

And then he saw James and Lily, hand in hand in a double coffin. Next to it sat one with the carving of a recumbent mastiff on the side. Sirius Black still looked quite surprised by events. A shadowy wolf lay curled up at its foot, flickering in and out of existence. Albus glanced around, just in case he could step on a rat with a silver paw, but the moment he spotted it, the tiny beast ran away.

A large stone coffin, the sort the purebloods favored, stood not far away. Its heavy lid had fallen to the ground and broken. Dumbledore shuddered at the blackened face of Gregory Goyle.

Then Binns was at his side again, pulling him towards a poorly-lit room. "I am solid in this room of death," he said. "Once past this threshold I will fade again, unfortunately."

"Why did you choose to be a ghost?" Albus asked. "You would never tell me."

"I still have something to do," Melchior said. "This way."

The Headmaster stepped into the next room. His heart sank when he saw more coffins. They were shadowy. He understood as soon as he saw some of the faces that these were deaths yet to be. Minerva's final post was swathed in tartan, and her hair gone quite white. Pomona lay in another double coffin with her husband, while Flitwick's casing was lavishly gilded. The Head of Ravenclaw was so forceful at times it was hard to remember he was so small in size.

Hagrid's more than made up for it. The thick wooden shell was reinforced with strong beams, and Albus suspected, magic as well. His beard was much grayer in this dream than it was now. No doubt the half-giant had many years left.

Filch lay off to one side, with the mummified corpse of Mrs. Norris at his feet. The Headmaster realized why the room was so shadowed, now. He could catch glimpses of the faces of mourners in the shades flickering in and out of existence. Argus had a score of them, many of them house elves, as far as Albus could tell.

He saw other members of the Order here, too. Moody's magical eye still twitched and stared, though the rest of the old wizard's face was still. Lupin had a casket marked with the carving of a wolf, but even as a corpse looked healthier than he did now. Fletcher's hands were still at last, though Albus could have sworn he felt something twitch at his robe pocket as he walked close by. Shacklebolt and Tonks lay side by side in individual coffins. Others were there as well at varying ages, though too many were far too young.

The room stretched on further, now much larger than it had looked at first. The Weasleys took up one side all by themselves. He was a little surprised to see Molly and Arthur weren't in a double coffin; but then, it could be that one survived the other, at least for a short time. He tried not to speculate from their ages when they would die. All the boys had wedding rings on their fingers, though, save Charlie. Now that didn't surprise him. Dragon masters were notoriously short lived, due to the risks they took for the sake of their charges, and often did not marry. He was careful, though, as he walked by the twins. He would not put it past them to boobytrap their graves, or find themselves unable to pull one last prank on their mourners.

Dumbledore looked at young Ginevra, who wasn't young at all in this vision. She resembled Molly in her plumpness, but was covered in magnificent jewelry. The sobs of the slim figure standing by her coffin were nearly audible, though Albus couldn't tell who it was.

Then he found the other two members of the Trio. Harry was a grown man with a ring on his finger as well, and Albus had to remind himself this was only a dream. _I can't predict that he's going to live through the war just from this._ Miss Granger was old indeed, but with three rings on the ring finger of her left hand. _I should tell her this. I suspect she believes herself to be a natural spinster,_ he thought with a brief feeling of amusement. _Then again, Muggle customs are different, and again, this is only a dream._ He noticed one casket covered in greenery, and suspected that one belonged to Mr. Longbottom.

He sighed. Binns was still at his side. "I'm ignoring the others again, aren't I?"

"Yes," his friend said. "Follow me."

Dumbledore dragged himself to a different section of the room. Lucius Malfoy lay side by side with his wife Narcissa, though she looked far older than her husband. He forbore to count rings; the purebloods had their own ways. No doubt the stylized wolfs-head pendant Narcissa wore had some arcane meaning. The Blacks had occasionally adopted that emblem, perhaps one reason Sirius Black always felt so close to Remus Lupin.

Draco lay nearby as well, his coffin near that of Pansy Parkinson. So did other coffins belonging to Slytherin students. Some of the corpses looked terribly young. The shades of mourners were just as thick here as everywhere else.

In one part, though, the air was clear. Few mourned the ones laid here. Albus was gratified to see a closed casket with TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE engraved on a plaque. Nagini lay coiled and still on the ground nearby, loyal to the end. Several other Death Eaters lay in their casings here as well, including Bellatrix and Rudolphus Lestrange. Pettigrew was here, too, though his drapings were still gold and scarlet, and his left hand was silver. Walden Macnair was horribly burned, and most of him was draped in the skin of some wild animal.

"This way," Binns said again.

Albus reluctantly allowed himself to be led to a coffin glittering with silver and green. He knew Severus would be here, somewhere.

And so he was. The long, thin corpse lay in state, and the shadows around it so heavy Dumbledore could barely shove his way in. Yet even in death, Snape was different from all the rest. At first he looked the same as he did now. While looking down at the Potions Master, though, he _changed_ into a much older man wearing a half-smile, though still worn by pain, judging by the lines on his face. Either way, though, Winky was curled up on the floor underneath, wearing her Potions _equipment_.

"His fate is not yet settled," Binns said.

The Headmaster nodded. Judging by the way everything in this room belonging to the future flickered whenever Snape changed, neither was anything else. _I understand now,_ he thought. _I understand everything. My boys died, and so did my golden Gryffindors. Cedric Diggory was murdered for existing, and Harry's life hangs by a thread. Yet Severus lives, no matter how we hate and despise him. He lives, under circumstances that would kill many others. He lives. And for that I cannot forgive him. _

"Yes," Binns said. "Now you understand. You blame him for all those other deaths somewhere inside, though part of you knows how foolish that is. He blames himself, you know. That's why it's so hard for him to forgive himself. That's why you keep hurting him, even though the rest of you doesn't understand why. You are divided, Albus. You have been for a long time. You must become whole again. Only then can he be healed."

"I don't know…" Oh, yes he did. He knew quite well.

Albus Dumbledore looked in the one direction he had been avoiding all this time. An alcove over to the southern side beckoned. _For all my talk about 'death being the next great adventure', I am as afraid of it as everyone else._ He forced himself to step towards the alcove anyway. It didn't matter how scared you were when you took necessary steps, it only mattered that you took them anyway.

Binns stayed by his side, silently urging him on.

Suddenly he was outside, in the sunlight, the empty white tomb open and empty. _I can't lay here!_ he thought. _I should end in fire, as I began, and my ashes scattered to the winds._ Part of him always hated being enclosed, and he had never understood how those like Snape could draw comfort by being surrounded by the earth.

"From dust ye came, and to dust ye shall go," Binns said, his shade barely visible in the sunlight. "Even as ashes in the wind you will become one with the earth, Albus. Your spirit will be free, as it has not been for a long, long time."

"You didn't go," Dumbledore muttered.

"Choosing to be a ghost doesn't have to be permanent. I've told that idiot Nick a million times," the History professor said with exasperation. "As I said, I still have a few things to do. He does feel some responsibility as a House ghost, but honestly…"

Albus bowed his head. Someday he would willingly step into that darkness, but not today. He had far too much to do. Then he laughed. "I know exactly how both of you feel. I can just see myself saying, 'just after this problem is solved' for a century or so. My friend Nicholas and his wife Perenelle were like that, too. I will step across that threshold when it comes, then, though I'll probably be as frightened as I am now."

Binns nodded. Then Melchior changed into a house elf.

The Headmaster shook his head as the smell of Dobby's breath clogged his nostrils. "Time to wake up, Master Headmaster."

Dumbledore realized he was in his bedroom again. "Already?"

"Yes, Master Headmaster. Time now."

"And I still think I ought to go too," McGonagall said, as she stood by the bed.

"Anything could happen at the hearing," Albus said. "And probably already has while I've been sleeping. Dobby, please stay to help me dress. Minerva, remember that Hogwarts must come first in any emergency. And that includes the Slytherin students as well. Severus will not be in any shape to assist with any problems since he's been up all night."

"Nothing's been decided there yet," she said. "Moody's been sending me progress notes all night long. But you're right and you need to be there. Eat something first, though. I think you'll have time for that."

"Good."

He tried to forget the dream, or the way Minerva had looked in her coffin.

But he couldn't.


	59. Chapter 59: Opening Remarks

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Thanks once more to my beloved betas, Snape's Nightie, duj, and zafaran. All errors are my own, and they tried really hard to keep me from making them.

I would also like to announce the sale of a short story (non HP) to GETTING EVEN: WOMEN'S REVENGE AGAINST MEN, editor Mitzi Szereto, which will be published in mid-2007 by Serpent Tail Press. (Go, Slytherin!). The story is 900 words long and is entitled "Esprit de Corpse" and I sent off the author's agreement to Ms. Szereto this morning (does Happy Dance!). Don't worry, I will make sure more information about this will be in my profile as time draws nearer.

Ahem. Back to the story.

Chapter 59: Opening Remarks

Voldemort

Earlier that evening, Voldemort once again tried to persuade Bella to speak. She remained by the fireplace, staring into the flames. She had eaten little and slept less since he had returned from the raid on Azkaban. Her husband's name in the Prophet had only increased her sorrow. According to Wormtail, she had cried out abruptly, once, during the wait for his return, and then had fallen silent ever after.

Riddle knew why. Her Mark was linked to her husband's, and the connection was now broken. She was angry with her master for his failure and knew better than to say so. _I really should have had a practice run, but I so wanted to surprise her,_ he thought. Bella had also refused to speak to any of the escaped prisoners. Avery was still recovering from a bad bite in the leg that healed slowly despite the best potions, and now faced a probable future as a werewolf himself. _Needless to say, I don't plan to pay those incompetent dogs!_ _Professor Lupin need not expect any more invitations to Malfoy Manor, unless I wish to discuss matters with him in private._ He knew how foolish that would be, though. Snape had tried to warn them, but of course no one had listened. His antipathy to werewolves was so well known nobody had paid attention to his objections, many of which seemed valid in retrospect.

It was striking how the beasts had kept in formation and escorted him to the door of the prison, given their known antipathy to centaurs. He might have had trouble from those wretched half-horses otherwise. No doubt it had been asking too much of the wolves to leave humans alone once they caught the scent. _Perhaps I should be more patient with this new pack,_ he thought. _How interesting that Lupin was able to communicate and plan well enough to keep Lucius Malfoy from escaping. I wonder how he did it? I might find a use for them later on, under better circumstances._ He would have to keep their operations separate from the volatile Potions Master, though. The Dark Lord did not especially wish to hear "I told you so" from Snape even if the words were never spoken.

He sat down beside his other main concern and talked to her. "I am still glad I didn't bring you on the raid, my dear," he said. Voldemort enjoyed the heat of the fire. He had always hated cold, and now could not bear it at all. "You might have a bite on your leg the way Avery does now, or lie dead with a centaur's arrow through your chest. Snape would have tried to kill all the werewolves instead of helping us rescue your husband. I only wish my plan had worked."

He still wasn't sure why everything had gone wrong. The Aurors had shown up much sooner than expected. At least the werewolves had busied themselves with Malfoy at the last, instead of chasing down more of the prisoners they were supposed to protect. Fortunately he'd known about the centaurs. His contact inside the Ministry had told him about the hiring and the interesting bit of paperwork to make the records appears as if they'd been there much longer. For a moment he wondered if Snape had been telling tales to the old fool again.

_Oh, don't be stupid,_ he told himself. _Dumbledore has been sifting through my Shadow's mind even more than I have. Even if he hasn't, Severus must offer some tidbits to show he's still on his leash to avoid Azkaban. Even without Dementors, he can't expect the same sort of treatment Lucius receives if he's sent there again. Daily beatings would be the least of it, I daresay, now the guards have no Dementors to maintain order among the prisoners. No doubt Moody would take up his little bag of tools and start playing with the man again._ He was aware of how often he'd tested the Potions Master's loyalty himself. _Between the two of us, he nearly died. If I were him, I would begin consider allowing both sides to do without my presence._

Yet Snape had warned them about the foolhardiness of using werewolves, and questioned the wisdom of involving Lupin at all. That was not the act of a disloyal man or a spy, and Riddle knew he should remember that. He had lost too many already by striking out blindly against any sign of treachery, which had frightened all but a few into compliance with anything he said, however stupid. _I should value my followers who still have the courage to question me_.

_I must admit, I'm not that upset that Malfoy didn't escape. His intelligence and ambition make him an asset, of course, but I also need to watch my back more around him. If only I can help both Bella and Severus to see cooperation is better._ True, their hatred of each other caused trouble—but for each other, not for him. Both had grown immensely when out from under the weight of their past. Bella was much stronger than when she had first left Azkaban, while Snape had truly come into his own without Malfoy's shadow hanging over him. Bella _must_ learn to understand, though, that Severus was his only chance of ever becoming human again.

Voldemort wondered what would happen now. Bella grieved for her husband, but had been too long without a man in her life already. It had been a mistake to allow her to watch his Shadow with that whore. As long as she believed Snape cared little for any woman, it had been easier to keep her from thinking of the Potions Master as a possible bedmate.

_If only I were truly human,_ Riddle thought, he could dominate this new widow. As his younger self, he would bed her and comfort her that way. Considering what he'd had to work with, Pettigrew had done well. But his body wasn't truly human; too much serpent had had to be used in the cauldron of his rebirth.

He lifted one dark curl of her hair. "My dear, come to bed. You must sleep and eat. I shall comfort you as much as I am able. I don't often admit it, but I failed you this time. Allow me to make it up to you however I can."

She turned to him and bared her teeth. "Then give me Severus."

"I cannot do that. He is my best hope in this guardianship affair. I know we have already agreed on his punishment should he lose. I must congratulate you for finding such an ancient hex. However, it cannot be made permanent. I need both his life and his sanity in my service. I should like to be fully human someday, and he is my best hope for that. He did try to warn us about Lupin and his friends, you know. We simply chose not to listen."

"I won't hurt him—much."

"That's what you said last summer, and he nearly died. The old fool was forced to call upon the magic of the school itself to save him. No doubt the Headmaster will also recognize this new curse, and be able to counter it, but I want it that way. He is to be punished if he loses the hearing, not destroyed. I know you consider him responsible for everything that has gone wrong, but Snape wasn't even in the country for this raid."

"No, he was cowering in Switzerland instead!"

"I have learned more about their regime, Bella, and he should have been at the clinic all this time. He is gambling with his life and health to serve us. My informant is quite surprised he has not yet collapsed." He understood that she wanted to eliminate a possible rival and work out her grief at the same time. "If he wins, I shall have to find a way to reward him. Dumbledore has established a new bank account for him out of reach of the Ministry, and has been seen looking upon him with great favor of late there at the school. I fear they are learning at last to recognize his value."

"He's a traitor!" she spat.

"Do you question my ability to search the mind of anyone who serves me?" he asked mildly.

She sat up straight and opened her eyes wide. "No, my lord," she hastened to say.

What could he do to distract her? Ah! Yes, this might work. "If we gain custody of Harry Potter, it means victory for our side. It may take some time to consolidate our gains, since this time we shall move more slowly than they expect, but by summer at the latest the boy should be ours. Now, I would prefer to kill Potter quickly and move on, but that doesn't mean you can't have some fun with him first. He is sixteen, after all, and quite…hardy at that age. Just think of the look in those beautiful green eyes when he finally understands what you want of him. His scar behaves much like a Dark Mark in some matters. Since I have shown you how to use the one you share with your apprentice, I suspect you could amuse yourself quite a bit with the boy before he dies. Naturally _that_ will happen as soon as possible once you're done with him. Despite Snape's little lectures on how we overestimate Potter, I really don't want to take chances."

She smiled for him then. "Oh, my lord! You're right. The Boy-Who-Lived is growing up, I suppose. He looked so scrawny and underfed last spring, I didn't think of him as more than a child, especially when he performed the most incompetent _Crucio_ I have ever seen. Allow me to take a fertility potion first, my lord, once we have him. His child would be powerful, and should be raised as your servant."

Riddle hadn't thought of that. "Do feel free to tell him that, once it's too late," he said. "Just think of the look on his face as he dies, knowing his child will be my willing slave." _Or my heir, if I have none other._ It would be worth it, if only to curb Lucius Malfoy's ambition.

"Thank you, my lord!" she said, and kissed him.

He gazed fondly into her eyes, and realized what _her_ ambitions were. If she threw a boy, he'd have to watch his own back. Ah well. Bearing a first child this late in life was always a risk, even in the Wizarding World. And they had yet to have the hearing, let alone win it.

Voldemort had to restrain himself form leaning forward and biting her throat for the blood that flowed beneath her pale skin. She would allow him to do so, of course, but he wanted to _try_ to remain as human as possible. He contented himself with letting his tongue probe her mouth. How the fire in her veins soared as she leaned into him!

"Shall I call for one of the lesser serpents as I did before, my dear?" he whispered.

Her eyes widened, and she breathed more quickly as she nodded. Of course, he stood to gain as much as he gave—her passion had always delighted him.

Then some wretched owl banged on the window. Riddle cursed and let it in. It was Narcissa's. The hearing would start in less than an hour. What was the Ministry thinking? There was precedent for such timing, but why _now?_ There was no way the Weasleys could be ready with their case.

Ah. Perhaps that was the reason. Rumor had it that Snape had been sitting up late for the past week. At least that was what the Malfoy boy had told his aunt. Voldemort smiled. _How like a Slytherin to steal a march!_

Bella, who had read the message over his shoulder, cursed in words that began melting the rocks around the fireplace as she stood next to the flames.

"No, my dear," he said. "We have a better chance than you think. Remember what your apprentice told you. Perhaps our Potions Master has been exaggerating his illness somewhat lately for the benefit of those in the Order. They could not possibly expect a hearing this soon, but my Shadow may well have planned this all along."

She nodded, clearly unwilling to admit her rival was ahead of her in usefulness to the Circle. "In case Snape is weak, however, I shall need to borrow some of your vitality," he said. She had much to spare, and this might calm the fire in her loins that he had tried to ease.

He gently touched his smallest fangs to her throat and barely broke the skin. He needed only a little blood, but the act filled him with heat and strength. He had to remember to stop, as the heavy fire he'd stolen from her settled in his groin.

Damn this hearing! He should have done this the last time; who needed a serpent when his own snake was proving eager? _I am but a channel this time for another,_ Voldemort thought regretfully. _However, this may be worth another trial at a better time._

Her face was calm and happy. "I am always delighted to serve you, my lord."

And well she should be. Oh, for the day he could enjoy these pleasures with his Shadow! He knew what Lucius wanted, and decided that rank had its privileges. _Severus will be mine first, and then perhaps always. Malfoy had too much fun last year that he refused to share with others._

But first things first. The two of them Apparated to a safe location near the Ministry, then put on a glamour as they had at Narcissa's party. Snape arrived shortly afterwards, looking three-quarters dead. It was apparent to Voldemort the old fool had tried to offer some of his own strength to the man, only to forget that the touch of the phoenix burned.

The Potions Master knelt before them in a quiet room by another fireplace. "My lord," he said quietly. He looked shaky, as if drawing on the last of his reserves.

"Severus," Voldemort said. "Rise, and come to me. You will need more vigor than this to be our advocate this night."

"I have a potion, my lord, which should serve."

"And when it runs out? This hearing could go longer than you think. This time allow me to help you. You may use the potion later, as you require it."

Snape stood and walked forward, his face blank and exhausted. He truly looked dreadful; there was no fire at all in his eyes, despite Dumbledore's magical signature floating around him.

"Hold out your hands and stay completely still," the Dark Lord commanded. Nagini slid out from her hiding place. She had the ability to travel wherever her master went, without bothering with little things like Floos or Portkeys.

The serpent wound herself around the Potions Master. Voldemort approached his servant and took the long-fingered hands into his own. A flash of fear sparked in Snape's eyes, then faded. "This should not hurt, my Shadow. I shall be much more careful than someone else has been." The Dark Lord leaned in. "My blood to you, my strength to you, my will to you," he murmured, while letting his tongue lick that pale throat. The vitality that pulsed beneath any human skin was terribly diminished in Snape. He felt the flow of Bella's fire away from him and into his Shadow. Only one brief gasping breath revealed how the man reacted to it.

Voldemort felt cold and weary once it was done, and warmed himself by the fire. Nagini fell away from the Potions Master and wrapped herself around her master. He disliked taking sustenance from the snake. He knew he became a little less human each time he did so, but Bella had already been asked to give.

Then he smiled. He'd never taken vigor from a werewolf before. He would prefer to drain that idiot Lupin, but once Avery came into his own, that Death Eater might be just what the mediwitch ordered. Then he became sober again. _I've made plans for Bella should we win, and plans for Severus if we lose. Yet I must find a way to reward the man if we win. I am making the same mistake the old fool has all these years. _

At least Snape appeared much more like himself—strong, scowling, and looking as if he was about to take fifty points from the next person he saw. _His line needs to continue, and Lucius has been most dilatory about finding his slave a bride. Bella needs a strong man in her bed to keep her well-swived. The time is not now, of course, as she grieves for a husband she's spent less than a year with all told. But it is something to be considered._

"I feel much better, my lord," Snape said. His face changed to his usual neutral mask and he knelt once more.

"Good. This should last you till dawn. If the hearing is still going on, take your potion."

"Do you plan to attend, my lord?"

"Yes. This is far too important to miss." Riddle glanced at Bella, who now sat. It was rude to do so when another member of the Circle was in the room, and definitely a bit much when her lord was standing, but no doubt she was weary and disappointed.

"The Ministry has protections against those wearing glamours, my lord," the Potions Master said.

"Narcissa has requested more than enough badges for all of us," the Dark Lord said. "They override the security features, or at least they did in the past. And yes, I can imagine what you are thinking about last spring. I meant to try the loyalty of some I doubted and bring terror to the Ministry itself through the methods I used then. Trust me, my Shadow, I have learned."

"Are you sure this is wise, my lord?" Bella asked as she looked away from the fire.

"It is only the doorway that could be a problem. Once inside, you and I will sit in the shadows and bring no attention on ourselves. Severus, I quite understand you'll need to concentrate on your duties as advocate. I do not plan to interfere even if the boy is present." _Unless the moment is right,_ he thought with a smirk.

"Thank you, my lord."

A knock sounded on the door. Voldemort drew his wand and Nagini coiled in defense of her master. Bella rose and did likewise, though Severus continued to kneel. "Enter," the Dark Lord said.

Narcissa Malfoy peered inside the door. "We must go to the Ministry before the proceedings start," she said. "I think the Weasleys are already there."

Riddle put away his wand and Nagini relaxed. He ordered the snake to stay and guard the place while they were away. If something happened, he would make his way here and then escape through a hidden bolt-hole. He knew the risks involved in allowing Bella in the Ministry again, but leaving her here to work mischief on her own could cause far more trouble. It was best if they both stayed together. If nothing else, a second wand could be useful.

He ordered Snape to rise. The four of them departed the house and walked to the Ministry. Voldemort and Lestrange kept their hoods up, while a couple of Malfoy associates joined them. It was dark and damp, so everyone was heavily cloaked. Fortunately no Muggles were about. It would be difficult to restrain Bella from attacking them should they be confronted with the temptation.

Riddle felt odd going through the doorway, though the badge held out in a gloved hand passed muster with the gate-guard. For a moment it seemed the young wizard was going to call for assistance. Then Bella flicked her wand. The guard sneezed. After that, he let them go through to the foyer, apparently believing any awkwardness had been caused by his sinuses rather than the magical guardians of the Ministry trying to gain his attention. _They're such idiots, _Voldemort thought, when he realized nobody's wands were being collected for this event.

Perhaps he was a fool to gamble like this. This could be a trap. The moment the group turned the corner, he and Bella went off together away from the Malfoy party, took on different appearances, and sat in a corner of the gallery. They both used a vision and hearing spell so they could see and listen as if they were down in the central well. It was odd how the main chamber for the Wizengamot had been opened up, rather than one of the justice chambers, considering the few officials currently bustling about.

Tom Riddle put a Cushioning Charm on his bench and settled back. This was going to be a long night.

Molly Weasley

She put a satchel of papers on the table reserved for their side. Arthur sat next to her. Both of them looked over at their opposition. Snape kept two harried-looking clerks busy laying out papers and arranging books so he could find what he needed quickly. Narcissa still managed to look beautiful even though it was nearly midnight. Molly was all too aware of how her hair rumpled when she slept. She'd brushed it out and had dressed properly, but she still felt tatty in comparison to the other woman.

Arthur always looked wonderful to her. She'd made certain he appeared as if he'd stepped out of a bandbox even with the short notice they'd had. Molly had to admit that the only word that described Snape just now was magnificent. She'd never seen him really dressed up, and the formal black and silver robes suited him immensely. He didn't seem tired, either. His voice snapped with power, while his dark eyes flashed as he made sure everything on the Malfoy table was set up to his satisfaction.

Molly thought of an old Muggle saying about men like him—"bad, mad, and dangerous to know." He looked like he ought to be on the cover of a novel, and she suddenly envied Narcissa. Of course there was nothing improper between the two. Not even the anonymous gossip columns breathed a word of anything like that. Right now, though, Snape was the kind of Slytherin that Hufflepuff girls dreamed about and never really met.

Then she noticed Rita Skeeter had taken up a position where the nasty cow could see everything. Molly turned her attention to the satchel. Harry was more important than her silly maunderings, or any worries about being embarrassed in the Prophet. She ought to be used to it, after all. Arthur helped her lay out the papers, though their piles were much less impressive than those on the other side.

Several other Ministers filed in. Where was the judge? Who was it? Molly didn't see anyone in the splendid scarlet-and-white robes a Wizarding magistrate wore. Instead, the central space had a table and several chairs holding Cornelius Fudge, Dolores Umbridge, and three others she knew from various parties at work.

Percy was there, too, helping to set up, though it broke her heart to see him so near and not be able to speak with him. His face was closed, even when he accidentally looked directly at her. It struck her that her third son might be jealous of her wanting to add another member to the family, but that didn't make sense. Percy had been as worried about Harry as anyone only a year and a half ago, though he'd been exasperated at the way the boy kept getting Ron in trouble. _Ron would find that path without help from anyone,_ she thought. Her youngest son had been terribly upset about the letter he'd received from Percy, and had sent it home demanding she send a Howler to his older brother. Once she'd had a look, it was clear Percy was trying to warn his younger brother with someone looking over his shoulder.

She sat down for a moment, still a bit sleepy. It had been wonderful to have them all home last summer, along with Harry and Hermione. For once, the girl had let herself be mothered. _I hope she's not overdoing it at school. Those kinds of curses take longer than people think to get over,_ she thought, remembering how sick her Aunt Silla had been after a raid in the first war. _According to Minerva, Snape spent half the summer brewing potions for the girl between throwing up over his own._ Molly worried about McGonagall, too. Four stunners to the chest were nothing to laugh about, but the Head of Gryffindor ought to be over them by now.

Molly shuffled some papers. She didn't want to remember the terrible fight between Percy and Charlie that had ruined everyone's fun. _I wouldn't have been surprised if Percy and Arthur had argued. Both Bill and Charlie did that. I just wish Percy hadn't left. _She'd written to Charlie since, trying to find out what was wrong with him. Her notes to Percy still came back, unopened.

_I never let Percy be a child,_ Molly thought. _I always had chores for him or the smaller ones to watch so I could catch a breath. He was responsible enough to try to do anything I asked of him, even when it really was too hard. There for a while the twins always carried their troubles to him before coming to me, I was so busy with Ronald or Ginevra._ She knew she hadn't pulled her share of the weight, not really, for a few years during the war. Oh, she could blame it on always being pregnant, or ill the way she had been after Ginny's birth, but for a time she had been too overwhelmed to come up for air. Arthur had been working two jobs then to keep food on the table, as well as taking risks for the Order she'd only found out about a few years ago.

Percy had been a miracle in his own right. After the miscarriage she'd had after Charlie, she'd wondered if the two boys were going to be all for them. Then Nanny Ogg had taken her in hand and put her on a course of potions whose taste she could still call to mind, even after so many years. She'd tried to find the recipe to help Narcissa later on, but her grandmother had said it only worked on those with maenad blood. Knowing what some of the Black women were like, it wasn't hard to speculate, but even when Molly had discovered what was in the stuff, the potions hadn't worked for the thin blond woman sitting over on the other side of the Wizengamot hall.

She gazed at Percy again. Her boy had never really forgiven himself for what happened to little Ginny her first year, though he'd only been four years older and his hands full trying to keep the twins out of trouble. _We thought she was safe there at Hogwarts. We were wrong._

Molly forced herself to look down at the papers. She'd petitioned for full adoption, blood rite and all, with the only exception being a change in name. James and Lily deserved better than that. If she understood things correctly, the Malfoys had gone for a lesser degree of kinship, which involved guardianship, oversight of his finances, and custody.

She smiled when she thought of that. If Narcissa had truly been on the other side, she would have waived any control of the money. Perhaps all of them ought to be grateful to Snape. Arthur had been very careful drawing up their own papers to make sure they wouldn't benefit from anything belonging to Harry.

One of the Ministry guards called the meeting to order. Cornelius Fudge stood. "I know most of you are wondering why the meeting is this late. There is a tradition in our world about deeds done during the hours of darkness, but that is not the reason. I invoke the hours of midnight to dawn for the length of this hearing, and any decisions from it to be held in the light of day. Mr. Potter has suffered a great deal from unwanted publicity and the interference of the Ministry in his life. For once we shall shield the boy from being forced to parade himself before us. He has lost the protection that his late guardian once offered him. It has been suggested that the Ministry itself accept his wardship. However, he is a boy, not an account at Gringotts or a piece of property. The conflict over which family will offer him the love and guidance anyone his age sorely needs shall be played out here, but I won't let it be dragged out."

He paused. Molly blinked. Fudge really meant what he said this time. For how long, of course, was anyone's guess, but it was a nice change from the usual platitudes. The Minister for Magic continued. "It has also been suggested that I bring the child into my own family. My wife and I were severely tempted. Despite all that has been said about Mr. Potter, he seems like someone any family could take pride in. However, I will not let it be said I took advantage of my position to personally benefit. I also do not have time to adequately supervise any child during the summers and holidays, especially one who is likely to draw controversy the way Mr. Potter seems to."

_Doesn't want to be a target, either! _Molly couldn't blame him.

"The conflict in our society is mirrored here tonight. The Ministry is here to help arbitrate, not take one side or the other."

_That's the whole problem!_ Molly wanted to shriek. _We must take sides, and soon, or there won't be anything left for you idiots to decide!_ Arthur patted her hand. "It would look bad if you hexed him, dear," he murmured.

"I wondered why they left us our wands," she quietly replied, and tried to stay calm.

"Because the Minister is not a fool. He knows this would be an excellent time for _certain people_ to attack, despite the safeguards. I'm also glad there aren't many in the gallery just yet. I'm sure there will be by morning, but we should be finished by then."

"How?" she asked. No doubt the first side to hex the other would automatically lose their case, too.

"Wait. He told me earlier what's coming up."

The Minister announced, "I shall explain the procedure we have decided on. Each side may have an opening statement. Each side may have three witnesses, though I shall not complain if there are fewer. Due to the lateness of the hour, there will be a rest break after each witness steps down. After the witnesses have spoken, then each side may have a closing statement. The five of us will ballot, and the decision will be made."

"I'm surprised he's not explaining how to send in the bribes and to which Minister during the rest breaks," Molly groused.

"We're supposed to know that already," Arthur said blandly.

Maybe it wasn't a bad idea to have someone from the Prophet here to report on what was going on. Or maybe it wasn't going to matter. "Do you think Quintus would mind being pulled out of bed this late?"

Arthur caught her idea. "After the first break, I'll send an owl. I should have thought about the Quibbler. If this thing really is going till dawn, attendance should go up for hearing the Ministry decision, too."

That decided, Molly felt better. If nothing else, their side would be represented in the press as well as the official version. She did notice an elf with a Dicta-Quill, probably for the complete transcript. It wouldn't hurt to have a copy of that, either, just in case. She glanced up at the gallery, and saw only an elderly couple snoozing in a corner. She rubbed her eyes. For a moment the old people looked entirely different. Obviously she was still a little sleepy.

Finally the preliminaries were complete, and Snape rose to make his opening statement. "The Malfoy family has petitioned for the guardianship of Harry Potter for several reasons. One. No Wizarding child should be left defenseless. His parents are dead and so is his godfather. No matter how Sirius Black performed his duties, he was still a wizard. He is gone as well. Potter's only known relatives are Muggles, who have no standing with this Ministry. One could argue that Hogwarts stands in loco parentis to him, but that situation applies only to a portion of the year. During summers and holidays Mr. Potter is at the mercy of these Muggles. It is my client's assertion that a Muggle home is in itself an unfit one for any witch or wizard, but particularly for the Boy-Who-Lived, a symbol of all that is good and worthy of our world."

Molly noticed the professor was in fine voice, and hardly gagged at all during the last sentence. Odd, though—he felt _darker_ somehow, as if even in full light he stood in the shadows. _We are losing him,_ she thought, but didn't know why.

The Slytherin continued. "Two. The Malfoy family is prepared to offer this boy their home, their connections, and their protection. This is a privilege few have been given. However, Narcissa Malfoy already feels a connection to Mr. Potter, since she is a cousin by blood to Sirius Black, the boy's godfather. Mr. Potter is also a schoolmate to her son, though not in the same house. She believes the two boys would benefit from the other's experiences."

_If they didn't strangle each other first!_ Molly itched to have the raising of that blond brat. She'd seen that kind before, raised by house elves and given anything they wanted, but having little real contact with their parents. _If only Narcissa had listened to me. I could have taken the boy for a bit each year, but of course Lucius put his foot down on that. She could have stood up to him, over that and a lot of other things, but never did. Both of them were raised the same way Draco was, and never saw anything wrong with it._ _From what I heard about both the Malfoys and the Blacks in the past, they've probably improved on what their parents did, and isn't _that _exciting? _In years past she'd wondered if Snape had grown up like that as well, but after a bit of thought, and listening to some insults Sirius had flung out, she knew better. He was more like a kicked dog who thought to bite everyone first before they could go after him. Last year, Sirius Black had seemed to encourage Harry to follow him in denigrating the Potions Master, and this just when the boy had to have special lessons from the dark Slytherin by Dumbledore's order. She'd tried to tell the Headmaster about that, but he'd brushed her off, saying Snape could take care of himself.

She sighed. But that wasn't true. Sirius thought he could take care of himself, too, and now he was dead. The house was easier for everyone to live in now, and not just Snape. There was far less sniping, no Kreacher to sneer at her, and nobody missed the constant stench of hippogriff, especially poor Remus. And that was when Black was sober. _I don't miss him as much as I should,_ she thought.

Molly wrenched her attention back to the hearing. The professor was just winding up. "I myself am well aware of the Malfoy family's generosity to those in need. Mr. Potter would be in an environment where he could learn a great deal more about Wizarding society than he has thus far. He would be allowed his true heritage in a way that he hasn't been. Mr. Potter would also receive the advantages of knowing more pureblood families and learning the skills that would enable him to deal with them properly. Hogwarts is an excellent institution, but the school does not teach the things Mr. Potter will need. It is not wise to leave a boy with his importance in so much ignorance. I thank the Ministers for their indulgence."

Molly could see his reasoning, though she dearly wished Harry had been allowed to _be_ a child. The boy had faced too much peril already for that, unfortunately, and they had already seen the lengths Harry would go when he was left out of things.

Arthur rose. If only others could see what her husband was really made of! Maybe tonight everyone would find out. He began speaking.

"We have loved this boy since the first year he went to Hogwarts. He has been my youngest son's friend since the day he boarded the Hogwarts Express at King's Crossing. All the members of my family care for him deeply, and Molly and I think of him as another son. We have invited Harry many times to the Burrow, and have always wished he could stay longer. I like to think we've shown him what a real family looks like. I'm afraid I have to agree with Professor Snape that his Muggle relatives aren't much help. I know, you're not expecting to hear something like this from _me,_ of all people." Arthur glanced around, clearly gauging the effect of his admission on the Ministers at the central table. "There are Muggle families who care for their children, of course. One of my son's best friends comes from a such a home, and it's obviously nothing like Harry's.

"The boy deserves to live with people he knows and loves. We've already signed papers to promise his money will stay under Gringotts control till he comes of age. Under his father's will, he's drawn what he needs for his school fees, books, robes and pocket money from the vault left for that. He hasn't spent anything near what he could, and should have a healthy balance left over once he's out of school. Of course there's the money he won with the Triwizard Cup, and never mind the real property, which is in trust and will be till he's 21 or marries. Our guardianship will be done and over long before then. Neither Molly nor I will touch a Knut of it. We'll care for him as if he were our own. In our hearts, he already is."

Arthur sat down. Molly patted his hand. "That was wonderful, love."

"Do you think so?" For a moment he looked worried.

"Yes. We're doing the right thing, the two of us. Someone has to fight for Harry."

Her husband smiled fondly at her and took her hand in his. "We must be the luckiest people in the world."

Molly leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment, then sat straight up. She could almost pity Narcissa. With all her riches and beauty, her hearth was a cold one even when Lucius wasn't in prison.

Fudge said nothing for a few moments as he paged through both sets of petitions. Molly let her eyes stray to the opposition table. Now she saw them together, she knew why there were no rumors whispering Snape and Narcissa were closer than they ought to be in Malfoy's absence. The space between them where they sat was less than a foot, but it might as well be a mile. Both of them were good at hiding their reactions to things, but Molly felt the invisible wall between the two. Even as they spoke to each other in voices too low for anyone else to hear their words, there wasn't a connection despite the superficial courtesy they showed each other. Then again, if there _was_ anything going on, it could mean death to them both if Lucius ever found out. Malfoy was notoriously jealous of anyone paying his wife attention. _I'm surprised he trusts any man to be close to her while he's in prison_, she thought. Poppy had once hinted the blond Slytherin was more fond of Snape than his own wife, but Molly had dismissed that. For one thing, Lucius Malfoy's other women were an open secret, and every one was a beauty.

Then the Minister for Magic lifted his head. "Remember the rules. Three witnesses each, a break after each witness, and a closing statement afterwards. The five of us will deliberate and reach a decision, though not until after the hour of dawn. We would not have it said we chose night for secrecy, and we will have daylight to crown our judgment."

Molly nodded. Such was the ancient formula for this kind of meeting.

Professor Snape rose. "With all due courtesy, Minister, I object. Mr. Weasley is one of your own. I formally request that the Ministers here withdraw and substitute a neutral judge to conduct this hearing instead."

Fudge smiled coldly. "I'm afraid few people are neutral these days. You will have to trust us to decide this case on its merits. The Boy-Who-Lived is far too important to have his welfare become a political Quaffle. We are concerned about him, of course, yet a simple guardianship hearing has major implications for all of us. We, the senior Ministers, must be involved in order to protect the interests of the Wizarding World as well as to determine which household can offer the boy the best home."

Molly felt certain Snape was as unhappy about this load of manure as she was, but he hid it better. He bowed and said, "I thank the Minister for Magic for making his position so clear." He sat, with a _fifty points from Hufflepuff_ look on his face.

If that was clear, she'd hate to see murky! Arthur bit his lip. In a way, it was a good sign. Or was it? True, her husband was part of this Ministry, but a fairly minor one, and often at odds with his superiors. Her son Percy was in a position to influence events, if only in a small way, but which side was _he_ on? She remembered Charlie's suspicions last summer, and how glad they all were nothing but skin and some dirt had been on his left forearm. Could the same be said about everyone sitting at the middle table? What did Percy's arm look like now?

Well. Now the hearing would begin. She didn't envy Snape one bit. He had to push the Malfoy case as much as possible, or at least look like it. It was up to her and Arthur to make such a good showing they'd win no matter what, without letting it slip how much help they'd had from the other side.

Molly sat up, took a deep breath, and tried to look formidable. Weakness now would only hurt Harry.

Cornelius Fudge spoke. "To resolve any possible appearance of favoritism, I shall allow Arthur Weasley to begin first, thus giving the other side the last word. Please begin."

Her husband stood and said, "I call my first witness. Percy Weasley, come to the chair."


	60. Chapter 60: Witnesses Part I

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Hurrah for my lovely betas, Snape's Night, duj, and zafaran. Go read their stories, too!

Chapter 60: Witnesses Part I

Molly Weasley

Percy blinked. Molly couldn't understand why her son was surprised. He'd been told yesterday he was on the list. She wasn't certain what Arthur wanted by calling him, but had faith her husband knew what he was doing.

Snape was on his feet again. "Ministers, I object. Mr. Weasley is a family member and is not likely to provide objective testimony."

"I doubt any of your witnesses will do so, Professor," Fudge snapped. "I would rather not be here any longer than I must."

"As you wish, Minister," Snape said, scowling as if he wished to give out detentions scrubbing cauldrons without magic to everyone.

Percy went to the witness chair and was sworn in. At least this wasn't a criminal trial, where sometimes even bystanders were given Veritaserum. She had seen a few where some participants had had to give up memories to a Pensieve, and then have them projected for all to see. Molly didn't know which one would be worse.

Arthur stood in front of him. "Now, Mr. Weasley, have you ever seen Harry Potter at the Burrow?"

"Yes."

"About how often have you seen him there?"

"Every once in a while during the summer, mostly."

Her son looked terrified, though he was trying to hide it. Was he afraid he'd lose his job if he didn't give the answers he thought the Ministry wanted? Molly almost wished he would. He was so young, only a year older than Fred and George, and trying so hard to make a go of it. But disaster now was easily recouped at his age. Bill could easily find his brother a staff position at Gringotts—Percy's sort of diligence was the kind the goblins liked.

"Did he seem to enjoy himself while he was there?" Arthur's voice was soft.

"Yes," her son said, almost in a whisper.

"Is he a good friend to your brother Ron?"

"Harry's led him into danger half a dozen times with his harebrained schemes! I was there when Ron almost drowned during the Triwizard Cup. Just last year he needed a healer after Harry and his friend were through breaking and entering the Department of Mysteries. I'm afraid someday Ron is going to be sacrificed because of something Harry does."

Arthur looked sad. Molly understood why. Percy had been driven half-mad by the twins—and who hadn't!—but little Ron had been her quietest son's favorite, even more than Ginny. Fred and George were forever using Ron in their experiments, and Percy stopped them more often than the adults around the house had. "I tried to warn him last year to respect Minister Umbridge," Percy continued. "He needs to stay out of trouble or he'll end up dead."

Then Molly remembered why Veritaserum or a Pensieve wasn't used as often as it could be in this room. The chair up front had obviously been charmed to encourage anyone sitting in it to tell the truth. No doubt it had more effect of someone Percy's age.

Arthur nodded. He paced a little bit, then asked another question. "Has this changed their friendship? Does Ron feel upset about it?"

"No," Percy said quietly. "I think Ron is sometimes jealous of the attention Harry receives, but as long as he can beat him at chess, it doesn't bother him so much. And as long as Her—er, Miss Granger, pays more attention to Ron, Harry could be in the paper every day and it wouldn't matter, at least that's what he said to me…" Her son colored up. "Of course, that's not really any of my business."

Molly knew Ron's heart had been set on the girl for years. There were times when Hermione had been so pushy and her son such a doormat that she'd wanted to set the girl down once or twice. Then Arthur had pointed out that she herself had always been the managing type. It was said men often married women like their mothers. It was a disquieting thought, and Molly had been more careful to watch and listen since. She felt something cold in the girl, more like a Ravenclaw than a Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, but since Hermione had saved their lives with it, she wasn't going to complain. The girl had rescued Harry from Dolly Umbridge last year, and risked her own life to give the woman to the centaurs. Molly knew she'd be equally ruthless on behalf of Ron, and for that she'd forgive a lot. _Just like forgiving Snape his little tantrums because of what he risks for us each day,_ she thought ruefully. Funny how Hermione and Snape were alike in that hardness, and their unnatural passion for books. _A good thing both of them are on our side!_

Her husband, still asking questions, brought up the Triwizard Tournament again. "In the underwater task, wasn't the person taken and held captive supposed to the one that meant the most to the contestant? Miss Delacour, for instance, had her little sister at risk."

_And little Hermione the one that meant the most for that Viktor Krum fellow. _Molly would have to chew that one over later.

"Yes."

"Wasn't that why Ron ended up as one of them? Because your brother was the person who was most important to Harry Potter?"

_And not that Miss Chang,_ Molly thought.

"But Ron could have been killed!"

"Weren't there plenty of safeguards the contestants didn't know about?"

"I…I suppose so."

"Didn't Harry risk his life, or at least think he was risking his life, to make sure Ron was all right? Yes, he rescued that little French girl, too, but only because her older sister was having trouble. He saved Ron first."

"Yes." Percy let his head hang forward. Molly glanced around the room. Snape's eyes were deep in thought, and he was writing furiously on some notepaper.

Arthur continued questioning his son, but it was on ground she and her husband had gone over already. Percy, fortunately, was giving the answers they were looking for, though reluctantly. Molly let her thoughts run free for a few moments.

Would Ron and Hermione be happy together? She'd seen worse matches, but she'd seen better ones, too. Molly had watched the girl grit her teeth with boredom when both boys were deep in the heart of another endless Quidditch discussion. A pity she hadn't tried to develop some interest in something her friends were so fascinated by. _Brigid only knows Arthur's Muggle toys drive me to distraction!_ She'd eventually learned more about them, though, and knew how to cope when some device out in the shed misbehaved when her husband wasn't home.

_Perhaps I ought to have her help me with my betting-pool sheet next week,_ Molly thought. Anything with numbers intrigued the girl, and perhaps learning how the teams were handicapped and how the point spreads worked might draw Hermione into following Ron's interests more. _Besides, anyone with her Arithmancy scores ought to be able to evaluate the betting systems I've heard about, or maybe figure out one of her own. _She knew better than to gamble anything more than the pin-money, and hadn't even done that when things were really stretched; but it was just plain fun to hope for a killing each week. Arthur had suggested she keep records, if only to track how well each new system worked, or didn't as the case might be. She was happy she'd taken his advice, because over the years she'd been able to prove she was actually a bit ahead. _I hope the twins are keeping good records in their business, _she thought. _Maybe I ought to ask Cousin Jerome to look over their books next time I see him._ Then she jerked her attention back to the hearing. What a flibbertigibbet she was, to worry about such things at a time like this.

At last Arthur was done and sat down. Poor Percy looked half-dead with fear. Surely being sacked wasn't the worst thing that could happen to a boy his age. He was in some other trouble, Molly was sure of it. She had an idea of what else could be wrong, and whispered it into Arthur's ear.

Her husband shook his head. "His left forearm is as blank as the day he was born," he said quietly, though he had a funny look in his eyes when he said it.

"It's just that he's more scared than he ought to be," Molly said. "There's something else besides being worried over his job."

He wrinkled his brow, a sure sign he was about to lie a good one, and then shook his head. "Not now, Molly. Maybe later."

She knew enough about Order business not to push when she heard that. She nodded and sat back. What would Snape ask her son?

The Potions Master strode up to the witness chair. "Well, Mr. Weasley," he said in a soft, purring voice that meant he was about to say something awful. "Don't you think you have quite a conflict of interest here?"

"I only found out I was on the witness list yesterday, sir."

"You're normally more efficient than that. Pity. Surely you've had some thoughts about this affair already."

"Yes, professor." Percy looked unhappy.

"Care to tell us what they are?"

"I—I think Mum and Dad love Harry. I, I just don't know if they should have all the responsibility for him, though. I saw how hard it was for them to find food and clothing for all of us. Of course, we've always had friends over, but they usually went home even if they had to stay a long time for some reason. Maybe it's someone else's turn to help."

"Do go on, Mr. Weasley."

"See, maybe the duties can be split. The Malfoys could have the responsibility and do the paperwork, while Harry actually stays with my parents. And maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he visited the Malfoys a few times. The Potters used to be pretty well known as a family in their own right till they died. Harry needs to know more of their friends, and not just us."

"So you see advantages for Mr. Potter if the family I represent wins their suit?"

"Yes. I know Mum and Dad wouldn't touch a Knut of his money, but it already bothers him that he has so much. He'd try to pay for things, and they wouldn't let him. He wouldn't feel that way with the Malfoys. He could learn what a real pureblood family is like."

Snape raised one eyebrow, and move to block Percy from seeing his parents' faces. Molly was heartbroken to hear such a load of codswallop, and couldn't believe her son had inhaled so much of it. Surely he had _some_ idea of what would happen to Harry if the boy ever fell into enemy hands.

All she saw now was the professor's back, though his voice was still clear. "So you see Mr. Potter as a burden to your family?"

"I know Mum doesn't care. She's forever picking up strays. But it felt like she forgot about the rest of us sometimes when someone new came into the house. I think she wants to be Mum to the whole world. I just want her to be mine, you know?"

Molly put her face into her hands, while Arthur patted her back. Had she really been like that? She'd always thought there was love enough to go around, and extra potatoes to add if the food began to ran out.

It was true that Harry wasn't the only extra who fell into her lap. Little Luna had spent a few months at the Burrow bunking with Ginny after her mother had died and while her father had trouble at the Quibbler. But Ginny had cried all day when Luna had gone back home. A house full of children and laughter was all she ever wanted. _I have to help Harry,_ she thought. _He's in so much danger, and he needs someone so much!_

But was she sacrificing her own to do it? Percy thought so.

Snape continued. Molly wiped her eyes and forced herself to listen. "Are you the only one in the household who feels this way?"

"No…I mean, yes, of course I am. Besides, everyone but Ron and Ginny are out of the house now. I suppose there's plenty of room. But I'm so afraid of what's going to happen. I don't want my family being a target."

_We are already, don't you understand that? Just by being us! It doesn't matter if Harry's in our lives or not!_ Arthur held her hand and squeezed it. She took comfort from his touch. For a moment she hated Snape for stripping her boy's feelings for all to see.

"So you believe the best outcome would be for my clients to receive the official guardianship of Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, but…"

"Yes or no, Mr. Weasley."

"Yes."

The Potions Master moved out of the way. Percy was shaking. "I am finished with my questions for this witness, Ministers," Snape said.

"Please step down, Mr. Weasley," said Fudge. As Percy moved away from the chair, Dolly Umbridge gestured him over, whispered to him, and patted him on the arm. Her son flushed red and left the room.

Molly didn't know what to think. In a way it was good her old roommate was watching over the boy, and had even cast a worried look after him as he exited through a side door. But something about it was wrong, though she couldn't think what. She glanced over at Arthur. Her husband's ears were beet red, which meant either that he was deathly tired or he was hiding something from her. _We're going to have a long talk once we're home. This time I'm going to hear some answers for once._ She felt her own cheeks going a bit warmer as she remembered all the ways he had of distracting her.

Fudge called the first break. Percy had been in the chair for almost an hour, though it hadn't felt that long. Molly bolted for the loo. That last cup of tea she'd drunk before leaving the Burrow was letting her know it was only rented.

Narcissa was in the public ladies' room down the hall as well. They didn't talk to each other. Both of them knew magical surveillance extended everywhere in the Ministry, even here. Neither one knew which side Fudge was on, or even if he had one. Her opposition concentrated on smoothing already perfect hair and searching for imaginary flaws in her sculpted face. Molly contented herself with unpinning her hair, brushing it quickly, and putting it back again. She put cold water on her eyes, but they were still red. If this hearing came down to a beauty contest, her side was already lost. _Unless they take an average of everyone, including Snape,_ she thought whimsically, _and even then it'd be close._

She took comfort in the talk that she and Narcissa had already had. The Malfoy woman did want Harry for her own, but knew what the result would be. She had even admitted herself a coward for letting Snape carry the burden of the suit, and had advised Molly to do the same with Arthur. Molly saw the wisdom in it. Since it was obvious that undue influence was going to be exercised by both sides, it all depended on what would cause the most scandal.

Molly hadn't breathed a word to anyone but the Order about their contingency plans if the Malfoy side won the suit, of course. _You can't have custody of a Boy-Who-Disappears, and the Dursleys will just have to put up with him till next summer, when Harry can quit that place and never have to go back to it again._ _This time _I'll_ make sure they take good care of him. Albus clearly made a hash of things with them. It's time others took a hand._

She hastened back to the table and sat down, not wanting to miss a thing. Arthur smelled of a cigarette break, though he usually preferred a pipe. "Who do you think their first witness will be?" she asked. "I mean, Narcissa is obviously going to be one of them, just like I will be for us."

"I have some ideas, but I don't really know." Her husband shook his head.

"Have…have I really taken in too many?" she whispered.

"Oh, my dear. What Percy said really hurt, didn't it?"

She nodded, knowing her son was probably right in a way.

"I never thought it was too many, though it was hard sometimes wondering how to feed them all," he said. "I didn't tell you about someone a few times when I thought you weren't up to it. The summer you were so sick from losing the baby, and Bill and Charlie home from school, I mean before they went to Hogwarts, there was an older boy sleeping on the sofa down at the Prophet because he'd lost his parents. I asked around about him, and the Potters, you know, Harold and Maude—they said their son had told them what a nasty piece of work the boy was, and if his parents were dead, then he'd had something to do with it. Like a fool I listened to them. I kept an ear out, though, and that next spring some other family took him in so I didn't worry about him any more.

"Another time, you were pregnant with the twins and looking like you were going to keep them. One of Bill's roommates was in a bit of trouble then. But that time I made sure I knew the family he went to. You're the most precious thing in the world to me, love. You look after all of us, but sometimes we need to look after you."

Molly remembered the summer after the miscarriage. She'd been so sick that Mrs. Lovegood had stopped in every day to make sure there was enough to eat and do a little cleaning. Bill and Charlie were old enough to chase gnomes, though not much help otherwise. Arthur had been working an extra job to pay for the healer. It had been almost two years after that when she'd finally stayed pregnant for longer than three months and Poppy had told her she must lie abed for the rest of it so she wouldn't lose that one. Percy had been a miracle, and so had the rest, though Ginny's birth had been so hard she'd finally accepted the hospital's verdict she should count herself lucky with the tally she had.

"Oh, Arthur," she sighed. "How can I be angry with you over that?" Molly wondered, of course, if there were others her husband had said nothing about if he admitted to two. She _was_ going to have Harry, though. She glanced at Arthur again. His eyes didn't change and his lips were thin. "Are you upset because I dragged you into this?"

"No," he said. "More at myself. I wish…I wish things could have been different, that's all. It doesn't matter now. It worked out anyway."

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what happened to the boy who'd lived on the couch down at the Prophet so many years ago, but the bell sounded. Now it was the other side's turn to put on their first witness.

"Mrs. Elizabeth Goyle, please come forward." Severus Snape rose as the woman walked to the witness chair.

Molly had heard some rumors about the woman and hadn't liked any of them. She bore an uncanny resemblance to the hell-bitch in the Black family portrait at Grimmauld Place.

Snape handed his witness into the chair and waited till she was settled. Despite such courtesy, he didn't look any too pleased. "Mrs. Goyle, how long have you known the Malfoys?"

"All my life, I should think," said the dark-haired woman. "Our family socializes with them. I used to be playmates with Lucius, along with my cousins in the Black family. In some ways, I'm as closely related to Sirius as Mrs. Malfoy or Mrs. Weasley. However, I really feel Narcissa will do splendidly with young Mr. Potter."

"Are you currently on good terms with the Malfoy family?"

"Of course. My son Gregory was one of Draco's closest friends before…before he died," she said.

For a moment the Potions Master was silent. Molly saw his knuckles were white and his lips pressed together. Then he spoke. "Yes. Have you observed my client's household?"

"Certainly. I've been over there hundreds of times. I must admit, she manages the place exquisitely. Her son is so well-mannered! He was quite young when he first began to assist at parties, till his bed-time, naturally, and it's been a delight watching him grow up."

"Have you seen her interacting with her son?" Snape seemed a bit calmer now.

Molly wondered what was wrong. Arthur looked grim, too. She remembered going through the death-notices on the front page of the Prophet in Diagon Alley when Poppy had been so worried about the dark Slytherin. Wait, there was something different about one of them—the date had been off, or something. Of course the Malfoy boy had been cas old as ice at King's Crossing this year, grief took some purebloods that way, but…no, she'd lost it.

Mrs. Goyle smirked. "Personally, I think she spoils him outrageously. He returns her affections, though, and his manners are all one could hope for, at least while I have been there. Draco has also spent time at my home visiting Gregory, and is quite the gentleman. From what I have heard of Mr. Potter, he could use some of those lessons for himself."

"What advantages would the boy have there that he would not somewhere else?"

"Well, any Wizarding home has to be an improvement over being raised by Muggles. Even if they aren't utterly incompetent, they can't possibly understand what someone in our world needs. Children from such homes show the most appalling ignorance about things, and really, it's not fair to them at all. Why, I've heard there's a Mud—er, a Muggleborn girl who believes house elves ought to be free. Have you ever heard the like?"

Molly wanted to strangle the woman right then. How dare anyone make fun of Hermione Granger like that? _All right, I've had to hold back a laugh or two myself when the girl talks about what rights elves should have, and it was a free show whenever Kreacher threw it back at her. _But then, Arthur sometimes talked about other magical beings which were treated badly. The Goblin Rebellion had started like that, if she remembered what Binns had said correctly. _Well, growing up in Lancre didn't prepare me for this place either._

Snape nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid I know all about it, Mrs. Goyle. However, I shan't hold up a student as a figure of fun behind her back."

_No, you prefer to do it to their faces,_ Molly thought.

The Potions Master continued. "However, here we have two different Wizarding families. What advantages can the Malfoys offer that the Weasleys cannot?"

"Why, that's obvious," the woman said. "He'll meet the most socially-acceptable families on an equal basis. He will learn how to dress, how to behave, and how to manage his own affairs in a way he can't possibly do with the Weasleys. I understand the boy is quite skilled at Quidditch. If he decides to become a professional, he will have to learn to mix with his betters the same way that charming Mr. Bagman does. I'm sure Mrs. Weasley is a good woman," she added in a patronizing tone, "but surely she has enough on her plate with the truly _astounding_ number of children she has already. Why, now that I think of it, perhaps I should have offered my own home to the boy once we learned his guardian was dead. Sending him back to his Muggle relatives was surely not good for him."

"I see." Two spots of red appeared on Snape's cheekbones. He asked her more questions about the Malfoy household, and received more positive answers. Molly let her attention drift. She wasn't going to learn much from this witness, and the more she listened, the more she wanted to scratch the woman's eyes out. That would likely be a bad thing.

"And what, precisely, do you find inadequate about the Weasley home?"

Molly paid attention now.

Mrs. Goyle simpered. "Well, it's obvious they're just scraping by. No matter what papers they sign, the boy's money has to be a temptation. I've heard he's already helped the family a few times—over their protests, of course." Her tone of voice let everyone know what she believed was really happening. "I've never been to the place, but from all accounts the Burrow is a dreadful warren and constantly overrun with the children and their friends. They don't even have proper barriers to keep the local gnomes off the grounds. I mean, _really_. I understand the woman even raises animals in back, as if she lived in some village during the Middle Ages. No doubt she's homesick at times for the barnyard she was raised in."

Arthur put both his hands on hers and urged her to stay seated when Molly saw red. "I don't blame you, sweetheart, but you have to stay here," he said in her ear. "Put her on the Feed to the Ghoul list and move on."

That was a standing joke with them. There were quite a few people on that list these days, and Molly took some comfort from it. "All right," she said, after breathing heavily for a couple of minutes.

Snape questioned the woman for a bit longer, then sat down. Molly could tell he was still upset over something. _Now, why is he so angry at her?_ Why would he hate the mother of one of his students so much? Then she remembered what was different about the poor boy's death notice. She and Poppy had even talked about it. Molly took a deep breath. "Goyle's death was off by a day," she said, hoping Arthur could follow that thin thread all the way.

He nodded grimly and scribbled a quick note, which he vanished as soon as Molly read it. _Snape knows._

She was afraid she understood all too well now, though she still couldn't believe it. No mother could kill her own son, not even a Death Eater one, even though the portrait had confessed to the death of Regulus Black. "Be careful, Arthur," she whispered.

Her husband patted her hand. Then he stood and walked toward the witness. "Mrs. Goyle, I know it's a bit late, but I do want to extend our condolences on behalf of your son. From what I've heard, he was a dear friend of Draco Malfoy and young Mr. Crabbe, and will be sorely missed."

The woman glared at Arthur suspiciously. He sighed. "I can't imagine your grief at losing an only child. Molly and I do have a large number, but giving up even one would break our hearts. Our best wishes go out to you at this horrible time."

Molly guessed what he was doing, and kept her mouth shut. She still wanted to squeeze the woman's throat till her eyes popped out of her head. Sometimes being part-maenad had its disadvantages.

Mrs. Goyle lowered her eyes. "It's…it's been hard," she said in a softer voice. "Since he would normally be at school now, I pretend he'll come back some of the time. This Christmas…this coming summer...I won't be able to."

Arthur nodded. "I'm sure you miss him," he said gently. "I'm sure you sympathize with your friend's wish to have another son. But the world is a dangerous place, Mrs. Goyle, and we think Harry will be safer with us."

"Are you asking a question or testifying?" Fudge interrupted.

"A little of both, I think," her husband said with a smile. "All right, then. Madam Goyle, if Mr. Potter were in your hands, how would you care for him?"

The woman's mouth gaped and her eyes looked uncertain. "Well, he'd learn to mind," she said at last. "Greg always said Mr. Potter was allowed to do quite a few things at school that nobody else did. He thought it a bit much that the boy was forbidden to be on a broom last year, though. Greg owled me that it made the games easier, but he still didn't think it was right. If the boy was in my keeping, he would have plenty of space to practice his flying in. Of course, that's true of the Malfoys as well. I understand Draco and Mr. Potter aren't the best of friends, but I'm sure they could work things out."

"But wasn't your son—forgive me, Mrs. Goyle, I have to ask—wasn't he killed in a flying accident? Perhaps he should have been supervised more?"

The woman's face crumpled. Arthur offered his handkerchief. "I apologize," he said. "Everyone knows young men like their independence. You couldn't have kept me off a broom at that age."

She refused the cloth, and hid her face in one of her own. Arthur patiently waited for her to recover.

Once she was calmer, she raised her head. "Don't you think I know what your family is doing? It isn't enough to breed like Muggles and take places you don't deserve from sheer numbers!" She glared malevolently at Percy, who had returned and taken his place in a chair just behind the Ministers. "You have to make other peoples' children your own as well. The Potter boy had a dozen offers for adoption the day his parents died, but no, he has to disappear and be raised by Merlin-knows-who. When he finally does arrive at Hogwarts, he's suddenly your son's bosom friend and won't have anything to do with proper society. Now you want him on paper, too."

"My son _is_ his friend, and has been since they met at King's Cross," Arthur said gently. He waved off Fudge, who opened his mouth to say something. "Again, I am sorry for your loss. But don't you think it would be best for the boy to stay in home where he need not worry where his loyalties lie?"

She turned pale. Molly knew the woman had to be thinking of her own husband, who had died bearing the Dark Mark. _I wonder what _her_ left arm looks like?_

Arthur waited a moment, then said, "That was a question, Mrs. Goyle. Please answer it."

"You filthy Muggle-lovers! You won't be happy till the rest of us wallow in the same muck that you do!"

"Since Mr. Potter's mother was Muggle-born, perhaps he is better off with those who do not consider that a sin," Arthur said. "However, you have yet to answer my question."

The woman's mouth worked, but no words came out, at least not that the Dicta-Quill currently scribbling away over a roll of parchment would represent in actual letters. Molly would feel sorrier for Mrs. Goyle if she hadn't brought her grief on herself. _We've done much the same to Percy,_ she thought. _I wish everything had worked out when we had our picnic last summer. When he left after Charlie fought with him, there was a hole like a lost tooth, only we didn't say anything about it. Even having Harry for good won't make up for that. How can I tell my lad that I _am_ his Mum now?_

Arthur dismissed the witness, and it was time for another break. Molly went up to the center table, but was careful not to speak to Fudge or any of the other Ministers, though she did give a little wave to Dolly. After all, it had to look like she wasn't trying to influence their decision, even if she was.

Percy looked up with the coldest eyes she'd ever see him wear. "You shouldn't be up here," he said quietly.

"I, I have to try, love," she said. "I know what you think, but we're not replacing you. We're just trying to keep Harry safe. You don't really hate him now, do you?"

He bit his lip and looked down without a word at the papers on his desk.

Molly watched him for a moment, and finally forced herself to walk off before she screamed, wept, slapped him, or all three at once. When she made it to the hallway, Arthur was there waiting, and steered her to his office on the floor above where she could cry to her heart's content. He looked as upset as she did, but held it better as they both sat on the couch in his cluttered room. _How dreadful to be a man!_ she thought as she calmed down. _They have to take it out in hexing people, I suppose._

"Oh, Arthur, what are we going to do? Are we giving up Percy by trying to help Harry?"

"I hope not," he said, and hugged her tightly. "I know this is different than the plan I told you before, but you have to go on next."

"I thought I was to be last," she said.

"That was before Fudge limited us to three witnesses. If you testify next, they'll have to put Narcissa on to counteract what you say. That will let me put Lupin on for the final witness. I don't know who their last one will be, but whoever it is won't have the impact that you and he will."

Molly kissed Arthur's cheek. "I'll do my best, no matter how nasty the professor is. I'm sure it won't hurt our side if I yell a bit at _him_! I know keeping Harry with us is the boy's only hope."

"Not necessarily. If Fudge offers a compromise that keeps him out of Deatheater hands, we'll have to accept it."

"I know," she said, though she hated the thought of Harry with anyone but her. "Well, we'd better go back downstairs or they'll think we're having more than a conference here!"

That made Arthur smile. They went to the hearing chamber again. Her husband officially called her as a witness, and she stepped up to the chair.

It _was_ bespelled. She felt magic surround her as she sat down on it. It wouldn't be impossible to lie here, but it would be extremely difficult, and no doubt everyone would _see_ if she lied here, too.

Arthur started with easy questions. "When did you first meet Harry Potter?"

"At King's Cross, at the beginning of Ronald's first year. Someone in a Muggle car dropped him off with some harsh words and left him there alone. He looked so small! He didn't know what to do, either, so I made sure he went through with the others. The next thing I know, my youngest boy owls me about the famous Harry Potter and how they were friends, how they were both sorted into Gryffindor, and how horrible Po—I mean, some of their classes were. Ronald tried to stay out of trouble at home, so I didn't worry about him as much as I did Fred and George."

She took a deep breath. "I had no idea Hogwarts had a _troll_ in the place! I was so proud the two boys were able to defeat it, but I wasn't happy they had to, if you take my meaning. I certainly heard all about it at Christmas. Ron was upset his friend had to stay at the school for the holidays, and so was I. It didn't seem right, and I sent a note to the Headmaster telling him we'd be glad to have the boy. I didn't understand why his own relatives didn't want him, either.

"The first time Harry spent any time at the Burrow was when the twins fetched him in the car that next summer. I won't discuss the boy's home, not having been there myself, but I was told things that upset me. I mean, _bars_ on his window? He didn't seem surprised by it, either. It was wonderful having Harry with us. But he was always so grateful for the most ordinary things." She wrinkled her brow. "I'd do something like wait supper for him or fuss to make sure he felt all right, and he just seemed astonished someone would take so much trouble. I—I've run into children like that a few times, and…the family usually turns out not to be all it could be, to put it nicely." Molly remembered some of her other lost lambs, and how she'd hated to let them go. She continued. "Now, I don't know anything _specifically_ about Harry's home or what kind of people his relatives are, but you told me yourself the way that Muggle acted when you came through their fireplace and he wasn't expecting it…"

"You may only talk about what you heard or saw for yourself, Mrs. Weasley," Arthur said in his official Ministry voice.

"Oh, right. I forgot. I will admit I was upset when the boys borrowed the car when that idiot Dobby wouldn't let Ron or Harry on the train. I probably said things in that Howler I shouldn't have. But even if Harry was too frightened to ask me for help, Ron should have known better. I would have given that elf some trouble, mind, but I would have seen them to the school one way or another. The two of them could have been killed in that thing!" She shook her head. "I know, you keep telling me how safe it was, but I think that beastly Anglia landed in the Whomping Willow on purpose."

"Mrs. Weasley?" That was Fudge this time.

"Sorry. I do run on, don't I? I'm still angry the Headmaster didn't let Harry come home to us that Christmas that year, either. None of the children wanted to tell me what was wrong at the school _that_ year till it started coming out in the Prophet, but one of them finally did." Even now she would keep Percy's confidence. "Then I found out about poor Miss Granger, and how she was petrified by the basilisk, along with several others. Before that year was over, I nearly marched up there myself half-a-dozen times to take the children home, including Harry. I was glad the girl was able to spend a little time at the Burrow that summer, even if she spent most of it trying to catch up on her studies. I thought it would do Ginny some good to have another girl close to her own age to talk to her after…after what happened." She bowed her head, then wiped her eyes. "The diary." Ginny, so full of herself, had been dreadfully quiet for several years afterwards, and was only now more like the girl she'd been. "I thought…I thought since she didn't want to say anything to me, at least she'd have someone there who knew what was going on. And Harry, poor Harry, who had to kill that awful basilisk, didn't have anyone at all! It wasn't right! It still isn't right!"

"How do you know the Muggles he lived with weren't helpful?" Arthur asked.

"How could they? How could they know what it was like to face a monster like that? Now, I'm not saying all Muggle homes are like that, and little Hermione's never said a word against hers, but maybe Professor Snape had the right end of the stick when he talked about the Muggleborn. They don't even feed him much, he's always lost weight between end of school and coming to see us. He ran away that summer, and I still wish he'd come to us instead of to the Leaky Cauldron. Things can't be right with him and his family if he has to do that.

"We've always made up a parcel to send him for his birthday and for Christmas. It's like no one ever did such a thing in the history of the world, to hear him talk. No one should have to be so grateful for something every child should have."

For some reason she looked over at Professor Snape. His face was so absolutely still that for a moment Molly wondered if he were still breathing. Then he blinked, and the illusion was broken. She'd heard rumors his childhood was unpleasant, and yet he said that he knew about the Malfoy family's generosity personally. Well. Maybe Lucius wasn't totally heartless, and had looked out for some of the younger ones in his house as a student once he was older. _Lucius Malfoy was cute as a first-year,_ she remembered irrelevantly. _That time when I was helping out in the infirmary and he came in with a nasty bump on his head, he was just a scared little boy who didn't mind sitting in my lap for a moment as long as his friends didn't catch him at it. How did he turn into such a horrible adult?_ For a little while, the small boy had followed her around like a puppy. Then he'd stopped, for no reason that she'd ever been able to find out, and wouldn't even talk to her the next year.

_But this trial isn't about Lucius Malfoy,_ she thought, then realized she was wrong. Without him, Narcissa wouldn't even be suing for custody of little Harry.

"Mrs. Weasley?" Arthur asked gently.

"Sorry. Just a bit of woolgathering," she said. "Since then, I've thought of Harry as my own as much as if I'd carried him myself. I wish Sirius Black wasn't dead, but since he's no longer here, I want the right to have the boy."

Her husband nodded. "Some of the ministers and other onlookers may not know how you are related to the Black family. I myself am a cousin through my sister's marriage, but there is no link by blood. Your relationship isn't as clear, at least to some. Please describe how you are related to Sirius Black."

"Oh, that's an easy one. Braeburn Black, Sirius Black's father, came to Lancre and stayed there for a couple of years. Nanny thought it was because he was in trouble over here, which I found out was true. Mam always believed Braeburn married her, at least the way our village counts it, but when he left the papers disappeared, too. She thought she'd been duped, and threw a pair of shoes he'd left into the river. Even though he'd only been gone a year, everyone thought she was right to do it, and counted her same as a widow. Well, she would have been counted just unmarried, but there I was in her arms." She blushed. "She remarried not long after. Mr. Prewitt was always nice, and never made any difference between me and my sisters. This time Nanny made sure the papers were locked away in a strongbox after Granny Weatherwax had gone over them looking for funny stuff.

"Everyone was surprised to see an owl bring me a letter and a Portkey on my eleventh birthday. I was already starting to apprentice for Goody Whemper, so I knew my letters, at least. But Dad Jack said this was too good to pass up, and so I went. It took me a while to get used to things, but at least the privies were indoors. Then I found out I was related to the other Prewitts here, and them all wondering where Jack had gone. Once a few letters went back and forth, I was accepted as one of them. I must admit, it wasn't much fun to find out my real father had remarried, but I worked out the calendar and it was after Mam had tossed his shoes, so I decided not to raise a fuss. The Prewitts didn't care anyway, so why should I? They'd always wondered what happened to Jack, and were glad he was still alive. Since he'd been friends with Braeburn, which was probably how he learned the way to Lancre, they were worried he'd been done in. They invited Dad Jack back, but he never went. Ten years ago he was killed in a harvesting accident." She sniffled a little. Molly had always loved her stepfather. "Ever since then Mam went off on her own." Brianna Ogg now ran the woods with the other maenads, along with Shirl, the youngest sister. All the other girls were married now, and tried to pretend they were content in their settled lives. Sometimes they looked out to the forest like they wanted to run there, too.

She looked at Arthur. "But I met you here, my love," Molly said. "I couldn't ever go back, though I thought about taking us all to the village when things were so bad the first time You-Know-Who killed so many people." _Including my two brothers, who made me feel like a real sister the moment I met them,_ she thought.

"Why didn't you?"

"Because there's one problem with the place. Wizards can't marry there, so you would have had to hide your powers and all the boys, too. How long would that have lasted?" She wouldn't care to tell Ginny she couldn't go to Unseen University, either.

Arthur nodded. They'd had that debate years ago. She was the only one who knew the way to Lancre, and to the rest of Discworld, too. _Of course Nanny Ogg and the other witches could make mincemeat of our villains, never mind the real wizards that lived there. But why take chances?_ This was her world now. Of course, if things became really nasty, she'd shove Ginny through the special Floo without a qualm, and maybe Hermione, too. Nanny would make sure the two were all right. The new witch, Magrat, was said to be fond of books as well.

Her husband asked her more questions, to which they both knew the answers. She glanced up at the clock and was astounded at how much time had gone by. _Only a few hours till dawn, even at this time of year. Have I said too much?_

"One last question, Mrs. Weasley," Arthur said. "On your oath as a witch, why do you want to adopt Harry Potter?"

"Because I love him." The arms of the chair felt warm, as if it approved of her answer.

Her husband sat down. Professor Snape stepped forward as gracefully as a dancing-master. Though his formal dress had some color to it, he felt as dark as if he'd worn his usual teaching robes. The part of her that recognized such things always made her nervous. _He's drowning in it,_ she thought, _only no one sees it or can extend a hand to lift him out._ For some reason she didn't understand, she glanced up at the gallery where the elderly couple she'd noted before were sitting. She knew there was something odd about them, too, but who would believe her if she said anything?

"Mrs. Weasley," he said abruptly. "So you would have the Boy-Who-Lived as part of your family. You already have six sons and one daughter. Some would call you greedy."

"Is that a question or an observation?"

He inclined his head, allowing strands of dark hair to fall over his gaunt face. "Is there some special reason you feel the need to increase the size of your family?"

"I've already said it! I love the boy and want to see him safe. What's so wrong about that?" It was the middle of the night and she should be asleep. It wasn't fair to feel about him the way she had at Fortescue's last summer. She'd have to hide it, again.

"Indeed, those are worthy sentiments. Are you certain that is your only motive?"

It wasn't fair for such a man to have a voice like his. It just wasn't. "If you've read our papers, you'll see we can't touch his money. He's the only who has access to it."

"And of course you would never, ever influence Mr. Potter to help your family with its many expenses." His eyes glittered.

"No," she said grimly. "If you read the attached financial statement, you'll see we have no need of that."

"You are a bit stretched, are you not?"

"Not as much as we were," she said proudly, though she felt heat wash up into her face. Snape had warned her and Arthur he was going ask personal questions. "And things are improving. A few more years should see us free and clear, and that's without a single blessed Knut from Harry. Arthur and I, we even came up with a good guess as to how much it would cost us to keep him if we took over all his expenses and we're still ahead of where we were."

"Still, as a member of your family he wouldn't be able to circulate with the sort of people he would meet if he were associated with the Malfoys." His face was more neutral now, and less actively hostile.

"My husband and I don't go to the Ministry parties much. There never seemed any point. But we'd be glad to go more often for Harry's sake, and take him as our guest. If there's anything wrong with the society in the Ministry, I'm sure they'd like to hear it. After all, they're sitting right over there."

A corner of Snape's mouth crooked upward at that sally, though his face was turned so only she could see it. "Your point is taken, Mrs. Weasley. However, there are many other affairs arranged only by those in the Malfoy circle that Mr. Potter would not be invited to if he belonged to your family. How would you compensate for that?"

"I haven't used the few connections I have very well, Professor. I'm still a member of the noble house of Black, though not the kind most people like to talk about. Since my connection is pretty direct even if on the wrong side of the sheets, I can play the pureblood game for Harry's sake." She felt the call of her mother's blood in her veins just now, but resisted it. It wouldn't help Harry if she let loose her anger. "I know quite well that I'm not elegant, or beautiful, or rich. I'm the sort who helps behind the scenes and is glad to sit down in the kitchen while the actual party is going on. But every group needs someone like that." It had broken her heart when she was younger to learn that her manners and dress made her a laughing-stock at many functions, one reason Arthur never insisted they go if she didn't want to. It had hurt his career to have a wife like her. _I should have learned to play the game a long time ago._

Snape raised one eyebrow sardonically. "I don't think that would be much help to Mr. Potter," he said. "However, I need to raise other, more serious questions. A woman with a broken family line is often suspected of being less than diligent about her own morals. When you attended Hogwarts, were you not known for an extremely active social life?"

There it was. She knew it was coming. Arthur had gone beet-red bringing it up, but both of them knew she would be questioned about it. _Men,_ she thought. _They call girls like me dirty names and brag about bedding us, but never look at how they tomcat around._ "Yes." Let Snape make what he could about _that_ answer!

"Indeed. Did you not have the nickname, 'the Whore of Huff—"

She stood up and yelled. "You take that back! I never did it for money in my life!"

"Please be seated, Mrs. Weasley," Fudge said from the central table.

She eased back down, breathing heavily. She didn't dare look at Dolly Umbridge, knowing curses would fly if she did. Her former roommate was the only one who would have told tales out of school over _that_!

Snape shook his head. "Such a shocking display of anger, Mrs. Weasley. Will Mr. Potter be treated to such scenes if he comes to live with your family?"

"Since you've heard most of the Howlers I've sent my own children, I think you know the answer already!" Molly said, trying to calm down. "I will admit he's seen me in a bad humor a few times already. But that's bold talk coming from _you,_ Professor! At least I've never thrown a jar of cockroaches at him!"

His voice became colder than ice. "I am not attempting to become his guardian," he said. "You are. I ask you again, will Mr. Potter suffer from your lack of control?"

It was clear he meant his concern. She'd better answer seriously. "I do yell sometimes," she said in a softer tone. "I've given the boys a smack or two when they most deserve it. But I've never really harmed them. I like to think the love and care I give them far outweigh my temper." She glanced over at Percy. He always withdrew whenever she was angry. Had she frightened him away over the years? But if she expressed any doubts, Snape would throw them right back at her. "I love Harry. I would never hurt him. He's been to the Burrow often enough to know what he's stepping into. I think it's a shame that he's not allowed to speak for himself in a hearing like this." She paused for a moment, then continued. "I do have a temper. I do yell. But it's not the only thing Harry knows about me." She glared at Snape, knowing he had to act a part for everyone's sake, but it was hard to remember when he said such horrid things. _What was his family like?_

"I am still surprised you feel the need to add yet another child to your family," he said with a sneer. "I suppose you enjoy having all those young men around."

She was about to answer _yes_, but saw the poison in the apple just before she bit into it. "I like seeing my sons happy with their friends," Molly said. "I just wish Ginny would bring more of hers over. The poor girl's outnumbered already! There are times when the place is overrun, and Arthur and I have a hard time finding privacy, but there's such joy when all of us are happy together. Harry blossoms when he's at our home."

Snape gazed at her in silent approval, then let his face grow hard again. "No doubt Mr. Potter will end up just another face in the crowd there."

She shook her head. She'd long come to terms dealing with her mob. "I disagree, Professor Snape. I make sure each one of mine have time with me every week when they're home, even if only helping with chores. Of course, the twins insist on being together then, too, but since you've taught them, you know all about that yourself. The older ones have moved out and I miss them dearly. But I'd never let Harry end up lost."

"Do your own children resent the time you spend with others?"

"Before today, I'd say no. But…oh, it breaks my heart to know I let Percy down like that. I want him back someday." She wiped her eyes. "But I can't let Harry go. I already love him like one of my own. I don't think he's safe without someone to protect him."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. You may step down."

She was glad to do so. No doubt Snape didn't want too many people thinking why the Malfoys might _not_ be safe for the boy, but she was tired and needed a break. Once more she and Arthur went up to his office, where she could wail in private. "I mucked it up, Arthur," she said, after sobbing into a handkerchief. "That cow Skeeter will put the whole thing in her next column."

"If we have Harry by then, it won't matter," he said, as he fetched her some tea. She almost wished he'd put a little dividend in it, except she needed to keep her wits about her for the rest of the hearing, too.

"I know." She sipped some tea, put the cup down, and blew her nose.

Her husband sat down and gave her a cup. "Snape could have been much worse than he was, you know."

"Oh, I do," she said, still hiccupping a little. "I could tell he liked some of my answers, though I hope nobody else did. Should I glare at him for a while, do you think?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes. We can't let the others think he went too easy on you."

She wished they could sit on the couch and lean against each other. _We'd probably both fall asleep if we did,_ Molly thought. "I hope they'll put Narcissa up next to counter what I had to say. I remember you saying your strategy was based on that. I wonder who their third witness will be?"

"Good question. I don't think they'll expect Remus." Arthur sat back and closed his eyes a moment before speaking. "I don't think Mrs. Goyle made a good impression on anyone. We're aren't the only ones who noticed a different date. I wish I could have spoken to someone who went to the funeral. Damn, I knew I was forgetting something! Young Malfoy could have told me a lot, and I never thought to ask him."

Molly finished her tea and gazed at her husband. "Sometimes I wonder how you came to love me. I did have an awful reputation back then. It would have been easy for you to take what you wanted and move on like the others."

He opened his eyes and smiled. "I'm the lucky one. Given the number of Hufflepuffs who showed up at our wedding ready to take my place if I faltered, I was nervous about drinking the punch! You'd be amazed at how many owls I had come in from the We-Still-Love-Molly Association last week, all swearing they'd never say a word to anyone, especially not Skeeter."

She laughed. Then she remembered something. "The Headmaster seems to think the professor is sweet on me, too. I told him it was none of his business even if Snape had done anything about it, which he hasn't."

"Well, my girl, if anyone could crack that Slytherin's ice it'd be you. Now I'm _really_ nervous about drinking the punch!"

They both guffawed over that. Molly didn't mention how the fire that was lit in her in Fortescue's was still burning. It was what she did that really mattered. It was just a coincidence that she wanted to go home more often and keep Arthur warm on the nights Snape made an appearance at 12 Grimmauld Place, even if Lupin did look at her funny sometimes.

She glanced up at the clock and then outside. It was still dark, but getting on towards morning. She stood up, stretched, and yawned. "Would it be all right if we had more tea at our table, love?" Molly saw a small twist of paper fall out of her sleeve. "Now that's odd," she said as she started to reach for it.

"Don't. Let me do that."

"Snape was the only one besides you close enough to leave me such a thing," she argued. Arthur didn't bend as well as he used to.

Nothing happened when she picked it up and untwisted it. "'AD Wizengamot' it says," she read out. "What does that mean?"

"He probably wants us to contact the Headmaster to find members of the Wizengamot and bring them here," her husband said. "He doesn't trust the Ministers to do what's right. Well, neither do I." He wrote a quick note, put it in a tube, and sent it down the chute to the Minister owlery.

"Are you sure it'll go through?" she asked.

"Sealed it with a touch of my own wand," Arthur said. "Even last year, Umbridge never tried to interfere with any of _my_ owls. She'd have to break some Ministry wards keyed just to me to do it, and she just isn't that good at magic. Fudge could put in his override, but there's no reason for him to. For all he knows I'm sending a reminder to Professor Lupin to hurry up and be sworn in, even though he could find out it's going to Hogwarts. Dawlish might interfere, but I haven't seen him here. Maybe Cornelius is doing us a favor by calling this hearing the way he did. Oh, and let me have the paper."

Molly handed it to him. Arthur burned it with his wand and banished the ashes. "If anybody on the wrong side found that, our Potions Master could be in danger even if his side should happen to win."

She turned pale. For a moment she'd forgotten the price Snape would have to pay for losing. "If we win…if we win, will they let him live, do you think?"

Arthur looked sober. "I hope so. But he knows what's more important. He'll deserve an Order of Merlin. We had a few conferences last week, and I'll be honest, we wouldn't be prepared at all without them. I thought it was just nerves, and he even said as much, but I'm glad for them now. I know I pledged you along with me when I made that promise about his Slytherins…"

"Well, I've done the same, love. We're in this together." She sighed. "But of course he won't see any honors, or anything but the backs of our hands for being the 'greasy git'. Arthur, it's not _right_!"

"I know. I've spoken with Dumbledore about it myself, but you know what that's like. By the time the conversation's over, you're convinced he has everything all planned and no matter what happens, it was his idea all along. It's only later you wonder if anything is going to be done. I think it's time we took matters into our own hands."

She bit her lip. "I shouldn't be passing common gossip along, but I've been talking with Poppy and Minerva. They won't tell me everything that happened at the school last summer, but…I have the dreadful notion it wasn't all You-Know-Who or those awful Swiss potions that made the professor so sick last summer."

Arthur just stared out the window and didn't say anything. Molly walked up to his side and took his hand. "I know you can't tell me everything you've heard at the Ministru, but I've noticed you're not disagreeing with me, either," she added.

He snorted. "Moody's said a few things along those lines. Moody, of all people! I never thought I'd hear him defending _Snape_!"

A clock chimed. They both turned to look at it, and the hands said clearly Time To Go Back to Work.

Arthur sighed, and turned away from the darkness outside. "Let's do our part, love, and see who will be in that chair next."


	61. Chapter 61: Witnesses Part 2

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.

Chapter 61: Witnesses Part II

Molly Weasley

Narcissa now sat in the witness chair. Even this late and low on sleep, the woman looked like an angel—maybe more so tonight, because she drooped and showed less of the icy hardness that sometimes characterized her face. Snape began his questioning in a low, gentle voice that went straight to Molly's heart. _They're no more than friends, though I think she wants more,_ Molly speculated. _But if he ever spoke to me like that, and didn't have Arthur to consider, I might just show him a thing or two he didn't expect._

She looked at her husband. Yes, she was a rich woman with him in her life already. Molly squeezed his arm and he smiled.

It was clear Narcissa was making a good case. She was the picture of a loving wife and mother. "I have always wanted more children," she said softly. "I've, I've never been lucky enough after Draco was born." Her voice quavered.

It was enough to make a goat weep. But Arthur's mouth hardened.

Snape helped the woman catalog a host of advantages young Mr. Potter would have if he lived at Malfoy Manor. "Of course he would have extra lessons in music, dance, and deportment," she said. "It would only be right. He would definitely be introduced to the right people, and it would be easy for him to start a career in Quidditch with the proper sponsorship, given his obvious ability. It would be good for Draco, too. He's never had a brother or sister. I think he would be less lonely with another boy his own age in the house." Her face shone with delight at the prospect.

Molly's heart went out to her. Too bad Lucius Malfoy came along with the package, or she could almost resign herself to seeing Harry go to another family. Snape had told the Order what other guests showed up at the Manor sometimes. Though what she'd heard about the Dursleys made her want to slap them, Harry's life was in no danger from them.

She had to win the hearing, or the boy was doomed. Arthur's idea of hiding Harry in the Muggle world till he was of age was probably a good one, but every lawful hand in the Wizarding World would be raised against him and deliver him to the Malfoys if Narcissa won. That probably included every unlawful hand, too.

The woman in the witness chair finished speaking, and Snape withdrew. He was beginning to look a trifle worn around the edges himself as the hours marched on. Molly was still a little unhappy about that old nickname being brought up, but he could have been much worse if he knew that much. _He might be punished for not making more of it even if the Malfoys win._

Arthur looked strong, though tired. He stepped forward. "First of all, may it please the Ministers, I wish to discuss a related matter."

"Keep it short," Fudge snarled. He was not a night person, either. Umbridge and one of the other Ministers were almost asleep.

"Of course, Minister," Arthur said, bowing his head. "I merely wish to comment that Mr. Potter is now in a much better position to inherit from Sirius Black according to the terms of the deceased's will than before. No matter which way this hearing goes, he will be magically adopted by someone related in blood to Sirius Black. A previous objection to the will was that the real property was entailed to the family, and could not possibly leave it. Now that has been overcome, since Harry will be considered the same as a blood relative in law."

Everyone sat up and blinked, including Snape. Molly was struck with admiration. Why, that would mean 12 Grimmauld Place would go to Harry much sooner than now seemed likely. Then she realized it was meaningless unless he lived.

Snape was scribbling like mad, so he'd probably thought of something that only a Slytherin could understand. He rose. "Perhaps I can offer a compromise in both matters, to avoid an apparent conflict of interest. Whoever is chosen guardian for Harry Potter's person must give up all claims to the Black property. The other side will be allowed the income, if any, from the real property till Mr. Potter comes of age, though they will be responsible for maintenance as well. The other bequests will be held in trust till his majority. When the boy reaches the age of 17, he should receive them outright, though the real property should retain its entail to him and his heirs. Naturally, any subsidiary bequests should be paid out as soon as the will is settled, which should be reasonably soon after this hearing is decided."

Molly puzzled it out. Once the hearing was over, the will should go through fairly quickly, or so she understood from what Snape said. The money for Remus should be paid right then, as well as anything else her cousin had left everyone but Harry. When he turned 17, he'd have everything handed over to him, but couldn't sell the house or give it to anyone but family. That sounded fair enough. What was the Potions Master really up to?

"What of access to the property?" Arthur asked.

"That should belong to the party responsible for maintenance. Surely one cannot properly take care of a property one cannot see." Snape looked rather smug.

"Control of the keys currently lies in the hands of Remus Lupin, the designated executor." Arthur said. "Until such time as he is able to turn them over to his friend's heir, he intends to retain them." Her husband didn't look happy.

"That would have to be negotiated," Professor Snape said. "However, since the property will eventually pass into the control of Mr. Potter, perhaps he should become familiar with the place and decide if he is able to manage it."

Something bothered Molly about that, and she couldn't think what. She bit her lip as she realized the thorn within the roses. If they won custody of Harry, they'd have to clear out of the safe house and find another because the Malfoys would have to be given the keys, unless Lupin could delay long enough. She doubted the Ministry would let Remus dawdle for long, though.

Arthur nodded, looking unhappy as well. Molly reached up and tugged at her husband's sleeve. "I need to confer with my client, but that can wait till after I've taken my turn with this witness," he said.

"Good," said the Potions Master, "since I need to speak with mine."

"Are you both quite through?" Fudge asked.

"Yes, Minister," Arthur said. He bowed slightly to Narcissa Malfoy and began. "I understand that you are fond of Mr. Potter and wish to give him every advantage. But you are a married woman. Molly and I are in complete agreement over our suit. How does your husband feel about this matter?"

"Why, he's very happy about it. I have several letters from him which have been entered as evidence of his consent." Her cheeks began to fill with color, as if she already knew where this line of questioning was headed. Molly almost felt sorry for her. If Arthur had ever been so foolish—well, he would hear harsh words in private, but she would have kept up a front, too.

"And from where were these letters sent?"

"From Azkaban, as you well know." Her voice was a bit crisper now. "But we are appealing his captivity. He hasn't even been tried yet."

"Why is he there?"

"Why are you making me say this? Everyone knows he was captured in this building in the Department of Mysteries. But I swear he had to be under the Imperius spell! Why else would he have done such a thing?"

"Why indeed, Mrs. Malfoy," Arthur said. "We've been dancing around your husband's associations all night as if they didn't exist, just as some have about You-Know-Who."

"But he would never hurt the boy!" She twisted in her seat as if the chair was giving her a bad time of it.

"Are you really certain?" Her husband's face looked sad. "Perhaps someone will Imperio him again. Wasn't that what happened the last time, about fifteen years ago?"

"At least nobody is going to shriek at Mr. Potter like a fishwife if he tracks mud into the place!" Narcissa said shrilly.

"There are worse things, Mrs. Malfoy. Can you really say your home is safe for Harry Potter?"

The blonde woman's mouth moved, but no words came out. Molly cynically thought that this should end the hearing now, but knew it wouldn't. She quickly glanced up into the gallery. The elderly couple she'd first spotted were now fully awake and leaning forward. Both of them looked rather angry, too.

Other seats above were beginning to fill up. Of course the Headmaster hadn't appeared yet. No sense in showing your hand too early. They still had plenty of time with two more witnesses to appear.

Narcissa was dismissed, and fled the room in tears, followed by Snape. Arthur returned to the table. Molly whispered, "Where's Lupin?"

"He'll be along soon. But I had to make the point about the property. The house would be a better place for him to stay if we lose the hearing than the Dursleys, though he'd have to be well-guarded."

"He'll hate it as much as Sirius did."

"It would only be while he wasn't at Hogwarts, till this next summer anyway."

"When _has_ he been safe at the school, I'd like to know," she sniffed.

"Well, safer, anyway," Arthur conceded. "If we win the guardianship, we can hide him as much as we want. But if you were listening, you would have heard Snape conceding the boy should inherit no matter which way thing go."

"If he lives long enough." Molly was still afraid.

"We'll have other problems besides the Black house if he dies," Arthur said. "Gringotts is likely to sell the place and split the money among you, Narcissa, and Miss Tonks. Well, unless it's all over but the shouting and everything goes to _his_ followers. Of course, I like to think _we'll_ still be alive, but there's no counting on that, either. The goblins will manage no matter what happens. They always do."

"Yes, and a good thing, too," she said, thinking of Bill. "They do protect their own."

Arthur blinked, clearly not following her this time. She whispered, wishing they'd gone up to the office again. "You carry on with winning, love. I'll worry about what to do about losing. I'll shove Ginny into Lancre with my own hands if need be, and if she'll let me, the Granger girl as well. Bill will be in the thick of it, but the goblins _do_ look after their own. Charlie's with his dragons, and they protect what's theirs, too. I can't think of any way to keep Ronald from standing with his friend, although it breaks my heart to know it. Nobody's been able to keep up with the twins. But Percy…oh, dear, I am so afraid for him."

Arthur took her hand in his, and didn't say a word. He was her strength when all else failed, and in turn she tried to be his. Well, if the worst happened she had one more choice the others didn't. She had always chosen to be a witch, rather than give into the fire in her blood that beckoned with maenad strength. Witches lived a lot longer, for one thing, and the more years she spent with her family, the better. In a decade or so, she'd lose that choice once the power of her womb finally faded away.

But if it meant protecting them, she'd let her blood burn and take her chances.

Remus Lupin walked into the court, looking as if he were ready for a Sunday stroll. It heartened her to see him so confident. Narcissa Malfoy and Snape returned to the hearing room, looking ready to ride into battle again. The Potions Master twisted his mouth when he caught sight of the werewolf.

Their next witness went to the chair and sat down. He blinked and took a deep breath as if he could feel the magic of the seat immediately.

Arthur stepped up. "Who are you, and what is your relationship to Harry Potter?"

"I am Remus Lupin. I was a friend of his father and mother, and a friend of Sirius Black. I held Harry Potter in my arms when he was a day and a half old. I care deeply for the boy, and want him safe and happy."

"What is your current position?"

"I am teaching Defense against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, where Mr. Potter goes to school. I am in a position to observe him and his friend several times a week and during most of each weekend. I know he wants a family more than anything else in the world."

"Why do you think we would be a good one for him?"

"Because you already are. When Harry talks about you and your wife, his face lights up and for once he is happy. He's already nattering at me about what kind of presents he thinks you would like for Christmas, and if I would hide them for him so his friend Ronald won't find out what he's going to receive."

Molly swallowed. It was such an ordinary thing! How terrible that it wasn't, at least not for Harry. She resolved to make a roast beef with more dripping than usual, Harry's favorite, sometimes over the holidays. She'd already chosen a goose for Christmas, but with her mob it'd be eaten anyway. Harry had never had a Weasley Christmas, and it was about time he did. It had been years since everyone was home under the tree. She wished she hadn't listened to the Headmaster about keeping hers there for so many years in a row. But then, the only alternative would have been to let poor Harry stay there alone.

Arthur looked pleased. "What else have you observed?"

"I know that Molly Weasley is the one person Harry will talk to even when he's so angry he won't do anything but snarl at the rest of us. He's better of with her than with the Malfoys."

"Is there anything specific you can point to?"

"Yes." Lupin turned sober. "Last year, Mrs. Weasley encountered a boggart when I was visiting. It appeared to her in the form of her dead children, one at a time. The one I saw--one of them was Harry."

The room was silent for a moment. "That is an excellent story, Mr. Lupin," Madam Umbridge interrupted, her face pale.

"I will repeat it under Veritaserum, if you don't trust the magic of this chair."

Molly had to close her eyes. Even now, the memory of that dreadful day was with her. She still had no idea how the boggart had become both twins at the same time. She wouldn't admit it here, but seeing her husband dead had been the worst. It had almost been relief when Nagini had bitten him, and she'd had something real to worry about. _I wish I hadn't shouted at him so much,_ she thought. _This year has been so much better. _

She sighed, and wiped her face clean of the tears she hadn't been able to keep back. To distract herself, she looked up at the gallery again. The place was even more full than before. _I wonder how many wizards have to be here to make things official?_ The old wizard and witch who had been there from the start looked annoyed at losing their privacy.

Arthur finished with Remus. Molly frowned a moment. When her husband sat down and Snape stood up, she whispered, "Weren't you going to let everyone know right off Remus is a werewolf? You know what the professor is going to do now."

"Damn!" he said softly. "I knew I was forgetting something. When he talked about the Boggart, I wish I could have forced a vote among the ministers right then."

"I wish I knew who the Malfoy's last witness is going to be," she said. "But nothing to do now but hope things don't go as badly with ours as it might."

Snape began his interrogation. "Professor Lupin," he intoned. "If you are so fond of young Mr. Potter and knew him from infancy, why did you not petition to become his guardian yourself instead of the Weasleys?"

"I am single and without other relatives. Harry needs a family."

"I see. How unfortunate. Somehow I feel you have left out part of your biography, Mr. Lupin. Have you taught at Hogwarts before this year?"

"Yes."

"Is that all you wish to say?"

"Yes. I did teach Harry three years ago, also in the Defense against the Dark Arts position. I tried to help him as much as I could."

"I see. And just when, precisely, were you going to inform the ministers that you are a werewolf?"

"I thought it common knowledge by now. Enough people read the Prophet three years ago, I should think Apparently, someone who was against my teaching there in the first place likely informed them. I resigned soon after, rather than harm the school's reputation. Plus, I am utterly certain that Minister Umbridge recalls my presence at a recent dinner party."

_A good hit!_ Molly thought exultantly. _I'm glad to see him stand up for himself._

"Can you think of any episode the first time you taught that might make people believe you were not able to manage your condition?"

Lupin fidgeted, bit his lip, and was obviously fighting the chair to keep silent. Then he sighed. "I was in the habit of taking the Wolfsbane Potion shortly before the full moon. One month I failed and put students, including Harry, into danger. And yes, I put you in danger too, since you were also present."

Snape inclined his head. "I see. How are things different this year?"

"You know why it's different, damn you! Black's dead and that's the way you like it!"

"If you know a reason why I should miss him, I will certainly be glad to hear it," Severus said with a snarl. Then he stood and took a few deep breaths. "But I digress. Allow me to follow the chronology. James and Lily Potter marry, with you and your friends in attendance. Their son is born a respectable time later. By the time the boy is a year and a few months old, James and Lily die. Your former friend Pettigrew also dies, or is thought to be dead enough that Sirius Black is charged with his murder. Harry Potter is an orphan. And yet you make no attempt to contact him or see to his welfare. In fact, you do not speak to him again until he is thirteen years old. I am _awed_ by your dedication to the boy's welfare, Mr. Lupin." Snape shook his head.

Remus looked crushed. When Molly heard it put that way, she did wonder why Lupin had done so little. _At the very least he could have gone to the Headmaster to find out where the boy was,_ she thought.

But maybe he did. Maybe he was told Harry was just fine with his mother's relatives, safe in the Muggle world, and that going to see the boy would only put the child in danger. Molly resolved to ask some questions of the Headmaster when this was over.

Yet Lupin could have visited Hogwarts, if only to see the boy, long before he began teaching there without risking the Muggles finding out. Why had he stayed away? Oh, if little Luna had been in a similar fix, she would have found a way to check on the girl. Molly resolved to ask the werewolf some questions, too.

She turned her attention back to the witness stand. Snape was speaking. "We've all heard that werewolves assisted in the attack on Azkaban. Where were you that night?"

Molly turned her grin into a grimace. She had thought up the answer to that one herself, just to make sure nobody had funny ideas about Lupin or his testimony.

"Why, I took my potion," Remus said with a smile. "You made it for me yourself. I will testify to that under Veritaserum, too. Considering what you put into it, I should count myself lucky to have any idea what was going on that night."

Snape's lips curled. "Indeed. How clever you are to remain so ignorant. It's much easier to stay silent and watch, isn't it? Much more fun than doing one's duty."

Lupin flushed red. Molly looked down at her papers. Ronald hadn't done much as a prefect last year, either. At least he had the excuse of trying to deal with the twins, though from the way he and Hermione had argued, her youngest son hadn't really tried.

"I have learned my lesson, Professor Snape," Remus said. "As the executor of my friend's estate, it is my duty to see his wishes are fulfilled. And that means making sure Harry Potter lives long enough to inherit what is rightfully his!"

"Do you really think the Malfoys are so malevolent that they would harm an innocent boy? You were a guest at the Manor yourself not long ago, and appeared to get on well with your hostess. What has changed your mind?"

Remus looked tired. Then again, so did everyone. "I know the Weasleys, Professor Snape. They will care for Harry as a boy, and not as a china figurine. I should be very unhappy indeed if he turned out like Draco Malfoy."

Molly really expected the Potions Master to flare up at that. Narcissa was certainly looking daggers at the werewolf. Snape, however, froze on the spot for a moment, then stepped away from the witness. "There is more to the boy than you have seen, Mr. Lupin. Unlike some born to wealth, he has yet to spend time attacking a single victim without friends or family while his own companions stand around egging him on or pretending nothing is happening. Despite a few unfortunate incidents, in which he has come off badly, he is too busy to sit up plotting traps and unpleasant pranks. It was not Mr. Potter who was turned into a ferret in his fourth year or a slug in his fifth."

_At least I kept Bill and Charlie from going down that route,_ Molly thought. _And the twins decided to take on the whole school, it seems, though Arthur is still unhappy with them about something he won't talk about. _She remembered reading something in the sports pages about future players and possible contracts—several teams had had to shuffle their lineups after all those black boxes on the front page of the Prophet last summer—no, she'd lost it.

Lupin answered quietly, with all the spirit gone from him. "Harry has all the money he will ever need," he said. "The Weasleys will give him love. Even a Boggart knew Molly already thinks of him as her own child. As for my own failings, that doesn't matter. I'm not the one petitioning to be Harry's guardian. She is. She's cared for the boy since she laid eyes on him. If you check the records, the Weasleys were one of the families who offered to take him just after his parents died."

"The Malfoys are on that list as well, Mr. Lupin. You may step down."

Remus nodded at them on his way out the room. Arthur waved him over. "Take a place up in the gallery," her husband said. "We might need you later on."

Lupin nodded. He looked unhappy. Molly stood up and patted him on the shoulder. "You did just fine. Professor Snape was a bit nasty about things." The dark Slytherin had kept to the script for the important parts, though.

"He was right," Remus said. "I never tried to see Harry before his third year at Hogwarts, and that was mostly because Sirius had escaped. I let the Maruaders use Snape as a dish rag for years, never mind almost killing him twice." He lowered his voice. "Last summer, when he was too ill to make the Wolfsbane Potion for me, he was so frightened just before the full moon I thought he was having a heart attack. I must admit, I didn't like having Firenze guarding me, but I've never had to be that afraid of anything. Last year, Harry found out some of what we were up to during our school years, and Sirius and I more or less just made excuses. What kind of example am I setting him?"

Those were good points when Remus put things that way. She let it go for now. She'd talk with him some more later about all of them. Poppy had told her about Snape's collapse and Molly had enjoyed the mediwitch's recounting of her lecture to the rest. "Well, go have something to drink and take a seat upstairs. In fact, there's an older couple up over there—" she quickly waved towards the section—"who have been there since we started. I bet they'd like someone to fetch them some tea." Lupin might smell it out if anything was really wrong about them, or if he'd met them before somewhere else.

She and Arthur were glad to take a longer meal break up in his office. The ministers had departed themselves, whether to another room or to the Pig and Whistle was anybody's guess. Molly said nothing about her husband's cigarette, even if her husband was using a week's allotment tonight. She'd have plenty of time to fuss at him tomorrow.

Severus Snape

The Potions Master sat down in the quiet room they'd been given for preparations, and shuddered. "Narcissa, I must apologize for my pettiness." The strength the Dark Lord had given him was running out. He still had one more witness and closing arguments before him.

"I wanted to slap him myself when he said that about Draco," she replied, leaning back in the leather office chair. "And many would _expect_ you to behave that way."

"Yes, I keep forgetting." He closed his eyes for a moment. _I have to be careful what I say in here, despite the privacy wards. I hope Narcissa remembers it._ He leaned back in his own chair and heard her murmuring to someone in the fireplace. Snape knew he was taking a chance with his third witness. Maybe it didn't matter what anybody said. Maybe it was all politics and they were just acting out a charade while everything was really arranged by someone else. _That wouldn't be the first time here,_ he thought.

"Here, have this," Narcissa said.

He opened his eyes to see and smell a freshly brewed cup of tea. The Potions Master blinked and gladly took it into his hands. The warmth offered some brief comfort, as did the taste.

"I know you don't normally take sugar in your tea, but you need it," she said, as she sipped her own cup. A silver tea service sat on the table on a cloth.

"How—" He gestured at the sterling cups and pots on the tray.

"Made up at Malfoy Manor and passed through the fire to us." She brushed a little soot off the main teapot. "We'll have to fetch our next witness the same way, and won't she hate it."

He nodded wearily. _I wonder if I ought to take the potion I brought now, or wait till later. I'll be in trouble when it runs out._

The door opened and two people walked in. Snape immediately rose from his chair and went to his knees, while Narcissa stood. "My lord," he said. "I hope the hearing is progressing to your satisfaction."

"So far," said the hissing voice. A glamour only changed the way a person looked, while Polyjuice changed the actual form, which influenced the voice as well. "That was an interesting point you made with the werewolf. Why didn't he try to contact the boy once he was going to Hogwarts?"

"I do not know, my lord. I wished I could have found a way to mention that Sirius Black could apparently escape from Azkaban any time he wished to, but didn't till he saw Pettigrew was still alive, though in his Animagus form. He was the brat's godfather."

The Dark Lord nodded. "We shall have to keep an eye on Minister Weasley. He seems far more enterprising and intelligent than rumor has painted him."

"Yes, I fear I have underestimated him as well," Snape confessed. "In the few interactions I have witnessed, it seemed to me that Mrs. Weasley was the head of the household. I was quite surprised to see her husband so effective." _That_ was certainly the truth.

The 'old woman' standing by Voldemort's side yawned. "We'd better stay down here," she said. "It's starting to fill up where we were. Word is going around fast about this hearing. That idiot Lupin was headed in our direction, who knows why, and I didn't want to talk to _him_."

Snape held quite still. If the werewolf had smelled either one, he would have recognized the scent and quite likely removed the spell that concealed the Dark Lord and Bella Lestrange from the others. In the fight to capture or kill them, he would have had to reveal his true position. How would that affect that wretched Prophecy if Tom Riddle was captured here?

Narcissa bowed her head. "You may stay here, of course, though I fear it will be even more boring than sitting up in the gallery."

Severus desperately hoped the pair would leave the Ministry Building, Britain, and this life as rapidly as possible, but doubted he would see any of it. He also needed to find an easier position than on his knees.

He bowed his head. "My lord, our final witness will be coming soon. She lives out in the Muggle world and will already be frightened by much of what she will see."

"That horrible Figg woman? _Again?_" Bella sneered. "Didn't she do enough damage when that stupid Dementor went after the wrong boy?"

"She lives in the neighborhood, my lord," Snape said, though he acknowledged the woman's comment with a glance. "She is a keen observer, who has often been asked to care for the Potter boy when the rest of the family is away. Her testimony would be valuable. However, my witness is someone else, who is more likely to be impressed by Mrs. Malfoy." Her identity wouldn't be a secret long, but he savored it nonetheless.

"You didn't!" Bella said with a whoop of laughter. "Let me guess, it's that horrible Muggle aunt!"

He nodded, pretending to be overwhelmed by her brilliance.

"Are you certain this is wise, Severus?" the Dark Lord said.

"She will offer much to support Narcissa's contention that any Muggle home is unfit for any witch or wizard, my lord," he said. "Do the two of you wish to sit at our table?" He had to offer, though he prayed to be spared the ordeal of having them both so near.

"I think we have been here long enough," Voldemort said. "Lupin could have recognized us by smell, and that would have been unfortunate. I would like to view your triumph with my own eyes, but never fear, I have no trouble using those of others. Now rise from your knees. You have work to do."

"Thank you, my lord," Snape said. He pushed himself up with one hand on the table and stood. He dare not sit down until given permission. "I must warn you that even if we gain legal custody of the boy, that it may not be easy to lay hands on him. That was why I agreed so easily to the compromise over the disposal of Black's property. It sounds like a modest victory for the Weasleys, since if they lose the case, they would likely use their access to the Black house to keep physical possession of the boy. However, this gives _us_ access to the place should we lose."

He sat for a moment, and realized no one else, including Narcissa, truly understood. "I know this seems confusing. It is still best for us to win the case and gain legal custody, even if the boy is hidden somewhere else. We will have the right to use all the resources of the Wizarding World to find him if he disappears. However, if the Weasleys win, it's not over yet. We'll have access to the Black property till next July, and Mr. Potter will be expected to look at the place some time in the future. With any luck we'll have a surprise waiting for him when he does, since Portkeys, for instance, can be left as items the boy will have most interest in, and be more likely to handle on his own. I'm certain the dog had a few Quidditch souvenirs lying about, and Potter will certainly be interested in looking at those. Surely we are better off going the long way round and making sure of our target." It was risky to use that reasoning, given that rushing things was how the raid on Azkaban went badly, but it was all he had.

Bella's eyes still looked blank, though Narcissa and the Dark Lord clearly grasped some of his argument.

"The property is the least important of our priorities," Voldemort said. "However, I shall consider your proposal. Bella and I will leave now, but your success or lack of it will reach our ears as soon as it happens. Be sure you will be rewarded or punished accordingly." He turned towards his companion. "I hate to cheat you of your fun, my dear, but you understand the stakes. You can always try your new curse on the boy, after all."

Severus shuddered inwardly, but maintained his usual composure. "If I may be seated, my lord?" he asked. Perhaps that request would satisfy Bella's wish to see him grovel.

"Of course, my Shadow. I am certain you have much to speak of with your client. I wish you luck dealing with your next witness." Voldemort left the room, Bella at his side.

"Drink your potion," Narcissa said as soon as the other two were gone and the door closed.

"I know," he said, sinking into his chair and leaning his head on the cool surface of the table for a moment. "It will last for only a few hours, though. If the hearing goes past noon, I won't be much help."

"Now sit up and eat something along with it," she said briskly. "It's almost morning now. I hope Cornelius isn't a stickler about the definition of dawn, or will let your witness finish anyway."

Snape obeyed and took some tiny, flavorful pasties from the plate she pushed over to him, and washed them down with his potion. "I'm surprised neither Dobby nor Winky have shown up with one of those Swiss potions yet," he said. "I need a detoxicant dealing with the Ministry in any form."

He sat for a few moments to allow the food and the stimulant to work before trying to stand.

"Once this is over, I'll take you back to the manor to rest," Narcissa said.

"Be prepared to have a hysterical house elf on your hands, then," he said. "Winky has become possessive. What would Marta say if you were ill and she wasn't there to tend you?"

"I'd hate to see it," she said with a smile. "Very well, then, I'll let you go back to Hogwarts. I never thought to see _you_ in the clutches of a devoted elf, though."

"Neither did I. I'm just amazed I've persuaded her to wear protective gear around the ingredients when she's helping me in Potions. I had to point out that it was _equipment_ and not clothes before she'd touch the lab coat."

She grinned broadly. "I would really like to see that! I tried to put all the elves at the manor in monogrammed pillowcases once, and you should have heard the whining. I finally gave up. Dobby was the worst. It's hard to imagine him at Hogwarts taking a salary and wearing clothes, after belonging to Lucius all these years."

"I think Dobby would rather belong to Mr. Potter, but since he can't have that, would rather not belong to anyone. Of course, Lucius does have a special gift for rousing rebellion in those subordinate to him."

Narcissa grimaced. "Yes. He does. We'll, we've put it off long enough. Time to fetch our witness."

She was right. This break had already run longer than the others. Snape stood without shakiness now and approached the Floo in the small conference room. He threw some powder and called out, "Dursley residence." It had been foolish for Arthur Weasley to have come through the Muggles' fireplace years ago. It had even been more foolhardy for Dumbledore to put them on the network in the first place. Now it came in handy.

The flame roared. He hoped the woman had not turned away the owl or his instructions. However, her anxious face was soon framed by the fire. "Is it time?" Petunia Dursley asked. "I've been up most of the night, wondering what to tell Vernon if he found out I was out of bed. I left him a note, but you know he'll be angry when I return."

"Perhaps not," Snape said. "You have been part of a research study conducted by a wizard interested in families which live in the Muggle world, but have some knowledge of magic through their children. You will return with a packet of Muggle banknotes for your services and a certificate of participation. That should ease his temper somewhat."

She closed her eyes. "Oh, thank you," she said. "You're the only one who understands what it's like, Professor Snape. I don't know what I would have done without your help last summer. A pity you aren't asking to be his guardian."

"We wouldn't suit," he said curtly. "If you will take my hand, I will help you into this room. You will be able to return the same way, even if the fire dies out on your end."

Soon she was standing there, dressed in her Sunday best, though she seemed somewhat rumpled. She looked down at herself and murmured, "Oh, dear."

Narcissa quickly brought out her wand and chanted a spell that sent a light breeze fluttering over the Muggle woman. In a moment, her hair was coiffed as if she'd just stepped away from her mirror, and her dress was as fresh as if worn home from the store. "There you are, Mrs. Dursley," Mrs. Malfoy said in a cultured accent. "If you will sit down and have a cup of tea, we'll explain everything. We may have to do so quickly, though."

Snape gratefully allowed Narcissa to take over, and sat once the ladies were settled.

"I am Narcissa Malfoy," she began. "I am petitioning for your nephew's guardianship till he comes of age next summer, though I will have a relationship with him for the rest of his life because of it. I can offer him many advantages the other family suing for the same thing cannot."

"You told me," Petunia said, looking at Snape. "Those awful Weasleys, so loud, so crude…I remember that dreadful man, wrecking our parlor. I've never met the mother, actually, but I can only imagine."

"Well, Arthur Weasley is a bit, er, middle class, but his wife is more of a peasant. A worthy woman of that type, but not the sort I would care to leave a relative with if I expected anything of them in future. Seven children, can you imagine? And every neighbor child dropping in as if it were their own. Not what I would call respectable, really. Her husband dotes on her, but one has to wonder if he dislikes giving up his ambitions for her sake. I mean, she's not really the type one can take anywhere."

_And what do you really think of the jumped-up Knockturn Alley gutter rat sitting by you right now, my dear?_ Snape mentally counted backward from fifty to zero in Latin. He understood why Narcissa had to say this to their next witness, but it drove him mad to hear Molly spoken of this way. Arthur was the luckiest man in the world, with the sense to know it.

Petunia Dursley nodded, obviously concerned about the impression she gave. Snape knew he would hear what Narcissa really thought about this woman once she had returned to her home. He sometimes wondered what she said about _him_ to others in her circle when Draco was not present, but thought he was probably better off not knowing.

The Potions Master was surprised one of the clerks had not already told them to return to the hearing. _Perhaps Fudge has nipped out for a quick one,_ he thought, wishing he could do the same.

He interrupted their chat. "I will have to appear stern when I question you in the hearing. You will probably have to hear things you don't like about Mr. Potter's treatment at home, especially when he was younger. None of this, of course, will reach the ears of your neighbors or any of your husband's customers." Snape could read her desperate need for respectability as if it were written on her forehead. Some who fell on hard times ended up on Knockturn Alley, and were ferocious about keeping up appearances, at least for a while. "Naturally the Muggle authorities will know nothing of this."

"Why should they care?" Petunia said sharply.

"You are in a difficult position, Mrs. Dursley, but some of the boy's treatment does not reflect well on your family. In fact, several queries were sent to the Muggles in charge of such things by his first school. Inquiries were made as to why he was underweight and why he wore only his cousin's castoffs. Your neighbors have sometimes overheard your husband when he was angry, and have only sympathy for your plight. Muggle makeup does not always hide as much as you would like it to." She _had_ tried, he'd realized, once he'd read those reports.

Petunia turned her face away. The Slytherin continued. "It is a common pattern for some in distress to take out feelings on another. Yours is not the only family to show it. You are to be commended for managing things as well as you have so far. Mr. Potter's home situation is _unpleasant_, but I'm sure you realize it could be far worse. I suspect you have intervened to avoid those alternatives, at what cost to yourself only you know." He wasn't sure if he was flattering the woman shamelessly or only stating the truth. "However, you will have to face some ugly things while you are in that chair. I must also warn you that it will be difficult to lie while sitting there. I shall try to help the ministers realize how hard you have tried to keep the family whole. I have to admit that I have a terrible temper myself, and find it difficult to keep in check around the boy. He can be quite aggravating at times."

As he expected, she thawed a little. He restrained his own anger on Potter's behalf. _At least she does not drink,_ Snape reminded himself. _And she has likely faced many of the situations my mother did. I must remember that._ There had been occasions his mother had taken her frustrations out on him, though she had always been sorry after.

"I see," she said. "I wondered if this day would come. I knew there was something wrong, but I could never stop it till last summer. All the old man did was to threaten me, threaten us…but why did he keep sending Harry back, if we were so horrible? If you knew how to help us, I mean really help, why didn't he?"

"As to that, madam, many of my students come from homes with difficult situations, despite outward appearances. Not the Malfoys, of course," he said, inclining his head towards Narcissa. "I believe the Headmaster was reluctant to ask for my help since I have been so angry with the boy at the school. I made the assumption that Mr. Potter was cosseted and adored from the beginning, since he behaved so much like his father who was spoiled outrageously." _And then I have to watch Lucius and Narcissa ruin Draco the same way._ He added, "The Headmaster still has trouble believing anyone's home life is not as pleasant as his own was, or so I think."

Mrs. Dursley nodded. "Well, if I'm to be held up as a public disgrace, I might as well have it over and done with. I may be only one of those pathetic, powerless Muggles, but I do have some pride."

"Very well. I will question you first. Mr. Arthur Weasley will be next. Remember to tell only the truth. You are a Dursley, as well as an Evans. That is nothing to be ashamed of."

She stood, as did they all. They entered the hearing room. Once there, Petunia Dursley walked to the chair as if she were going to her execution. Snape almost felt like saluting such courage.

Molly Weasley

She felt better after she and Arthur had had a bite to eat from a cabinet in Arthur's office. It was late, or early. Either way, Molly was glad of the food, though it was beginning to make her sleepy.

She woke up the moment the last witness entered. Molly gaped with astonishment when she saw the woman and heard her name announced. Arthur had told her all about the Dursleys, and she was still outraged at the thought of _bars_ on Harry's window. The boy himself said little, but the way he reacted to a normal family life didn't need words. _She certainly has brass_, she thought, watching how Mrs. Dursley sat down on the chair and grimly stared at the witches and wizards around her.

Snape stepped forward. "Your name, please."

Now that was silly, after it had been said out loud, but Molly knew Snape had a reason for everything he did. _Now, did the Headmaster learn it from him or he from the Headmaster? Or are they both like that already?_ The Potions Master looked a bit better, as if the longer break had been good for him as well.

"Mrs. Petunia Dursley," said the Muggle woman. "I was born Petunia Evans and Lily Evans, Harry's mother, was my sister."

"And your parents?"

"Darwin and Alicia Evans."

"Grandparents?"

The horse-faced woman looked puzzled, but complied. "Father's family came from Wales. His father was Artemis Evans, and my grandmother on that side was Madeline Jones before her marriage. Her brother, my great-uncle Henry, was an archaeologist. On my mother's side, her father was Lewis Hagarth, and her mother Margery Oliver. There's a family story that it used to be Ollivander, but I've never understood it. I mean, it's not like we live in the States where people change them all the time for no good reason that I can see."

A hush settled on the court. "Why does that make a difference?" the Dursley woman asked.

"The name Ollivander belongs to a prominent Wizarding family," Snape explained. "Are you aware of the term 'squib'?"

"Yes!" she spat. "It's what Lily called me when she came home from school. That, and 'Muggle'. She was _sorry_ for me when she realized what it meant when she received a letter and I didn't. Oh, my parents knew it, too. They were so _proud_ of her. No chores for the little princess, _when_ she was home, so guess who ended up doing double duty year-round. I wasn't important enough for any special schools, you see."

Molly looked down at the table. Hogwarts was expensive with as many as they had. _If one of ours had missed going, would I have made him the house dogsbody? Or would I have sent him to Cousin Jerome and asked them both to do their best?_

"Clearly, she should not have called you both," the Potions Master said gently. "A Squib is someone who comes from a Wizarding family and has no magic, while a Muggle is simply…a Muggle, who is not expected to have any such gifts."

"Then I'm surprised all these...Squibs don't just leave for our world!" Mrs. Dursley said. "Why stick around where you're not wanted?"

"An interesting point. Unfortunately it is not relevant to this hearing. Please tell us in your own words how your household became the one to care for Harry Potter."

Molly sat up. She wanted to hear this for herself.

"Well, it was a year and a few months after the boy was born. We were invited to the christening. We really should have gone, I suppose, but knowing that dreadful Sirius Black was going to be the godfather, I just couldn't."

"Why would his presence bother you?"

"Because he couldn't keep his paws off me at Lily's wedding, and with my own husband standing right by! I'd just learned I was carrying Dudley, or I would have slapped him. You saw it yourself—you were the one who made him stop before Vernon did something that probably would have ended with him turned into a toad or something."

Molly didn't remember that from the wedding—she'd heard there was a bit of fuss over the punchbowl later on, but had been too busy trying to keep Bill and Charlie out of trouble.

She glanced at Arthur, and he nodded. "If Snape hadn't done anything, I was next in line," he whispered. "You were in the loo with Charlie, and Bill was in the gents by himself."

Fortunately Mrs. Lovegood had watched Percy and the twins. Molly did some calculations—no, she hadn't been pregnant with Ronald yet, that had been a while later.

Snape nodded to the witness. "Please continue."

"Well, on that Halloween night saw some adults in costume who really should have been old enough to know better. It was amazing some of the tricks they did. I thought at the time it was a film crew on holiday, or some such. I almost put out a bowl of milk for the cat who stared at me all evening. I swear the little beast _sniffed_ at me, or why I didn't.

"It was late when I went out to leave the milk bottles. Someone had left a baby on our doorstep, my sister's son. Vernon threw a fit that woke Duds, and my husband swore we should turn Harry over to the authorities. Just because James and Lily were dead was no reason to put ourselves out for a child who would grow up just a freakish as they were. I…I had to make some promises before he'd let me keep Harry…" Petunia's lip trembled. "I could never let him take anything away from Dudley, and I had to make sure no magic happened in the house." She wiped her face with a handkerchief she took from her purse.

"We had magic all over the place, of course, no matter what I did. Taking care of Dudley and Vernon wore me out, never mind Harry. Vernon's sister came over, supposedly to help, but I ended up waiting on her, too. Vernon…he wasn't happy any time something…something _different_ happened. I couldn't help it. Harry did things the way my sister did, and I knew he was going to be sent a letter the same way she was. Vernon swore it was my fault, it was the bad blood coming out, and I was too soft on the boy.

"I tried to show him I was strict enough. I made up the cupboard below the stairs for Harry, so Dudley could have what would have been his without the boy. I made sure Dudley always had plenty to eat so nobody would say I was stinting him for Harry's sake. I tried to clean up any mess the magic made before Vernon came home from work, but it was never good enough. I tried to stop my husband when he was too angry to think straight." She bowed her head, clearly trying to hold back more tears.

"Where was his Hogwarts letter addressed, Mrs. Dursley?" Snape said.

She looked up at him, her eyes dead. "To the cupboard under the stairs."

"Thank you, Mrs. Dursley," the Potions Master said. "Two different families are suing for guardianship of your nephew. Sirius Black is dead, and Mr. Potter no longer has a representative able to look after his interests in the Wizarding World."

"I remember when Harry came home and told us all about him. A convicted murderer, wasn't he? The boy was happy enough to threaten us with him." She pursed her lips.

Molly wasn't surprised. She had no idea the boy had such a hard home life. A cupboard. She'd be the first one to admit the rooms in the Burrow weren't big, but this sickened her. Who knew what else happened to Harry at the hands of his Muggle relatives?

"He was still Mr. Potter's godfather under Wizarding law," Snape said. "If one of your ancestors was indeed an Ollivander, you could be considered a Squib rather than a Muggle, and sue in your own right."

"No, I don't think so," Petunia said. "The less I have to do with the Wizarding World the better. I already had Lily look at me with pity since she was eleven. Why would I want to see that all the time? If Granny Margery really did come from one of your splendid families and didn't have any magic, no wonder she left! You may keep your world, and Harry too."

"Has anyone tried to intervene or help with your situation?"

Mrs. Dursley snorted. "Intervene, yes. The old man threatened us the summer before last, after a Dementor went after my Dudley. It's the first time I heard from him since Lily died. But isn't it his way—dump a burden on you, wander off to other things, and show up only when something's gone wrong without offering any actual help? Several of our neighbors called the police because of the Howler he sent."

"I would like to remind you that the Headmaster is currently my employer, Mrs. Dursley," Snape said in a silken, deadly voice. "It was at his command that I offered what assistance I could a few months ago."

Molly sat up straight again. This was the first she'd heard of it. Arthur didn't look surprised at all, though. She wondered what other secrets her husband kept from her.

Petunia grimaced. "So that's the way of it. Well, Vernon has to cover for _his_ boss often enough. But if our house was so bad for Harry, why was he always sent back to us?"

_That's a good question,_ Molly thought. Arthur looked grim and made notes.

"Well, Mrs. Dursley, this time you won't have to worry about that. As I said, two households have asked for the boy. One family is the Malfoys, which I represent. The other is the Weasleys, who are sitting at the other table."

Molly felt herself shrink under the Muggle woman's cold, hard eyes. Arthur always thought highly of Muggles, but it wasn't really the same as dealing with them in person. To her, all those other people were always bewildered victims that had to be helped. As she gazed at Petunia Dursley, though, Molly wondered if they wanted any assistance. She'd never been looked at and found _wanting_ so, not even when visiting Malfoy Manor a few times.

"Will I have any say in what happens, or will it all be decided for me?" the woman asked.

"Of course you will have your say, Mrs. Dursley. You are having it right now."

Petunia smiled maliciously. "I see, Professor. Well, in that case I want everyone to know that the Malfoys haven't lifted a finger. They haven't contacted me, only you, and when Harry mentions the name at home, it's usually not a compliment. On the other hand, he's always glad to leave us when he's allowed to visit the Weasleys. I hope I've been a help."

The Potions Master bowed to the ministers. "Permission to treat this witness as hostile?"

Fudge shrugged. He looked tired, too. "Go right ahead."

Snape continued. "Now, Mrs. Dursley, I thought we had an understanding. What is so wrong with Mr. Potter becoming part of a wealthy family where he will have so many advantages? Mrs. Malfoy, especially, is known for her many charities."

"Nothing, I suppose. I've seen her kind before. With all her la-di-dah airs and fine manners, who's to say how she really feels about the boy? It's bad enough what _I've_ done to him over the years. Harry has nightmares every summer when he returns from your wonderful Wizarding World, and you don't look as if it's treating you all that well yourself. Frankly, if that great red-headed cow over there is crazy enough to want Harry for her own with as many as she already has, she may as well have him. She's sent him enough presents and little notes all this time, and he always lights up when she can take him for a bit."

Molly flushed red when she heard herself described that way, but kept her mouth shut. A screeching match would end up on the front page of the Prophet, and probably ruin her chances of having Harry.

Fudge interrupted. "If you were offered the Wizarding guardianship of Mr. Potter, would you accept it?"

Molly bit her lip. There it was. A compromise that would satisfy nobody, but might keep Harry safe from the Malfoys. For all their harshness, the Dursleys would still be better than what You-Know-Who planned for him.

Petunia shook her head. "I wouldn't have it. But not for the reason you think. I don't hate the boy. I really don't. But how could I look out for his interests? Vernon would be better for that, but none of you would listen to him. Your world has no room for my kind. I can't protect him from what's been done to him here. I can't even protect him in my own home. Harry deserves better than that."

Now it was the Minister's turn to look unhappy. "I see. Thank you, Mrs. Dursley."

"I am finished with this witness," Snape said, scowling, and sat down.

Arthur stepped forward. "Mrs. Dursley, no matter how it sounds, you aren't on trial here."

"You could have fooled me."

"We only want what's best for Harry," he said. "And yes, I know I'm testifying again."

"Maybe you and your wife do." Petunia looked as if she'd lost all interest.

"Thank you. That's what we're trying to establish, really." Arthur smiled. "I just want to assure you that we're not after his money or property. We've signed papers to make sure of that."

"How very nice for you."

Molly knew just how the woman felt. After blowing up, she sometimes went into a blue funk herself.

"We really care for the boy," he said. Fudge coughed abruptly and put his hand on the gavel. Molly tried to signal Arthur to actually ask a question.

"I'm glad someone does," Petunia said. "I wish I could have. He is my sister's son. I should have treated him better. I should have made Vernon treat him better. But I didn't know how. I thought strange things happened around my sister when she was young, but it was ten times as bad with Harry. I didn't know what to do. Nobody explained anything to me about what we were in for. You don't _know_ how many colors my kitchen has been!"

Molly could sympathize with Petunia now. It was bad enough when you already had an idea of the mischief children and magic together could get into.

The woman continued. "And Vernon…when we married he already knew about Lily and took me anyway, when everybody else pointed at me for having such a freakish sister. That is, when they weren't trying to date her anyway during the summers, and leaving me on the shelf. Nobody wanted me. Nobody but Vernon. I was _glad_ to promise him there would be no such strangeness in _our_ lives. We were so happy.

"Then along came Harry, to remind us every day what it was like to have magic in the house. When I complained, the old man told me to carry on or else. Fair enough, I suppose, when it's your own child. But Harry was dropped on us with no more ceremony than a late paper delivery. I had enough on my hands with Dudley, who was a toddler into everything by then.

"I wanted more than one, you know. But I was lucky with my Duds. Another one might have as much magic as Harry, with the poison in my veins as well as my sister's. Vernon…had things taken care of." She closed her eyes. "But why should any of you care? It's always about Harry." Petunia sighed and opened her eyes. "Where the hell were any of you when I was up all night when Dudley had the croup and Harry broke every glass in the house because he was afraid of the dark and I couldn't go to him? Where were you when Vernon would come home tired from a long day at work and my hands were full with a boy who had turned everything in the parlor yellow? We had to put with _that_ for a month because we knew he'd just do it again as soon as we repainted and replaced everything. It wasn't the first time Harry did some redecorating, believe me! He set a snake on my _son!_"

"We did ask to have him before, Mrs. Dursley," Arthur said, though he looked shaken. "But the Headmaster said he was in the best of hands."

"Well, we all know better _now,_ don't we? I know what you think of me. But why don't you have a talk with this great Dumbledore, and ask him why he always sent Harry back? He had to know how things were. He certainly did the summer before last when he stopped by and lowered the boom. But even after that, even knowing there was a Dementor on our street, he still sent Harry back. Maybe it was his idea to have Professor Snape help. Don't you think he waited long enough? And isn't it amazing that once we finally learned how to have a decent summer for a change that he's being taken away? Maybe you're not after his money, which of course nobody told _us_ about, but I suspect you're in a very small group. You're welcome to the boy," she said abruptly. "However badly you went about it, you and your family did stop in. Maybe I should have spoken more with you, if I could have managed it without Vernon about. But it doesn't matter any more, does it? I'm only a Muggle, or at best a Squib. I've done the hard part of raising Harry, however badly I did it. But I see his face when he leaves our house, and he'll be delighted to shake the dust of it off his feet."

Then she glanced over at the Malfoy table. "Keep your banknotes. Once I tell Vernon that he'll never see Harry again, he won't care how it happened or where the boy goes. But I do care, Professor Snape. I do. And I just don't think the fine lady sitting next to you is the right place for Harry.

"I know more about your problems than you think I do. This Lord of yours, the one you're afraid to say the name of, may not find us Muggles so easy to deal with as you think. We fought Hitler and held him till those gun-crazy lunatics in the States joined us. Maybe he can take over our minds, although there are an awful lot of us. I doubt he knows what computers are, though, or how to deal with _them_."

She sighed. "I'm done. I want to go home now, and forget the Wizarding World ever existed. I hope you'll let me."

Cornelius Fudge rose. "I will escort you to a Floo myself."

"Thank you," Petunia said, who stood as well. "But I think I'll go back the way I came. I doubt our family will be disturbed once Harry is out of it, but I'd rather not take any chances. Professor Snape, if you would be so kind?"

The Potions Master scowled as if he wished he could hex the woman into the floor as he led Mrs. Dursley out of the hearing chamber.

Arthur sat back down and held his head with his hands. "I swear I'll never believe the Headmaster again…"

Molly snorted. "You know we both will, at least while he's talking to us. It's probably best if we just smile and nod the way we do with um, others," she said, suddenly remembering Fudge was in the room and could probably hear them. "Maybe Harry was more grateful to go to Hogwarts and do whatever Dumbledore asked because of what he had at home, compared to how he was treated at school."

"I remember what Ron said about that first year." Arthur sat up straight again. "All those extra points to Gryffindor so they'd win the Cup. Second, third, and fourth year, same thing. Well, not the fourth. Not with Cedric dead, and all. Dumbledore wasn't there last year, but McGonagall came through with a boatload of them at the last minute to keep Gryffindor from coming in dead last. Snape said the fix was in, but everyone thought it sour grapes after Slytherin doing so well for so long. Funny how it changed just when Harry arrived, isn't it?"

Molly took her husband's hand. She and Arthur would fight for the boy even harder once he was legally theirs. _We'll have to pretend to agree with everything Dumbledore says, if only to find out what his real plans are for Harry. We've believed the Headmaster about everything for too long._ She remember how the old wizard had had her convinced Snape's treatment at Grimmauld Place last year had been a good thing after all, since it had help the Slytherin deal with the other Death Eaters. "I'm so afraid," she said.

"So am I," her husband said quietly.

Snape returned, his face a blank. Fudge called for a quick break, and closing arguments after that.

As Molly rose, she looked at the Potions Master again. _We're all fighting for Harry, or least pretending to. Who will fight for him?_

Author's note: according to a Rowling interview, Petunia Dursley is only a Muggle, not a Squib. I decided it was more fun to give her a possible Squib ancestor. Oh, and five points to the house of the first person who guesses about Great-Uncle Henry (hint: he emigrated to America and had a son who followed in his footsteps).


	62. Chapter 62: Closing Arguments

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, and zafaran. Read their stories, too. The five points for identifying Indiana Jones goes to KerryMB, of Hufflepuff! You must have been up really late, your review came in right before I went to bed (or given assorted time zones, up really early). There is a fic out there where Harry does meet his American great-uncle, but there were only two or three chapters and I think it was discontinued. Pity. It had a lot of potential.

I also want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas, a glorious Yule, and a Happy New Year!

Chapter 62: Closing Arguments

Molly Weasley

Molly went to the loo, while Arthur probably ran up to his office for another cigarette. At least that horrible Dursley woman wasn't in the lounge, or anywhere else for that matter. She knew if she did anything about how she felt about the Muggle it would only cause trouble.

It was just as well the Headmaster was probably up in the gallery if he was here by now. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind, too. No doubt he would sit her down and convince her it was all part of the Great Plan to win the war against _him_, just like everything else she knew was going wrong. She freshened up over the sink and wondered how many times Dumbledore had taken credit for the way things had fallen out, and how many times he should have.

_When something goes wrong, it's always someone else's fault_, she thought as she brushed her hair for the third time that night. _Sirius should have stayed at Grimmauld Place, or Snape shouldn't have lost his temper over Harry snooping in a Pensieve, or…_ Well, she could think of a number of things becoming pear-shaped, but it never seemed to be Dumbledore's doing. True, the Headmaster had never said much about Snape and Harry's lessons, but Sirius often made up for it when it came to the Potions Master, and Dumbledore had never publicly disagreed.

Once a person looked back, of course, you could see what was really going on. Her cousin should never have been trapped in that horrible house to begin with. Anyone who thought the boy would pay attention to anything Snape said after years of being allowed to think the Potions Master was too harsh was out of his mind. It had been easy to pick up that Albus was in the habit of dismissing whatever Snape had to say in front of Harry. Frankly, Dumbledore could have rid the school of Umbridge much sooner if he'd been willing to go to the Board of Governors. But no, it was much easier to let the woman half-ruin the school and then step in. Of course, the Headmaster was the hero then.

Molly sighed. But Dumbledore was their leader in this war, so anything done to thwart him would have to be looked at carefully. Albus was very good at putting anyone who argued against him in the wrong with everybody else. Look at poor Snape! That awful Dursley woman had made a few points. She'd said the Headmaster had known about the place, and still sent Harry back. The Potions Master was probably right when he said it was Albus who made him help with the situation, but Harry was sixteen now. How long had the ancient wizard known how bad things were with those Muggles and done nothing?

_Once this war is over, maybe it's time he retired,_ she thought. _Of course he'll think of a million excuses, people like that always do. There's always one more disaster to clean up, even if he has to cause it himself. _She put everything back into her purse. _I'm just fooling myself. I'll fall under his spell the moment I talk to him again anyway. But maybe there's a few things I can help without saying anything in the first place. Not everything to do with Harry, or Professor Snape, for that matter, have to do with this damned war._

Molly went back to the hearing room just in time to sit down and listen to the Potions Master's closing arguments. He looked better than he had before the dinner break. She idly wondered if Narcissa had sent for something, or had it brought to her from the Manor. He was in fine voice, though, and the sound of it warmed her no matter what he said.

"In closing, I cannot see what there is to debate, honored Ministers. It is clear the Malfoy family can offer Mr. Potter many advantages, far more than the Weasleys are able to. Despite their protests, which I believe are sincere, they simply don't have the resources to launch the boy into his proper place in Wizarding society. Mrs. Malfoy would be quite happy with a compromise allowing visits by the family, since it is clear the Weasleys feel real affection for Mr. Potter. Yet his interests need to be guarded by someone with the ability to do so. It is clear to me, at least, that the Malfoys will do it much better.

"I thank the Ministers for their indulgence, and hope they make the proper decision." He bowed towards the center of the room and sat down.

The room was silent for a moment. Then Arthur Weasley stood. "He's Mr. Potter to them. He will always be Harry to us. You've heard the witnesses. Those who know Harry best think he'd be better off with us. As for society, my wife and I have resources that we'd gladly use on his behalf.

"If Mrs. Malfoy had no husband or a different one we might accept her compromise. We want to see Harry with all the advantages, too. We shouldn't forget Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban because a few months ago he was in the Department of Mysteries trying to help You-Know-Who. Maybe he was under a spell, maybe he wasn't. Either way, that's not good for Harry. None of us want to see his name in a death-notice on the front page of the Prophet.

"The Malfoys want to launch Harry into society. We just want to give him a home. Let us have the chance. Ministers, I appreciate what you've done by having the hearing now, and how much sleep you've given up by listening to all of us tonight. I know you'll make the right decision now you have all the facts. Thank you."

Arthur sat. Molly looked up at the gallery. It was nearly full, but everyone seemed quiet. She couldn't spot the Headmaster, but caught sight of Lupin. The elderly couple was gone, and she breathed a sigh of relief though she didn't know why. A bit of light crept through the highest windows.

Fudge, Umbridge, and the others whispered among themselves. Molly laid her head on her arms and closed her eyes, not caring who saw. _Please let us have Harry,_ she prayed. _Please let him live, and do whatever he wants even if he doesn't become a hero. He's just a boy. It's not right to dump all this on him._

Cornelius Fudge cleared his throat. Molly sat upright and held her husband's hand. The Minister for Magic looked grim. "After the first ballot, we have reached a tie. Two Ministers have voted for the Malfoys, two for the Weasleys, and we have one abstention." No doubt he'd picked an odd number to avoid this.

Molly searched their faces, and realized it was her own roommate who couldn't make up her mind. Dolores Umbridge's pale eyes were almost in tears. Molly took care not to look hard at the woman who once had been her closest friend. She knew how much even an abstention might cost Dolly in credit with the Malfoys, or with Fudge.

The ringing voice of Albus Dumbledore came from the gallery. "We have a quorum currently present of the entire Wizengamot. Given that, we assert our right to decide this case." He added in a more normal voice, "Most of here have already heard the testimony, so we don't have to go over it again."

Fudge definitely looked relieved about _that_, and bowed his head. "So be it. On such an important matter, we cannot let strength of voices or hands alone carry the day. Members of the Wizengamot, do you require time for debate or are you ready to cast your ballots now? Also, as parties to this suit, the principals, witnesses and representatives may also vote for this time only."

Molly glanced over at Snape, who remained impassive, and at Narcissa, whose eyes were half-closed with weariness. She understood what Fudge was trying to do. Few would care to defy Albus Dumbledore to his face, but who knew how some of them really felt? Lucius Malfoy still wielded much influence, even while in Azkaban, and some independent of him answered to yet another master.

"We are ready now," the Headmaster said, who sat.

Clerks, including Percy, began bringing out baskets of white porcelain shards. Fudge explained the rules. "Those who wish to allot the guardianship of Harry Potter to the Weasleys will turn their shards red, while those who favor the Malfoys will turn them green. A spell is on these ballots, so they cannot be changed once they are colored. Remember, there are strong anti-hex wards on this chamber. Those who wish to abstain need use no spell, but may put their shard in the basket unchanged. The baskets are warded against those who would change the colors of those shards as well."

Percy busied himself with the upper levels, along with a couple of other clerks. Someone Molly didn't know brought her and Arthur their basket. She gleefully and publicly turned her shard the brightest red she could manage. She took care not to notice how Snape or Narcissa voted. They could not be seen helping the Order; that much was obvious to her.

As the ballots were collected, Molly noticed she couldn't see Percy any more. Then he returned bearing a huge chalice, which he set on the center table. Molly took a deep breath. If she was upset with the verdict, it was her right to demand Trial by Ordeal. Of course, it was Narcissa's right as well, but somehow she didn't think the blonde woman would attempt it.

At last all the ballots were back. She was surprised at the number of white ones, though Arthur didn't seem to be. Apparently, others besides Dolly Umbridge felt pressured by both sides, or merely wanted to stay out of the way. Well, this was their last chance to do so. Molly felt that everyone would be forced to decide one way or the other quite soon.

She watched as the clerks, including Percy, counted the shards. The piles of red and green pieces grew, but one never became much larger than the other. Fudge's face began to grow crimson as it became obvious the vote was going to be extremely close. The Minister stared glumly at the baskets full of white pieces that had been set aside. No doubt he felt his own struggle for neutrality was now coming back to bite him.

The last dull clunk of tile landed on the green side. Cornelius loosened his collar and drank a swallow from a hip flask. Molly couldn't blame him if his count matched the tally she and Arthur had on a piece of paper before them.

"Once more we have a tie," Fudge said. "We can reballot after a short break if such is the wish of the Wizengamot, or ask if either principal wishes to risk a Trial."

Molly braced her legs to stand, but Arthur held her firmly in her seat. "You could be risking your life!" he said.

"We already are," she said, though she waited for a moment. Something might turn up.

Professor Snape rose. "I challenge one of the votes."

The Minister looked at him eagerly. "Whose?"

"That of Professor Remus Lupin. He is a werewolf, and thus has no place or rights in the Wizengamot."

Umbridge leaned forward in her seat. "This Minister concurs," she said clearly.

Remus stood in the gallery and drew his wand. "Before I was a werewolf, I was born a wizard, and after the attack found I was a wizard still," he said. The middle-age man muttered a spell. A fur-collared coat appeared around Professor Snape's robes, and his head suddenly bore a vulture hat. Mrs. Longbottom, who wore its twin as she stood near the Headmaster, raised an eyebrow that should have brought death in its wake.

_She probably heard all about the joke her grandson played in that Defense class,_ Molly realized. Ron had written home about it. She and Arthur had laughed themselves sick.

It wasn't quite so funny now. However, everyone was impressed, including her husband. Arthur helped reinforce the anti-hex wards in here every month.

Then, just as easily, the werewolf chanted another brief spell that put the Slytherin into his dress robes. "As you can see, I am not unskilled," Lupin said.

The Minister blinked. "The challenge fails. Are there any others?"

Arthur stood. "I challenge the vote of Professor Snape."

The court fell silent.

"Your grounds?" Cornelius asked. A tic near his right eyelid twitched furiously.

"Professor Snape is still on parole from Azkaban. Therefore, his right to vote in the Wizengamot is in abeyance even under these special circumstances. He may only exercise this right, and several others, with the specific permission of his guardian at law, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore."

Molly shook her head. Of course the old wizard would allow Snape this much!

Fudge looked up to the gallery. "Headmaster, what is your decision?"

Dumbledore spoke from a seated position. "This vote was cast without my permission or a grant from the authority overseeing paroled prisoners. I do not allow it, and I do not see the Warden of Azkaban present at this moment. Professor Snape's vote must be withdrawn."

Molly saw color rise in the Potions Master's face. How humiliating it must be to have his chains rattled like this where everyone could see! She bit her lip.

Cornelius sighed and turned towards the clerks.

Arthur waved his hand. "A point of order, Minister," he said. "There is no need for another ballot. It is obvious that Professor Snape voted for his own side. Therefore, his shard must be withdrawn from the Malfoy pile. With that vote gone, a bare majority now rests with me." The hearing room erupted with both cheers and boos.

Molly noticed some up in the gallery were not taking this well, and a few wands were already out. She stood up. "Quiet!" she shouted in the voice she had to use sometimes on the twins. "Sit down!"

Amazingly enough, they obeyed, even Fred and George, whom she just now spotted in the row of seats nearly up to the rafters. "There will always be some that feel we won on a technicality," she said. "I want people to know that we won because we love Harry."

"Molly, no!" Arthur grew pale, but he remained sitting.

"What's in that?" she asked, pointing to the chalice.

The Minister looked grim. "It is a potion made by a neutral party that will poison anyone who means Mr. Potter any harm. It is quite safe to anyone who loves him, and was tested on such a person. Mrs. Weasley, you don't have to do this. You won."

"By a single vote. I want everyone to _see_ I'm the right person. Please step aside, Minister Fudge. You're making people wait." She wriggled free of Arthur's grip on her hand and stepped up to the table.

Dolly averted her head. Molly hoped _she_ hadn't made the potion! _Oh, please, let Fudge be right about it not hurting someone who loves Harry!_ Maybe she was about to do something really stupid.

Then again, with both Albus Dumbledore and a great Potions Master only a short distance away, the odds were good she wouldn't be in much trouble.

Molly smiled, lifted the heavy chalice and drank. As the acrid liquid flowed down her throat, she closed her eyes and thought of Harry. Oh, yes, he'd been angry enough all last year, but boys always went through _that_ stage. Percy had seemed to skip it, but he'd just put it off a bit later, now that she thought about it.

She thought of Harry's first stay at the Burrow, once he'd been rescued from his unexpected diversion through the Floo to Knockturn Alley. Percy had spent a couple of hours during those days taking the boy in and out of Floos so he wouldn't be afraid and wouldn't end up lost the way he had his first time. Both of them had been so happy! Fred and George had behaved, for them, anyway, while Ron had been in seventh heaven.

The acrid taste changed to something more smooth and pleasant, rather like eggnog with a hint of cinnamon. How precious everyone in her family was to her! _I'd give anything to see them all alive and well once this war is over. If it takes giving up a witch's lifespan for a maenad's, then I'll raise the thyrsus and shout 'Euoi, bakhos!' with a smile on my face just like Shirl did when she decided she wanted to join Mum in the woods. Then we'll see!_

She opened her eyes and found herself bathed in rosy light. "Well?" she said. "Did I pass?"

Cornelius Fudge looked at her with a rare real smile, unlike the one he so gladly shared with the voting public. "Yes, Mrs. Weasley, you did. You did indeed. Please be seated."

Once she was back at the table, Arthur embraced and kissed her soundly in front of everyone. "Oh, love, don't ever scare me like that again!"

"Call it quits for the time that nasty snake bit you," she said ruefully, and sat down.

Fudge kept standing. "Mrs. Malfoy, either you or your representative may also drink. I would have not have it said this trial was not impartial."

The two held a hasty whispered conference at their table. Snape rose and said, "We decline."

_Maybe this is all for the best,_ Molly thought. _Even Snake-Face will have to admit neither Narcissa nor Snape could have made it through the Trial and were better off not drinking. In fact, there's half a chance the professor might, he's done more for the boy than most think, but that wouldn't be any good for him with those that wear the Mark. Maybe Snape won't have to pay as much for losing as we all thought._

The Minister for Magic said, "The ruling of this hearing is that the guardianship of Harry Potter goes to Molly Weasley, both by vote of the Wizengamot and by her love as demonstrated through the Trial. No one is to dispute it further. The probate of Sirius Black's will is an entirely different matter, and both parties are encouraged to come to the compromise proposed by both representatives during this hearing. So mote it be!" He hammered down the gavel with a blow that should have left a hole in the table.

Molly jumped up and let out a cry of triumph. She should be more restrained in public, but she just couldn't, not now when Harry was going to be in her keeping for good.

Arthur didn't even try to calm her down. He stood there with a grin bigger than he was, though he didn't say anything.

Percy came up to them, his expression carefully blank. "There are some papers that you'll need to sign now," he said.

She nodded, and then followed him down the hall to the Registry Office, Arthur right behind. Molly gulped when she saw the stack of forms sitting on the counter, clearly waiting for them. Percy led them over to a table out of the way, and put the papers, some pens, and two pots of ink in front of them. She tried hard to behave herself. Her son would be embarrassed if she hugged and kissed him the way she wanted to.

Once Molly and Arthur were seated, her husband murmured, "Start your quills." She giggled, though she tried to keep it quiet. As they began filling out things and signing, Molly realized Percy had been glad underneath his icy exterior.

Maybe it was a good thing the memory of love she'd concentrated on had included him as well as Harry.

Her third son had always been good at Potions.

Severus Snape

Snape sat down at the table in the back room they'd used before and gazed at the fireplace. Petunia Dursley had left earlier, though at the end she had accepted the packet of banknotes. He wished he could go through the flames to somewhere nobody had ever heard of the Dark Lord. Narcissa had directed the other assistants to clear all the books and papers away and allowed him to rest.

He supposed things could be worse. After all, they could have won. He remembered the dinner at Malfoy Manor last summer. _I just had to show off,_ he thought. _If I had only kept my mind closed and my mouth shut about any kind of guardianship, nobody would have thought of suing in the first place._ Yet Potter was safer now than he would have been without any hearing. Once linked to the Weasleys, he would be protected by a web of relationships as long as one member remained alive—including Wormtail's apprentice.

"I'll have a draft sent to your account at Gringotts," she said as she sat down at the table across from him. She looked almost as tired as he felt. "You put in a great deal of work on this, even if we lost. The vote was extremely close, after all. Mrs. Weasley would have won the Ordeal portion even if it hadn't been."

Severus was glad Narcissa clearly understood that _others_ could still be listening in. "I appreciate that," he said. "It hardly seems necessary unless I do some shopping rather soon." Now he was the one who said too much."

"It is appropriate," she said. "I would not like to have it said you were paid in any other coin for representing me."

"I see." _Narcissa is wise to guard her reputation, even now._ "I am sorry I was such a poor advocate. I wish I could have been a better one." Even though the public revocation of his vote had been his idea, especially if the balloting was close, it still rankled.

"Despite the results," she said, "I do not think I could have found anyone superior. I would like to invite you to a small dinner Sunday night. I will not let it go late, as I know your schedule, but I would like to thank you in a somewhat more restful setting. Malfoy Manor will always be open to you." Then she looked startled. "Why, today is your birthday, isn't it? You…you may not be able to attend tonight, of course, but perhaps tomorrow evening…"

"I hope I will be able to accept your invitation," he said soberly. "I may have other obligations that might interfere."

"I know." Tears began to roll down her face. "I hope…I hope this isn't goodbye." She wiped her face with a cambric handkerchief.

"I hope so, too. However, if I am called elsewhere, I will have to obey. Your son may be included in that invitation as well." Whatever happened, Draco would have to watch it. Bella might be cruel enough to force him to participate.

"I know that, too." She put the crumpled fabric back into her beaded purse.

Snape forced himself to rise from the table and begin walking towards the door. His own self-control was beginning to slip. Suddenly his arms were full as Narcissa darted between him and the exit. She sobbed on his shoulder. "I…I know you hate displays like this," she said between gulps of air. "I know you don't…don't really want me. But please…just hold me for a moment. This could be my last chance, ever."

He swallowed his own anguish. He couldn't break, not yet. "Lucius does love you," he said as she nestled in his arms. She was like a bony bird, one that quivered with fear. "I know, I know, he shows it poorly." Severus patted her back. "But that's always been his way, to hurt anyone foolish enough to care for him. He'll be glad enough to see you once he's finally out of prison. By that time you should have one less rival."

"Don't joke about that!" she said.

"I wasn't." He wanted to shake with terror himself just now, but knew he would have to wait. "You deserve someone who can give you a whole heart and love you the way you deserve. I wish it could be me." Snape gently unpeeled her from his shirtfront, waved his wand to erase the tearstains on both of them, and then smoothed her shining golden hair with one hand. _I will have to remember how soft it is when I can do it without someone looking on,_ he thought. "What would the Prophet think, to see Narcissa Malfoy less than perfect?" he murmured. "Life will go on. I might not be part of it, but you will always be part of me, whatever happens. Knowing that you care helps more than you can imagine." Oddly enough, it did. Few others would mourn his passing, whether it happened later today or a century from now, but he was certain Narcissa would be part of that tiny group. "Now go out and show them nothing can hurt or break you. Show them that no matter what happens, you will always be the most beautiful woman in the Wizarding World."

She smiled wanly at him, and waved her wand to erase the reddened eyes and straighten the wrinkles in her gown and robe. "There," she said. "All better now."

"Yes. I will remember you like this always," he said. He would, too. Only Narcissa could possibly look so beautiful after a hearing like this. Molly would always be first in his heart, but he could not help admiring the woman Lucius had chosen. "Now, chin up! Can't let those reporters down, you know."

Her smile became slightly more real as she marched out of the room to confront the row of interviewers, no doubt supplemented with cameras. He quickly composed his own face to show nothing. Few would take their eyes away from Mrs. Malfoy to bother with him, but he knew that at least _one_ would.

It took less time to run the gantlet than he thought. History was not only written by the winners, but was usually about them as well. Even Ms. Skeeter had staked a place outside the Registry Office, waiting for the Weasleys to finish their final ordeal by paper. The few reporters who bothered to look were only interested in Narcissa's icy exterior. None of them realized the effort she made to conceal her pain. She had known the hearing was a farce from the beginning, but her heart still yearned for more children to run through Malfoy Manor.

Snape smiled slightly as he recalled Petunia Dursley's condemnation of the Wizarding World and most of the people in it from the witness chair. There was no lack of courage in the Evans line, whether it came from the Muggle side or a suspicion of Ollivander blood. He would have to find out if the Margery she spoke of was really his grandmother's cousin. He wanted to roll his eyes at the thought that he and the Potter boy might be related, and not just by the vague threads that connected nearly everyone who shopped in Diagon Alley.

As he and Narcissa walked towards the exit of the Ministry, he frowned for a moment. It would have been easy for the Headmaster to find out about the Ollivander connection. Potter could have been raised in the Wizarding World after all, and still receive the protection of his mother's blood, though somewhat attenuated. _Then again, they apparently wanted nothing to do with me, either, even though I ended up with the family wand-gift. I never heard a word from them after my parents died. The only reason I knew about it was when Father asked for the family discount when he took me to buy a wand._

He tried to forget why his father had taken him instead of mother. It had been a pleasant change that Septimus had been home in the first place, or so he'd thought; but his mother had become 'ill' the night before and had still been asleep when the two of them had left for Diagon Alley. He and father had been awkward around each other, more than anything else.

"Professor Snape." The woman's voice broke him out of his memories.

He turned, nearly at the door to outside. He was tempted to take a few more steps and Disapparate, but it couldn't hurt to continue the farce just a bit longer. Besides, he would always owe a debt to her.

"Yes, Miss Skeeter?"

"Wasn't it terribly embarrassing to have your status as a parolee from Azkaban thrown in your face in front of the whole Wizarding World? And then to have the Headmaster of Hogwarts use it against you?"

"Yes, it was. I should have realized the Weasleys would do anything to discredit the Malfoys. I'm just glad I was the focus of their meddling, and not Mrs. Malfoy." He knew that Lucius would be reading _this_ edition of the paper.

"I see. Are you going back to Hogwarts now? What will you say to Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"I am on my way now. I would rather sleep before discussing the matter with him, however. I fear that conversation will be quite private." The two of them had fed this strategy to Arthur Weasley in case of a close ballot. Challenging the werewolf's vote had been his own idea, and had obviously pleased Umbridge. He'd been certain Lupin would rise to the challenge. The vulture hat and fur-collared coat had just been embellishments.

"There are rumors your health isn't very good just now. Want to say more about that?" Real concern shone in Skeeter's eyes.

"I am on an experimental protocol for potions overload at present. Some of the side effects…are exotic. I recommend that anyone who works with potions full-time be examined for the problem, and take any measures necessary to prevent going through what I have experienced thus far. I hope those lunatics at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes pay attention, too."

She nodded, and scribbled a bit on her tablet. "I shouldn't keep you, then," she said, in a gentle voice.

He realized he needed to say something more. "I have never properly thanked you for everything you did all those years ago." Someone else might have found him in the upstairs storage space in the Snape apartment when his parents' bodies had been discovered, but Skeeter's curiosity had made sure it happened while he was still alive.

"Just keep sending me a bottle of that lovely stuff you brew for Christmas every year, and that will be plenty." She glanced up at him. "It's not like you to 'wallow in sentiment' as you put it. What's wrong?"

"Nothing in particular," he lied. She'd find out soon enough if the worst happened. For one thing, he'd set aside a package for her with his juiciest files with a few suggestions on how to best use the information. Years of teaching Slytherins had educated him about the pureblood families. He'd used his knowledge judiciously thus far, and sparingly as well. If he were no longer around, some consequences were no longer his concern.

"Well," she said, "if you ever decide to talk about it, I wouldn't mind listening."

"I'll do my best," Snape said. "Now I do need to go back to the school."

Just as he went outside and was about to escape from Skeeter's clutches, a small gray owl flapped over to him, landed on his arm, and extended a claw with a blank piece of paper.

Skeeter offered her quill, an Ever-Inker. Snape recognized the owl. He swiftly wrote, _Master, I have failed you. Snape._ He gave the paper back to the bird and it flew off. Too bad it was warded against tracking spells.

"It looked awfully like you were writing your own death warrant," Rita observed, rather too keenly for the Potions Master's taste.

He gave her his best social grimace, and Disapparated rather than say anything more. Snape arrived in the Forbidden Forest, where all was gray and quiet in the fog that had settled among the trees. Severus leaned against an oak as the last of the strength from the potion evaporated. His rasping breath made a harsh noise, though likely muffled by the damp. _I sound like Filch,_ he observed clinically. _I should probably dose myself with some Pepper-Up as well. If there was any point to it, of course, and if it didn't conflict with all my other potions._

After some rest, he was able to begin walking towards Hogwarts. Fortunately, he had a sense of where it was now. Ever since the rite last summer, the castle felt like a center of comforting warmth, and he always knew in which direction it lay no matter where he was.

Hagrid appeared. The half-giant moved so quietly in the forest today, Snape was surprised to see his friend.

"Need any help?" the groundskeeper asked.

Severus wearily shook his head. "Just tired from a long night. But I'd rather have your company than not." A surly pose was too much effort to maintain now when there was no need. Of course, that didn't count when he truly _was_ surly.

The giant looked pleased, and shortened his steps. Snape added, "Potter will be going home with the Weasleys this Christmas. Mrs. Weasley won the hearing."

"Ah! Now that's good news to spend the day thinkin' on!"

The Potions Master forbore to make his usual mental comment about Hagrid and thinking. _Let it stand as read_, he thought, and found his lips curving upward in a smile. The masquerade should be over soon. Why bother with it now?

They tramped in silence after that, stopping to rest a few times as Snape's endurance slowly gave out.

It was almost a relief to see the end of his trials so close at hand. Even if he survived whatever punishment he'd earned from this 'failure', it was not long till winter, and Flitwick's interpretation of Sybil's prophecy. If the Charms Professor turned out wrong, he'd have a year from next summer; yet even that much looked appallingly little.

He was a fool to place any credence in prophecies, he supposed, but part of him knew he would not survive the war in anything resembling his present condition. _I shouldn't be stupid enough to believe I have any time at all, no matter what anyone says._

"Oh!" Hagrid said suddenly. "I almost forgot! Happy Birthday, perfesser! The Headmaster tol' me, and I've been workin' on something. We're supposed ter meet up in the staff room tonight and call you in…I shouldn't have said that. It was goin' ter be a surprise."

"That's all right," Snape said, now amused. "I won't tell anyone. Once I step in there, I'll be as pleased as anyone could ask for." _I will, too. I'll even pretend to enjoy the crackers and jokes and cake or anything else the Headmaster likes._

"Want to stop at the hut for a bit?" the half-giant asked.

"Of course, Hagrid," the Potions Master said. "If I fall asleep in there, you might be stuck with me for longer than you think."

"Ah, perfesser, you know I don' mind. Your snorin' keeps the Skrewts happy, dintcha know?" His friend smiled broadly. "It's like a lullaby to them."

"Always pleased to serve," Snape said dryly. He was glad the hut was nearby once he thought about it. Once there, he sank into one of the chairs and took some tea. "The Headmaster was there when Fudge ruled Mrs. Weasley could adopt the boy," he said, glad he didn't have to report in. Albus could handle that for the few members of the Order who hadn't been in the gallery. "I've never seen her so happy." The look on her face when she'd held the chalice, and a few moments later, when she realized Harry was really hers, was worth it. _At least it had better be,_ he thought mordantly. Perhaps if he hid under his covers long enough he would stop being so afraid, though he doubted it.

He waved away Hagrid's offer of a tot from the jug for his tea. "I really won't be able to walk back to the castle if I do," Snape said. "It's been a long night." As it was, his eyelids kept trying to close on their own. Fang's warm head on his lap, slobbering as usual, added to his sense of safety and comfort. It wouldn't last, of course, but he could enjoy it while it did.

"Now, pup, those are his dress robes…"

"Dog hair and drool come out more easily than potions mistakes," he said, and petted the silly mutt some more. The tea helped restore him. With a sigh, he gently pushed Fang off his lap and stood up. "I have to go back and let Professor McGonagall know," he said. "This is just what I needed, Hagrid. Thank you." Being able to say such things was easier these days. At least he could blame most of the changes on that wretched swill the clinic sent him. He wasn't going soft. Really.

It was a short walk to the castle. He had most of the dog hair pulled off by the time he reached the huge building. Severus was surprised to see breakfast was nearly over in the Great Hall already, though Minerva still lingered over her tea. _Albus isn't back yet, either. No doubt he's too busy explaining how he won the case or making sure the Weasleys are allowed to return home safely._

He put on his very best scowl as he sat down next to her. "That idiot Fudge," he muttered, delighted to see terror briefly pass over her face. "Can't see that Potter would be better off with the Malfoys."

Her bright smile was all he could ask. "You horrible man," she said severely, though the twinkle in her eyes gave her away. She really had been around Dumbledore too long. "You frightened me out of a year's growth."

"Good," he said. "I think the announcement needs to wait. I don't think many have heard the results yet, especially not here. Let the Weasleys have the fun of letting Mr. Potter know." Of course Minerva had been left to manage affairs here. Anything could have happened at the Ministry.

The Deputy Headmistress nodded, and then ordered a house elf to bring more food. "You must be starving," she said. "At least I hope you are."

"I could stand a bite or two," he said. Snape eagerly devoured a plate of eggs and potatoes, with extra grease sopped up with toast. "No doubt I'll regret this later, but it hits the spot this morning." He eyed a sugary breakfast roll, but knew that would be too much.

Then Winky showed up with the usual horrible potions. He sighed, leaned forward to accept them, and then stopped. "No, Winky. Not today. I'm playing truant from the regimen this morning. I'll go back on it later on."

The elf looked worried. "Master Potions Master needs to take medicine. Mistress Nurse say so."

"Master Potions Master would like to keep his breakfast. Later."

Winky vanished, no doubt to grass on him to the mediwitch. Minerva looked worried. Snape smiled faintly at his friend. "The world hasn't come to an end because I want to enjoy this breakfast instead of barely hanging on to it," he said. "I'll be good tomorrow. And when we work on the Sunday Latin crossword puzzle, I'll snap and snarl the way I usually do."

She visibly relaxed. "You had me frightened there for a moment. I wondered who had stolen some of your hair."

"Well, I have some of Fang's on my robes, but I don't think that would be much help. At least it's a different color, so no second-year know-it-alls will mistake it for any of mine."

Minerva spluttered. "You're never going to let me hear the end of that, are you?"

"No," he said. Snape drank the last of his tea and pushed himself away from the table. "I plan to sleep a few hours before the Slytherin-Ravenclaw game, though."

"Should you go? You haven't been well, and you've had to do far too much. Poppy's really worried about you."

"One game isn't going to hurt me. The fog is burning off, and I'll bundle up in case the wind starts blowing." It might be the last match he was going to see. He wasn't going to miss it.

McGonagall sniffed. "Well, if you're determined to wear yourself down, I suppose there's not much I can do about it. I'll be watching my students play Hufflepuff, and I've been told to rest more as well. One thing I do is to transfigure the part of the bench I'm sitting on into a padded chair with a headrest, and lean back a bit. It couldn't hurt for you to do the same. Besides, even Poppy says the fresh air is good for you."

He briskly nodded his thanks. "To be honest, I hope your game lasts most of the afternoon and mine is called short on account of darkness." Severus stood, realizing other things could be called short in the name of the Dark Lord.

"I hope so, too," Minerva said. "I hope you're able to sleep before then. Oh, yes, happy birthday! Since Slytherin isn't playing my house today, I can even wish for their victory today."

"Generous of you," he said with a smirk. Snape went down to the dungeons, and said a few words to his students as he passed their dormitory. He almost lost his composure then. He knew even if he survived this ordeal, that his time with them was limited. He reached his quarters, where Winky fussed over him and the dog hair on his robes. The elf swore she would have them good as new in a day or so, and took them off to the laundry after drawing him a hot bath. As he sat in it, soaking, he took his memories of Hagrid's hut, tea with Minerva, and Winky's joy at seeing him and put them in his mental sanctuary. _I've been neglecting it,_ he thought. Snape counted over his treasures as if in his vault at Gringotts, and was pleased at the way he'd filled up the gaps made last summer. _Narcissa._ He symbolized her with a late-blooming flower of the same name, with similar fragility and strength. _I'm glad I was able to show her how much I do care, even if not in the way she seems to want._ Then he smiled to himself as he added the memory of Molly Weasley enveloped in the light from the chalice just after the Trial. Hers was a cup that never failed, like the legendary cauldrons of old.

It was a disappointment in a way to return to the real world, but he reminded himself that it was a source of joy as well as of pain and terror.

When he sank into his bed, though, he shook with fear. After trying to fight it for a few moments, he simply gave into it.

He felt a tiny hand patting his. "Master all right?"

"Just…just very tired, Winky," Severus said. "Sometimes…sometimes I just have to stop pretending about things." Who would look after the elf when he was gone? "If…if I'm not here any more, and I can't come back, go the Headmaster, Winky. He will be sad and need you."

"No! Master not leave!"

"I'll try not to, little one, but I might not have a choice."

"Miss Book-Girl will be sad, too.

That made him blink. "What?"

"She has picture of you in her room. You wear different clothes, not as old, but…"

He snorted at the incongruity. "That must be Viktor Krum. He was a student at Durmstrang and now plays professional Quidditch." He'd overheard the youngest Mr. Weasley complain about the girl continuing to write the fellow a number of times.

"Still looks like you."

At least Winky had distracted him from wallowing in self pity. "Don't be silly. If something happens to me, the Headmaster will need someone to cry with. I think I can go to sleep now. I know everything will be all right here with you watching over me." Oddly enough, he believed it, which apparently made the demented little elf believe it, too. "Oh, be sure to wake me when the game between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff is over. I want to go to the one after between Slytherin and Ravenclaw."

Winky sniffed, wiped her eyes, and nodded. "Yes, master." She disappeared.

Snape almost laughed at the thought of that silly know-it-all spending any thought on him. Just imagining it was enough to break the terror that had shaken him.

At last he slept.

Albus Dumbledore

Minerva waited for him in his office when he returned from the Ministry. Harry was as safe as the legal system could make him, which he knew wasn't very much, but at least the boy was no longer in danger of being adopted by the Malfoys. He'd made sure several Aurors started keeping more of a watch on the Burrow. _I'll just have to trust the Ministry's own protections to keep Arthur and Percy safe. Most of the time Molly is at the safe house, and I shall encourage her to spend most of this next week there, just in case. _Hogwarts would have to serve the youngest two, while he'd sent warning owls to Bill, Charlie, and the twins. If anything happened between now and when the private family rite was concluded, Narcissa Malfoy could sue again. For that matter, she could probably petition the court if all the Weasleys were dead, but if that happened the Order would have other problems.

As he sat down in his chair and greeted McGonagall, he hoped Riddle could think that far ahead. _Let us hope he believes he needs to keep his best advocate alive for another attempt._

"Before you ask, Severus returned about an hour ago and ate rather a good breakfast, especially for him," she said. "However, he refused his morning potion. No doubt he knows his own stomach best."

"I'll ask Poppy, but after such a disrupted night it probably couldn't hurt him to skip the regimen for an entire day and begin fresh tomorrow morning," he said. "After we talk here, I'll check on him. I hope he's asleep by now." _Better that than trying to pretend this might not be his last day ever. _He shoved the unwelcome thought into his mental lumber-room. "I plan to lie down and sleep for as much of today as I can as well. I'm afraid you'll have to manage the school from the Quidditch stands."

She nodded grimly. "You think you will have to sit up again tonight."

"Yes, I fear that very much."

"Should I inform Harry about the hearing and its results?"

"Wait till after the game, unless it's obvious the news has already leaked out. The Weasleys should be the ones to tell him if at all possible. I have another Occlumency lesson with the boy tomorrow. That will be a good time to discuss the matter. He should know about this long before then."

"Do remind him of the cost, Albus."

"It might not be fully apparent by then," he said, not wanting to face the subject.

"You believe there will be one, or you wouldn't be making ready to sit up tonight," she went on inexorably. "Let us face facts. Severus could be dead tomorrow. The Weasleys will be in grave danger, though I will admit they already were. Naturally, I am glad things fell out as they did. However, we would be fools to pretend there will be no penalty. It's just that others will be paying it, rather like during the raid on the Ministry last spring."

Albus flinched. "Harry will pay, too. He already has."

Her face softened. "Yes. Quarter day is only put off. Yet I can't help wondering when Severus will have any reward for all he's done. There's an imbalance there, and magic always rebounds when stretched too far. I should not like to see the possible effect on the war, because that sort of debt always shows up on the worst day."

Dumbledore sighed. He felt the same, but had always believed he would find a way to redress the problem before it was too late, or find a way to direct any possible rebound onto him. After all, he'd created the situation. Yet all this had been for the boy's benefit. Snape had repaid his Life Debt to James many times over, and the weight now leaned the other direction. If Severus…if the Potions Master died tonight, none of them would be able to rectify the situation save perhaps by protecting young Malfoy. This possible reaction was one of the reasons Pettigrew's Life Debt to Harry was so important.

In truth, James Potter had truly meant to save Black from Azkaban and Lupin from being put down, more than he had meant to keep Snape from dying under a werewolf's claws. Severus had learned that night what his life was truly worth in the sight of others. No wonder he'd taken the Mark as soon as he could afterwards.

_How many other students have died or thrown their lives away because I looked the other way? _He had always wondered why so few others joined when James and his friends became members of the Order. Tonight he would have been astonished to see the large number of white shards unless he'd been warned by his friend Melchior Binns that he was not as well loved as he would like to think. _I should be happy Snape believes he still owes a debt._

"Albus?"

"Sorry. Just woolgathering, and not happy at what I found. I want to look in on Severus, but I don't want to wake him or have his students comment on my presence when…when it could still make a difference." His cancellation of Snape's vote had been planned on, but it had to have been humiliating.

"Oh, that's simple. Summon Winky. Few others do these days, of course, but Sybil sometimes forgets. Or she does it because she's worried about Severus as well. The elf will be glad to tell you how he is."

He smiled wanly. "See? I'm so distracted I can't remember the simplest things."

"That's why it's the Order of the Phoenix, not the Order of the Dumbledore," Minerva said crisply. Then she grimaced. "I'm trying to pretend all will go on as it has, too, Albus. I should have remembered why our grim Potions Master wanted to have a breakfast that stayed settled on his stomach today, never mind it being his birthday. Or why he wants to see his Slytherins play Quidditch one more time, even if the weather is really too cold for him to be out. Instead, I poked and prodded as I always did. He didn't mind, though. I hope he took comfort from my assumption he'll make it through the way he's managed to before."

He wasn't the only one who would mourn. The Headmaster was glad he would not be alone. For so long, he'd assumed it was only his edict that forced others to tolerate the dark Slytherin. It had been a surprise when most of the staff had let him know what they thought of his treatment of Snape. "I hope you are right," he said. "If he needs more recovery time than usual, though, I will have him moved to the clinic, and possibly send Winky with him."

She nodded. "We've asked too much of him for years," the Deputy Headmistress said. "For all its problems, at least putting him on that regimen allows him to rest properly when something happens elsewhere. I wish we had spread rumors about a chronic condition a year or so ago—you know, an illness that flared up and forced him to rest at random intervals. Umbridge would have used it as a reason to call for his resignation by last spring, I suppose, so perhaps it's just as well nobody thought of it then."

Albus was silent. He remembered Malachite had told him to do his grieving now, and for good reason, but it hurt so much.

Minerva must have read his face. She stood up and said, "Rest. You'll need your strength later. The game starts in a few hours, and that will keep _my_ dunderheads from causing trouble for a little while. The Slytherins know something is wrong, and have been entirely too good lately. That will last for today, if not longer. Sprout and Flitwick are watching their students more closely this year. You don't have a lesson with Harry till tomorrow. We need to take turns breaking down. Today it's yours."

The Headmaster sighed. "You're right again." He rose and escorted her to the door of his office. "I'll send for a late breakfast and then sleep some more, I think. You do not need to send Poppy to check up on me."

"Unfair how you read minds like that," she sniffed, though she smiled. "I'll come back later and tell you all about the game."

"I'd like that," he said. Albus closed the door after she left, and went to his quarters. The early morning fog had burned off, and it promised cold but clear for the rest of the day, though clouds threatened on the horizon for tonight. He sat down on the edge of his bed and gazed out his window at the broad grounds of Hogwarts. The Headmaster was glad his side faced the Quidditch Pitch. There had been many times over the years when he'd been forced to stay by his desk on weekends for business, but had sneaked away to view parts of a match anyway.

He suddenly felt trapped behind the glass. _Oh, yes, I am protected and revered, while others run all the risks. I move children around like chess pieces and appear to never count the cost. Minerva learned the game from me and could take my place here at the school today. Moody is a Ravenclaw and will have no trouble making the sacrifices required. After all, he's already given so much of himself he has trouble understanding the pain of those who haven't. _

Albus choked back a sob. He had to eat, though he had little appetite, to retain what strength he had left. He remembered his dream from last night. _Soon the sacrifice will be me. I wish it _could _be me today, instead of Severus. The hand of death keeps plucking away the ones I love and leaving me behind._

For a moment grief overwhelmed him. Then he choked it back. "Winky," he said, with the gesture that summoned a specific house elf, and not just one who was nearest. "Winky, come here."

The tiny elf appeared. She blinked, undoubtedly surprised to see him so discomposed. Albus tried to order breakfast, but was bowed down by his sorrow. Winky wrapped her arms around him and ended up in his lap as Dumbledore sat straight up again. "Master Potions Master say to help you cry," she murmured. "But he not gone yet."

The Headmaster let his tears flow. He found comfort in them and in the elf's concern for him. "No, he isn't," he said at last. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. Winky slid back down to the floor. "How is Master Potions Master?" he asked.

"Sleeping, sleeping good. He afraid, he shake, then laugh when I talk about Miss Book-Girl," the elf said. "Please don't wake him, Master Headmaster?"

"I won't," he said. "I wanted to find out how he was, though. Today is his birthday, and tonight the staff will have a surprise for him. He'll grumble when I call him to a staff meeting, but he'll be happy when he comes here."

"Birthday!" Winky squealed. "Oh, presents and cake!"

"Yes," Albus said with a smile. "I'm glad he's sleeping now, in fact, so he'll be rested. He did a very brave thing last night." He decided not to try to explain how. "I'm glad you're taking care of him. I want to order breakfast, but I also want to find out how your master was doing. I worry about him, too. You helped me, and I am happy about that, too."

Winky nodded, and then disappeared. She returned with a tray. "Master say to wake him for Snakes and Ravens game. Is that right?"

"Of course it is," he said. "That won't happen until after Gryffindor and Hufflepuff have played. He'll have a lot of time to sleep. The meeting we have won't be long, either, so he'll go to bed early tonight, too."

The elf nodded again. Then her little green face looked sad. "If Dark Man not call," she whispered. "My Barty loved him, but he hurts Master Potions Master so much."

This time it was his turn to comfort Winky. He bent down from his sitting position to hold the elf a moment. "We can only hope he doesn't," Albus said. He let go and straightened up. His back wouldn't let him keep the embrace for long. "Now, I'm not making this an order, but I want you to rest today while your master is sleeping. The prefects should watch over the other students today, and I'm going to ask the ghosts and portraits to help. If the Dark Man does call him, he'll need your help when he returns." He had finally learned that his own intervention often wasn't much help—but he _could_ make sure others who were better at it were there for the Potions Master. His gift tonight, in fact, was a way to give Snape the physical comfort a man his age needed without much risk. That Swiss woman had been quite cooperative once she'd seen the color of his Galleons, or in this case, his bank draft.

Winky said, "Yes, Master Headmaster. Master Shiny-Head has team sit together, look at books. Missy Princess laugh at them, but helps with questions."

Dumbledore never ceased to be amazed at how apt the elf nicknames for students and staff were. He smiled. "That's good. I know you didn't sleep well waiting for your master to return last night. Now, Headmaster Lemon-Drop says to go to the kitchens and eat, and then rest. I'm going to do the same thing, or Mistress Tartan will turn into a cat and hiss at me."

The elf giggled, and disappeared. Albus cast a quick Warming Charm on his tray and ate. As he did so, he remembered one thing Winky had said. _'Master Potions Master say to help you cry. But he not gone yet.'_

Dumbledore lay down his fork. "But he will be," he said softly to himself. "He will be."


	63. Chapter 63: Paying the Piper

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, and zafaran. Read their stories, too.

This chapter contains nonconsensual sexual activity and torture. Rated M. Really, _really_ M. Bella has fun, though.

Chapter 63: Paying the Piper

Severus Snape

He opened his eyes as Winky murmured, "Master, time for game. Please wake up, Master, time for game." He didn't want to leave the sanctuary of his bed, but did so anyway. Snape sat up and ate from the small tray of food the elf had brought him. Everything tasted good for once without all the effects of his various potions.

"It is sunny but cold, Master. Please wear lots of clothes," Winky said.

"Of course." He added many layers, and put a Warming Charm on his cloak as well. Once out of his quarters, it was clear his students were glad to see him. Many had found out it was his birthday, and he was asked by a stuttering seventh-year to drop by the Common Room after the game. Some of them trailed after him to the Quidditch Pitch, while more were waiting for him by the stands. Miss Parkinson claimed a seat by his left side, while Miss Walsh, one of the first years, slid into the other. Snape professed himself delighted to be surrounded by such charming young ladies, which made both of them giggle. He remembered what McGonagall had said, and allowed Draco's betrothed to perform the honors of transfiguring a chair for him. Miss Parkinson was proud of the more comfortable seat she'd created for her Head of House, and did the same for herself and the younger girl. Miss Walsh was enthralled by watching the procedure, and swore she'd pay more attention in her class with the Deputy Headmistress. Snape rather wished he had over the years, but decided to enjoy the fruits of a student's labor anyway.

Once he settled in, he realized he was an idiot to have watched a game any other way.

"We're all happy you could make it today, Professor," Pansy said. "Everyone knows how sick you've been. Draco, especially, has been trying to look after things."

Then his godson flew by on his broom. "I'll try to make this game a short one, sir!" the young man shouted as he went past.

Severus allowed himself to enjoy the sight of his Slytherins, both on the benches and out on the pitch. He was happy Draco had been sensible and had the team dress for the cold, though studies had shown lightly clad players generally went faster. The Ravenclaws might have a small advantage, since they had clearly seen the same study and wore thinner clothes, but they would pay for it with their health later. Flitwick waved at him from his own high seat. Snape nodded back.

The game began. The Snitch went up into the air, while the Quaffle sped across the field. Bulstrode and Crabbe had their clubs out, and filled the air with Bludgers in a quick, methodical way that showed practice. Today, Miss Chang was up in the air as Seeker, her broom almost a match for her counterpart.

As he watched the game begin, Pansy summarized the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match. "The Puffs did a lot better than most people thought they would, Professor. They suckered Potter into the wrong place at the wrong time, and he fell like a rock on his arm. He's in the infirmary now. We're going to have to watch out for that lunatic Weasley girl. She was hit by a Bludger, too, and MacMillan smiled like Fudge at a press conference, but it turned out she was faking being hurt and ended up scoring the final goal with the Quaffle."

Snape nodded. He wondered where the youngest Weasley would Sort these days. That wretched diary had changed her. In some ways she was only now properly recovering from the ordeal she'd suffered her first year. "It would not do for us to underestimate any of our enemies, Miss Parkinson."

She nodded vigorously. He sent Miss Walsh down for a cup of hot chocolate, and continued. "There may be a meeting soon. As you know, the raid on Azkaban did not go well."

"But you were gone to the clinic, sir," the girl protested.

"True. However, last night there was a hearing that also did not go well. I was responsible for that. There may be some…some unpleasantness. Draco should be all right, but I advise you and the rest to stick together and help each other out, even Miss Edgecombe. This is no time to worry about House pride. Please let the others who are out here in the stands know. I will pass the word to the team before the game is over. Ah, thank you, Miss Walsh." He accepted the cup from the young girl, who had made excellent time fetching it for him. The warmth and sweetness of the drink offered comfort in a cold world.

Snape enjoyed the game. Draco was outdoing himself today, as were the others. Lupin had clearly shown them new techniques in Quidditch, as well as helping them brush up in their Defense skills. The Rosiers were excellent Chasers, along with the intrepid Mr. Eddington, and kept the Quaffle in play enough to keep the Ravenclaw Keeper from being able to sight the Snitch. Miss Bulstrode and Mr. Crabbe were nearly as good as Beaters as the notorious Weasley twins. They still lacked the coordination Crabbe and Goyle had shared with each other, but the pair had been seen together enough to engender gossip.

As he watched, Pansy Parkinson slipped away heading in the direction of the outdoor loo. He hoped she would take the time to let Macnair and Nott know about the upcoming meeting. Avery was playing, along with the Rosiers, Zabini, Crabbe, and his godson. _I should visit the team during one of the breaks. I normally do, just to check for injuries if nothing else. I always talk to them afterwards in any case._ He didn't know how to warn Miss Edgecombe, though—in fact, he didn't know if she was in attendance at all.

Then his eyes lighted on Miss Walsh. Even Gryffindors would leave a first-year student carrying a message to one of their own alone, and Ravenclaws were rarely cruel to someone outside of their house anyway. He slipped away from the stands for a moment himself, scribbled a quick note in the privacy of a stall in the boys' lavatory, and then walked by the team bench. The usual warmers greeted him noisily.

Zabini was also on it, though he didn't look happy. "The Quaffle hit my ankle and Malfoy bounced me," he announced angrily. "It's not like I need it on a broom!"

"Let me take a look at it," Snape said. Fortunately he always carried several small vials of healing potions to games—and had cheerfully pointed out to the other Heads of Houses that they could, too, if they liked. The young man's ankle was badly bruised. It probably didn't hurt much in this cold weather, but it certainly would later. "It's not bad, but he was right not to let you fly with it. A wobbly one will throw you off balance even in the air. Drink this." As Zabini obeyed, Snape added quietly, "There may be a meeting soon, and you'll need to be in good shape for that, too. A hearing last night did not go well. I am sending Miss Edgecombe a note supposedly from you to warn her as well."

Blaise flushed red and nodded. "Thank you, Professor," he said out loud, and rubbed his ankle. "It feels a lot better."

"Good. Try not to strain it further and you'll be all right." Then the Potions Master waved Miss Walsh down. "Mr. Zabini wants to send this note to Miss Edgecombe over on the other side. Don't worry, they don't bite. If she's there, she'll be sitting with Miss Lovegood over on the second row—yes, she is there," he said as he noticed the girl.

The first year student's eyes grew bright and she smiled. "Oh, how sweet! Should I give the note to Hilary and let her take it? She's a Hufflepuff and nobody will notice."

"Five points to Slytherin, Miss Walsh."

"May I invite her to hot chocolate next time?"

"Not tomorrow, but the time after that," he said. "However, do not think to gain any concessions from Mr. Zabini or Miss Edgecombe." The Walsh girl had quickly learned that intelligence ought to be rewarded. The Sorting Hat had put her in the right place.

She ran off with the note. _Lacks_ _subtlety,_ he thought, but her suggestion about Miss Marcher was still a good one. As he wandered back to his seat, he kept half an eye out. He spotted a dark-haired girl giving something to Miss Edgecombe just a few minutes later. She reacted well for a Ravenclaw, given the contents of the note and its lack of signature.

Snape turned his attention to the game. Less than half an hour later, Draco caught the Snitch. The Slytherin stands erupted in cheers, and he allowed a rare smile to emerge. After all, it was his birthday. Why not enjoy this present?

He walked back to the team area. It felt good to see his godson so happy today. Draco landed nearby and said, "Happy birthday, professor. I hoped we were going to win today." He held the Snitch up in his hands, and then gave it to Snape.

"Thank you." The tiny, golden bird-like creature hummed in his hands. He caught the echo of a joy only a successful Seeker ever knew.

The blond Slytherin stepped closer and said quietly, "Zabini passed the word, just like you wanted him to. What was the hearing about?" Then Draco said, "Wait. Was it the one Mother told me about?"

The Potions Master nodded, and was glad he didn't have to mention any names. "The other side won. I suspect it will be all over tomorrow's Prophet. It should have been in today's, but there probably wasn't enough time to put in a new lead article. You should be proud of your mother. But nothing I did was good enough to overcome Mr. Weasley's influence over his fellow ministers, or the rest of the Wizengamot." He knew he was being overheard. In fact, he was slightly surprised the news wasn't all over the school by now.

"I bet Fudge is wondering if his own place is safe, if the Weasel's dad is showing his true colors. You always said there was more to him than people thought."

"I believe you may be right," he said. Snape grimaced as his arm began to ache. He could tell by the look in Draco's eyes that his was doing so as well. "Take good care of this," Snape said as he handed back the Snitch. At least none of them had been called earlier. Even the Dark Lord knew better than to interfere in a Slytherin victory.

His godson turned his head and shouted at the team. "All right. Let's clean up our area, then hit the showers. We did brilliantly out there today! Post mort at noon tomorrow, usual place. We'll go over the good, the bad and the ugly in today's game then. For now, let's celebrate!"

"I have my mask and cloak in a pocket," Snape said. "I'll wait for the rest of you at the usual spot in the Forest. Try to be there as soon as possible." A bolt of pain reminded him to hurry. He stopped instead and looked back at Hogwarts. A light was on in the Headmaster's office. _I hope you won't wait in vain, Albus._

As he began walking towards the boundary of the school, he noticed Miss Parkinson leading Miss Walsh and a few other first year students back to the castle. As the wind whipped up, he was glad he'd dressed more warmly than usual. Now the hour was upon him, he forced himself to push all emotion away. Gibbering terror lay behind his mental walls. _I'm lucky I was given this much time to rest. I should be suitably grateful._

Snape knew, rationally, that it was less than a quarter of an hour before all the apprentices were assembled with him out in the woods, but it felt much longer. Why he cared so much about arriving late to a meeting that was likely to end badly, he wasn't sure. At last, Crabbe showed up. They donned their masks and cloaks, and Apparated away.

Wherever they were it was dark, much darker than at Hogwarts, even though the school was so far north. Snape glanced around, and realized they were probably at the site in Bosnia again. He strode forward, expecting to be followed, towards the light of a campfire.

He entered the clearing, the students close behind him. Draco left the rest of the apprentices and knelt in front of Bella, who wore no mask this time. That was either a punishment or a sign of unusual privilege. Snape knew better than to dream it was the first. He and the other apprentices knelt facing the Dark Lord. He forced himself to breathe slowly.

Pettigrew stood by his master on the other side of Nagini, though he wore a mask. His apprentice was next to him, topping him by over half a foot. No other Death Eaters were present. This clearly wasn't a full meeting, then. Snape toyed briefly with the idea of bringing in substitutes for his apprentices at another time. _I wish I'd thought of this earlier. Mad-Eye in Crabbe's place, perhaps, and Miss Tonks in Edgecombe's cloak—but too late now._ Snape reinforced his mental walls, though he had done so earlier as well.

"You have failed." Voldemort's hissing voice filled the clearing.

"Yes, my lord." Snape bowed his head. Never mind that neither he nor Narcissa could have passed the Trial by Ordeal, or been allowed to live later on if they had.

"You must be punished. Out of consideration for my dear Bella's latest loss, I will allow her to dispense it. You may not use your favor with her to lessen it in any way. You are not to die tonight, but you may wish you had before it's over."

"I deserve it for my incompetence, my lord." How much longer would he have to assert his agreement with a lie?

"Yes, you do. I certainly can't blame the old fool for using his position against you, but you should have taken precautions. There were too many blank shards gathered by the Ministry clerks. Too many still think they can stay neutral. As for the Trial, well, you _are_ a Potions Master."

Snape was careful to keep his head bowed as he cautiously argued the first point. "This neutrality could be a good thing for us, my lord. Those who voted with white shards are still potentially ours. With the compromise we gained on the Black property, physical custody of the Potter brat is still within our grasp." And as the only Death Eater allowed access to the place, he would be the only one able to execute a kidnap plan. However, he wasn't about to suggest _that_ part. His cleverness had, after all, brought him here.

"Nice try," Bella sneered. "I am tired of listening to you whine, Snivellus. _Silencio!_"

He hated that spell. His voice had always been one of his strongest assets.

"Look up at me!" she commanded.

Naturally he obeyed.

"Now you will _listen!_" she continued. "How dare you kneel there, alive and well, while my Rodolphus lies dead on the island of Azkaban? You can't cower in your clinic or in your dungeons any longer. If you hadn't been so _weak_ my husband might still be alive. But no, our lord thought to spare you the sight of so many werewolves, wolves who betrayed us all." Tears spilled down her shadowed face. "I should have been there, too," the witch whispered, her wand almost falling from her fingers.

"Bella." The Dark Lord's voice made her turn towards him.

She cringed. "I am sorry, my lord. Your decisions were the right ones, of course."

"Yes." Voldemort smiled. "I am weary. Have fun, my dear, but remember he is not to die. You still owe him from the last time. I should not like to see that rebound upon you or Pettigrew. Wormtail, you and your apprentice will stay to observe, but Nagini and I must go." The red eyes glittered as his snake-like head swiveled back and forth.

_I wonder if this is a test? How much can she hurt me before my apprentices can take no more? Will the rat intervene if she oversteps herself? I suspect the Dark Lord plans to watch._

Voldemort looked down at him. "Ah, my Shadow. So many busy thoughts. Enjoy them."

_Of course, this would be one way to dispose of me and blame it on someone else._

The Dark Lord's smile became a toothy grin. "Too bad you didn't win, Severus. You would have liked the reward I had planned for you. Perhaps I shall tell you later what it was." He turned and stepped into the darkness, the huge serpent following along behind.

Snape bowed his head as Voldemort left.

"How good of you to show proper humility to one of the house of Black," Bella said. "But I have a lot planned for tonight. Look at me!" She enforced her words with a stinging hex. Severus was careful to show a blank face to the angry woman. She dare not avenge her husband's death on the one truly responsible, of course.

She smiled. Her face was flushed now, and her breasts fell and rose rapidly. Snape had an unpleasant feeling what his punishment might include, and wished his apprentices were not here. Under other circumstances, he'd consider himself well off if _that_ was all she wished of him.

"Stand up," she commanded. "You, too, my little dragon."

Snape obeyed. He was glad to see his apprentices remained on their knees.

"Draco, take his wand out of his robe pocket and keep it. Return it only when I tell you to." Bella smirked. "No, you won't defend yourself against your godson, will you? I didn't think so. Now listen to what I have planned. It won't be nearly as much fun if you don't really understand. First, I'm going to make sure you don't run away." Magical ropes emerged from her wand at her chanted spell and bound him to the cold ground. He shivered as he lay on his back and waited to see what would happen next. The last time he'd been in this position in this Circle, he'd nearly died.

She glanced at his students, who were still kneeling. Her face was full of satisfaction. "He really does have you trained well, doesn't he? Stand up and move away. I want you by my dear friend and his apprentice."

He was proud of his children when they stayed in position. Bella snarled and sprayed a few hexes at them. "What are you waiting for, you little fools?"

Snape heard Miss Edgecombe's voice. "My lady, Professor Snape is our master. We may be commanded only by him, and by the great lord who marked us. Thus apprenticeships have ever been."

He heard the echo of Binns in that statement. Severus wondered if the girl would get away with it. Being right was no guarantee of anything here.

Bella hexed them some more, though they made only a few sounds of pain. Then she stopped. "Well, I suppose your master can't do much but complain. She chanted the counter curse, and Snape found he could speak again.

"Children, in this instance, and this instance only, do as she says. Raise no hand or wand against her save in self-defense. Protect each other—" He stopped speaking as pain shot down his face and blood dripped down his neck.

"That's quite enough," Bella said sharply. She smiled again. "I keep forgetting the best is yet to come. I found a spell for you in an old book. I've tried it on a few Muggles, and it works perfectly. It stops them from being able to use words, even in thought, or so our lord has said. A _severing_ hex, so to speak. My lord was gracious to try it on me for a few minutes, and it was quite strange. Of course, he and I are the only ones who know the counter-curse.

"But just in case those soft-hearted idiots of Hogwarts still want to help you, I'll put a charm on you that repels all magic once I'm done. Anyone who isn't one of us who tries to use any on you will be severely injured. That includes that dowdy old mediwitch, too! And you know the best part? Even if the old fool manages to dispel the severing hex, the longer it's on or the more often it's used on you, the more likely its effects will be permanent." She laughed.

He breathed heavily, trying to master his terror. _I expected pain,_ he thought. _It's nothing new to me. But this—but this..._ "I would rather die," he said.

"I know," Bella said with a gleeful smile. "That's the whole point!"

She began an incantation with a lot of intricate wand movement that produced the image of a ghostly dagger glowing in front of her. Her eyes gleamed. The blade soared forward, then plunged down into his throat.

Cold. Pain. Fear. A woman, laughing. The shining silver masks and dark cloaks on those standing by watching his torment.

But no words.

Draco Malfoy

He almost threw up behind his mask when he saw the enchanted knife dive into his godfather's throat. He saw the older wizard's dark, intelligent eyes turn blank. Snape's normally impassive face became anxious. The Potions Master turned his head from side to side, as if seeking escape from this trap, while the rest of his body struggled against the ropes. _I shouldn't have taken his wand, and now it's too late._

This was _wrong_, by anyone's standards, not just a stuck-up Gryffindor's. Last summer, it had been all he could do to keep from charging forward the way Zabini almost had, never mind hanging onto Crabbe to keep him from doing the same thing. The way Snape had screamed, and then _stopped_ screaming…

This was worse. With a single spell, the most brilliant wizard in Britain, if not the world, had been turned into a mindless animal.

His aunt laughed. Draco desperately wanted to use his own wand against her, but even thinking about it made his Mark hurt. _Why did I ever think I could manage her?_ He'd taken care to flatter her the few times they'd met. He'd done his best to make her think he was happier as her apprentice and not Snape's.

Bella walked to the prone figure of the Potions Master and kicked him in the ribs. He cried out and tried to break free of the ropes again. "At least now you have enough sense to be afraid of me," she said, as she cursed him till he howled with pain.

Then she smiled. "Perhaps I can make sure the potion I took doesn't go to waste." Her voice went softer and deeper.

Draco froze. Surely his aunt wasn't going to do, do something like that with everyone watching.

Her next spell vanished the professor's clothing, though not the ropes. The Potions Master was so thin his godson could count every rib. The scars—the scars were terrible, with fresh marks laid on top of them. _How many of them did Father make?_ Draco wondered, utterly appalled. He noticed a nasty claw-mark on his godfather's left side, and wondered how that had happened. Maybe Snape had a really good reason to hate werewolves.

Then Bella held out her wand with one hand and began untying the ribbons at the top of her cloak with the other. "I suppose all you want is someone to sing you a lullabye, Snivellus, but I want more than that. Much more. Pity you don't seem happy to see me, but I can help you." She chanted, almost growling, under her breath, and added some wand movements. Snape's eyes went hot. He snarled up at the dark-haired woman, while his body responded to the lust spell.

Even under these circumstances, Draco was impressed by his Head of House. Bad jokes about the Serpent of Slytherin came to mind. He shook his head, disgusted any part of him could find humor in the situation. He glanced over at the other apprentices. All eyes were wide under the masks—except for one stony gaze from a shorter masked figure. _That's probably Edgecombe._

His throat tightened. He had to do something, or his aunt was going to take advantage of—no, _rape_ his godfather. The way his father had.

"No!" he cried, though it was difficult now for him to take his own eyes off his aunt's tits, now fully exposed. Was it the edges of the spell she cast, or a reflection from her?

She paused, and glanced back at him. "Now, now, nephew, I'm not going to hurt him. I only want a little sport. If he pleases me enough perhaps I won't hurt him at all. Look, he obviously wants me. I can see why your father is so very fond of his fellow Slytherin. But perhaps you're still too young to know about that."

Draco bit his lip. "No," he said. "Father told me." Would this really be so bad for his godfather? Snape did prefer women, and this way he might not be badly hurt.

"But if you're really that jealous, I suppose you could take his place." Bella smiled at him and licked her lips. "After all, you are my apprentice and I do have certain rights. It's not like you have a maidenhood for me to ruin."

He was appalled by her offer and his body's response to it. She was older than his mother! Warmth began spreading down his Mark and into his groin. He breathed harder as he grew ready for her. But he shook his head.

"Pity." She stepped towards Snape again, untying more ribbons on her cloak. Draco was certain she was naked underneath it.

Bella straddled the Potions Master, and began to squat down. Snape cried out hoarsely and thrust his pelvis upward, as far as the ropes would let him.

Then Lestrange stood back up again and laughed. "So _now_ you want me! Too bad I changed my mind." She stepped back. "Still, it is wrong to arouse you and then leave you so unsatisfied." She lifted her wand and shrieked "_Crucio!_" and somehow directed the spell directly onto the professor's groin. It felt as if she kept it going for hours, though Draco knew it was only minutes. He hoped.

Snape convulsed, screamed, and passed out. A small pool of yellowish liquid lay on his flat belly. Bella smirked. "Fascinating how the spell works on men that way. They're never good for much afterwards, though."

Draco automatically shielded himself with his left hand and checked for his other wand with the right. He suspected all the other men and boys were reacting the same way. Even Pettigrew and his apprentice looked horrified, despite their masks. He watched with revulsion as his aunt continued to hex Snape while the Potions Master lay on the ground unconscious. She followed up a nasty blistering spell with a few kicks to the ribs and face.

One of the other apprentices stepped forward and knelt down at Snape's side. Draco wished he'd had the courage to do the same.

"Get out of my way, you idiot!" Bella shouted.

"My lady, I once was your apprentice," came the monotone voice of the only Ravenclaw in the group. "Though I am one no longer, I still feel a duty to advise you. Our lord said my master was not to be killed. I would be failing in the obligation I once had to you if I didn't say something before excessive zeal led you to future punishment."

"I should hex you into the ground!" the older witch snarled.

"I deserve it for my disobedience to my master's last command, my lady. Yet it would be wrong for me to fail to protect him, as well. I am now his apprentice, and it is my duty to see to his welfare."

"No doubt you know all about the Serpent of Slytherin for yourself by now!"

"No, my lady. As far as I know, the professor has not honored any of his apprentices that way. Since I am no longer virgin, it would be well within his rights, of course."

Draco was stunned by Edgecombe's bravery. _Pansy isn't a virgin, either. But we've been betrothed since childhood…_ He knew that was only an excuse. He'd never thought of apprenticeships like that, but given how much the Raven had been working for Binns lately, she probably knew all about them. Then one of the other apprentices took a step forward out of the small group. He knew who it was. _Zabini, you idiot! She'll kill both of you!_

He'd hung back long enough. It was his turn to kneel. "My lady," he said. "As your apprentice, it is also my duty to advise you. I heard what our lord said, too. If the professor dies, he may punish you, and with that Reciprocity spell I'd suffer too." She'd believe self-interest.

"My poor little nephew, concerned for his own backside as usual," she sneered, as she ruffled his hair. "I always knew you were a cowardly baby. Narcissa has spoiled you for too long. I think it's time you learned a little discipline, don't you?"

"As my lady wishes." His heart sank. _I should have gone along with her the first time, or kept my mouth shut about my godfather. Oh, Merlin, he could be dying right now!_

"Blood calls to blood, you said before. Let's find out how much you really meant it. Too bad you were so reluctant earlier. Have you changed your mind?"

"Yes, my lady," Draco said. He tried to summon the warmth and the wanting he'd had earlier. But part of him was just too anxious over what had happened to his godfather. Even some under-the-robe encouragement didn't help.

Bella tapped her foot. She clearly had a good Warming Charm around her, as her cloak fell open to give him a good look. _Not bad,_ he assured himself,_ not bad at all, not fat or saggy, maybe a bit on the skinny side. Knockers not as good as Pansy's, but definitely there…_

His aunt sighed. Once again, his Mark flared up and he was full of fire. "Could…could we go out of sight of the others?" he asked, hating how his voice shook.

Her lips curved upwards. "No. You'll just have to want me enough to do it in front of everyone. Lucius was never so shy…though Snivellus was, I hate to say. If you don't want him hurt again, you'll have to do better than just stand there."

Draco tried to close his mind to everything but the woman in front of him, and ignored the little voice that warned him she could hex him the same way she had the professor. He was a Slytherin. He was a _Malfoy,_ and ought to be able to do it in the Great Hall during breakfast (in fact, he'd once pointed out how well robes covered things, but Pansy had nearly slapped him and wouldn't sit on his lap until he'd buttoned up).

He stood up, noticed he was taller than his aunt, and leaned down to kiss her. The sight of her naked breasts squished against the outside of his cloak reminded him to unfasten it and unbutton his shirt, while his pants were tighter than they had ever been. He ignored everything but the warmth of her skin and the feel of her hot mouth on his, while her hands slid down and pulled at his belt.

He undid that and the buttons down the front as well. For once he wished for a Muggle zipper. Bella pulled his member out of his underwear, and whistled. "Well, you're your father's son that way," she said with glee. "Lucius and Rodolphus and I had great times together in our seventh year, though your father kept Snivvy for himself."

"Won't he be unhappy with what you did to the professor?" He didn't know why he asked. He wanted his aunt so much now it was a waste of his lips to do anything but kiss and lick that wonderful skin of hers.

"I didn't hurt what Lucius is interested in," she said. "You talk too much. Now pay attention."

He was glad to obey now. Draco was on fire as he never had been for anyone, not even Pansy. He removed the rest of his clothes, and then transfigured a leaf into a blanket for the ground. He knelt down and used his tongue to please his mistress. She had black, wiry hair around her honeypot, not like Pansy's fair curls at all, but he knew better than to complain about the strands. He was glad now Father had bought him 'lessons' with a woman for his fifteenth birthday.

Bella moaned softly. "Ah, boy, I should have known a Malfoy was going to be this good."

Draco was hurting now, but not from any hexes. "Please, may I, mistress?" he asked.

"Of course, dear boy. I thought you would never ask. I must admit, you do have proper manners." His aunt lay down then, her legs slightly spread, and her cloak under her. "But don't you dare finish before I do."

He continued with his tongue, desperate to make her as hot for him as he was for her now. A part of him cowered in humiliation with everyone watching, but he knew Bella might have killed his godfather without this distraction. He burned for _her, _not just any woman or girl he might have. For a moment he felt as if he'd changed into a huge serpent, a serpent seeking only one home. Bella squirmed and sighed under his ministrations. Draco couldn't wait any longer, and entered her. Everything was a red haze, as if he were bathed in fire, like the burning phoenix feather that had entered his soul. The feeling of being like a snake disappeared in those flames, but he didn't care.

He shouldn't like this so much. Bella was his aunt! His body still lusted for her wet heat anyway, and he couldn't stop. When he finished, he heard himself screaming as if she were torturing him instead. For a moment the fire burning inside him became white-hot, while some strange music, like bird song, rose in joyous triumph in his mind. _That_ had certainly never happened before.

Draco wanted to collapse on top of the woman, but even now knew he didn't dare. He carefully withdrew on his knees. Then he realized he'd left more than he thought behind, and looked for his wand.

"Now, what's the problem, little dragon?" Satisfaction filled her eyes.

"Um, mistress, I don't know if you took a potion or not before…" His face grew hot.

"Of course I did. Sweet of you to ask, though. I must remember to write your father and thank him for having you so well trained." She rolled up onto her elbow and smirked at him. "And yes, you may dress. You pleased me very much."

Draco fastened his clothes back on as quickly as possible. He felt sick as the afterglow wore off. Pansy would never believe it wasn't his idea. What was worse, he wanted to do it again.

He glanced around, hoping not to meet his betrothed's eyes. Professor Snape was still unconscious, naked, and bound to the ground by magical ropes. _Oh, Merlin, I completely forgot about him. Is he still alive?_

Edgecombe was still there, though she was standing now. She must have understood his concern, as she briefly nodded.

The rest of the apprentices stood by Pettigrew and Weasley. The one who had to be Crabbe had one hand on the shoulder of another, probably Zabini.

Bella stood up and retied her cloak. She walked over to the prone body of the Potions Master. "A pity he couldn't have watched," she said. "It's probably just as well. He might have tried to interfere, and we couldn't have _that_, now could we?"

Draco shivered. If he felt cold with all his clothes on, what would this chill do to his godfather? He stepped forward, terrified of what might happen.

Bella picked up a silver mask from the ground and gave it back to him. "You mustn't lose this, nephew. Carelessness can be fatal."

"Yes, my lady. May I attend to my godfather?"

"No! You weren't _that_ good. Remember your place!"

"Of course, my lady." He seethed inside. For a moment he resented the Ravenclaw girl. If she hadn't been stupid and let Macnair attack her, he'd still be Snape's apprentice and not this woman's. _And the professor would be dead,_ he thought. _I never would have stood up to her the way Edgecombe did. Or I would have done something stupid and ended up hexed the same way._

"Don't worry, little dragon. Once I have the training of you, you'll be amazed you were ever satisfied with the simple pleasures you enjoyed tonight." She drew one finger down his cheek, on top of the mask. "_He_ will be happy to instruct you as well, I dare say, if he's feeling generous."

Draco swallowed back sour vomit at _that_ thought. He'd heard stories that the Dark Lord could enter the minds of those he'd Marked, and remembered the odd feeling he'd had last summer during the banquet. Unfortunately, he had to play the obedient servant for now. "Whatever my lady commands," he said.

"Good boy." She looked down at Snape again. "I suppose if I left him out here all night he'd just die on me. Small loss if you want my opinion, but the Master has other plans."

Pettigrew looked frightened behind his mask. Then Draco remembered why. When his godfather had entered the Inner Circle, he'd also received the promise of two favors, one from his aunt and the other from the Gryffindor Death Eater. Such things had a nasty way of rebounding if not fulfilled. _Why isn't Bella worried about it? The Dark Lord said Snape couldn't use his favor this time around, and it isn't going to count to leave him alive if she's just obeying the Master's orders. If the professor dies, she still owes that favor. The rat might be thinking about it. Why isn't she? It's not like she's Potter and stands to gain hundreds of points just for breathing, no matter what he does at school._

Then again, maybe she was important enough to _him_ that she could be this confident. Draco forced himself to look down at the Potions Master. In the firelight he saw the marks of his aunt's hexes on his godfather's body, including the horrific bruise on the lower torso where the Crucio had struck. _The old tramp we murdered had bruises like that before Snape finished him off. Madam Pomfrey told me once blood gathers beneath the skin like that because of small vessels being ruptured. _He tried not to wonder what else had been damaged on his Head of House. _At least she didn't tear him apart the way Snape did that old Muggle._ Draco shivered.

He looked around while his aunt stood silently. _How are we all going to make it back to Hogwarts? I can Apparate, but I don't think the others can. I don't know how to make a portkey, either, especially not one for the school. If the professor did, well, anything like that is with his clothes, wherever they are._

Then Bella waved her wand. The ropes on Snape disappeared, while his robes came back on, buttoned to the top, like always. She chanted a spell Draco had never heard before. Darkness flowed out of her wand and surrounded the unconscious Slytherin wizard like a cloud, then sank into his body. "Now only one of us can use a spell on him, unless they want to risk serious injury," she gloated.

Then Snape disappeared. "You saw he was alive when he left," she said, speaking to Pettigrew. "It won't be my fault if anything in the Forbidden Forest disposes of him."

"You said that last summer," said the small man.

She grimaced. "You know how tough Snape is," she said. "He'll manage." Then she looked at the other apprentices with a vaguely annoyed expression. "I suppose I will have to send you back," Bella said. "Or risk disturbing the Master. As much as I would like to leave you brats on your own, no doubt I would hear about it later. Why anyone bothers with you incompetents, I have no idea. In our day, we would have all joined in the fun. I can't imagine what is wrong with this generation." She patted Draco on the shoulder. "Except for you, sweetheart. I'm glad a darling boy like you isn't wasted on that Puritan Potions Master."

Suddenly the woman was ugly to him. Whatever glamour she had cast earlier had run its course. Yet everyone could still be in danger if he didn't cooperate. "Of course, my lady," he said, trying to sound eager. "I look forward to your next summons."

"I do, too," she said in a whisper, and kissed him on his mask. "Now go back, and I'll figure out how to return your schoolmates as well."

Draco knew he had to obey. He quickly memorized his position with a glance up towards the stars. He might have to go back and forth several times, or at least bring someone here from Hogwarts to help ferry the other students back.

He Apparated, and found himself in the Forbidden Forest. He searched the immediate area, in case he'd ended up near where she'd sent his godfather.

If she had told the truth about vanishing him to the Forest at all. _I have to find help,_ he thought. Draco went as quickly as he could towards the school, though he kept looking for Snape as he did so.

He hammered on the door to Hagrid's hut. The half-giant was gone already, and so was Fang. Draco didn't know what to do. He was already tired from Apparating once, as well as from his other duties this evening. _I can't leave my friends or Edgecombe out there,_ he thought. _Who can I talk to here besides the Headmaster? I wish Fawkes was here. _

He rested for a moment on the cottage stoop. What was he to do? His aunt might torture his schoolmates and Edgecombe because she didn't know what else to do with them. If he took the time to go to the castle and find the Headmaster, they could be dead before anyone could stop her—or they might not find the professor in time to help him. If he went back, he might be able to distract her. Draco swallowed. The thought nauseated him now.

He Apparated back, knowing it was probably the wrong thing.

He sank down on the ground as soon as he arrived, exhausted. Fortunately, he ended up in some trees close to where Pettigrew and Weasley stood. Draco knew he'd been lucky—if his aunt had left, he probably would have gone to her side somewhere else instead. He hissed at the two of them, hoping one of them would hear.

Percy Weasley turned his head. "Go back, Malfoy. What are you doing here?"

"Have to…have to help the others," Draco said, trying to catch his breath. "Couldn't find the professor. Went to the hut, but Hagrid's not there. Not Fang, either. Don't want to stop them looking for Snape."

"You should have gone to the castle and asked for help," Pettigrew's assistant said with a sneer.

"Right, Weasley." He wasn't about to reveal his true status _here_. "Tell it to Fawkes. But my aunt—she'll hurt them just for fun, you know that."

Pettigrew sighed, obviously listening in. "We can't raise a finger, lad. We have our orders."

"Good thing I came back," Draco snapped. "If you're just going to stand there, then move out of the way. You're blocking my line of fire." He failed to mention that neither he nor Lestrange could actually hurt either other very much with the Reciprocity Charm on their Marks.

"Fuck."

Draco blinked. You didn't hear _that_ very often from Proper Percy. He stepped back as the young man whispered into Wormtail's ear.

Pettigrew stepped forward and said, "Madam Lestrange, you are allowed to ask for assistance. Our lord understands these apprentices are not yet able to Apparate, and knew their master was likely to be unable to help them. You will not be punished if you call upon your own Mark for aid sending them back."

Was that relief Draco saw on his aunt's face? He found himself glad he'd taken an oath to the Order. He'd seen first year picnics organized better than this! And to think he'd believed his father that these people were the wave of the future. For a moment his soul bathed in the warmth of the red-gold cloud that had surrounded him in the Headmaster's office. He suddenly felt strong enough to Apparate all night and twice on Sunday, if that was what it took.

Then _he_ reappeared, along with Nagini. Dread fell on his heart.

"I see the festivities have concluded," said the hissing voice. "Did you enjoy yourself, my dear?"

"Yes, my lord," Bella said as she dropped to her knees. The other two Death Eaters, Draco, and the other apprentices did the same, even Edgecombe.

"Good. You deserve a treat after all you have endured. I see from your mind, however, that you nearly lost control. It was well these apprentices kept theirs, especially our smallest dragon."

_And with everyone watching, too. No wonder Snape never has much appetite, with the memories he must have. _Draco kept out of sight.

"I abase myself at your feet, my lord," his aunt said, though her face still held a trace of a smirk.

The Dark Lord sighed. "I shall send these children home for you, my dear. It was well you called me rather than leaving them here or giving into the temptation to reduce the numbers your rival can call upon. Of course, Mr. Malfoy needs a lesson or two in obedience. Please step forward, young man."

Draco took a deep breath and walked out. He knelt again once in the open. "Forgive me, my lord. My mistress sent me away, but I was worried about my friends. All but one are fellow Slytherins and it would be wrong to leave them behind."

"For showing such loyalty, I will punish you only lightly for your error." The Dark Lord took out his wand.

He screamed as the Crucio hit him. It was the most terrible pain in the world. Fortunately it lasted only a short time, no worse than anything Father had ever given him. Draco stayed on his knees, though, and noticed his aunt was pale and shaky as well. Perhaps she was being punished through him.

He was allowed to stay behind long enough to see the other students disappear. _I have to leave soon, and find the professor,_ Draco thought. He let him mind fill with the memory of the night's pleasure, though, hoping no one would look much further for other thoughts. Besides, thinking of what he'd done earlier distracted him from the residual pain of sore muscles left over from the Cruciatus.

Draco tried hard not to think how his godfather had been affected by his ordeal.

Bella smiled at him, clearly catching some of what he pretended to feel for her through the link of the Dark Mark. "Don't worry, dear boy, I won't neglect you."

He felt a mix of dread and lust, but smiled anyway. He was a Malfoy. Accepting a challenge of this kind was a family tradition.

Then he spun away into darkness, and found himself back in the Forbidden Forest, now quietly dripping with rain. He walked towards Hogwarts, at least he thought he did, till he saw he was in a section he'd never been in before. Draco quickly hid behind a tree when he heard the sound of hooves.

The centaur didn't see him and galloped on. The young Slytherin sat down for a moment to catch his breath. He tried a Point-Me charm, and learned the way north. Again, he didn't know what to do. Should he go straight on and join the search for his godfather? Or should he try to find the rest of the apprentices?

Then he realized he still had Snape's wand—and the silver ring he now wore on the smallest finger of his left hand. Any spell he did wouldn't hurt the professor, since he wore the Dark Mark himself.

He used his own wand to cast an Affinity spell on the ring. His godfather had been right about how dangerous it was to be linked to Bella Lestrange, and as usual, he hadn't listened.

The ring glowed, though not very much. All right. Snape was probably still alive. Now to help find the others and make sure everyone returned safely.

Draco knelt down on the ground and took the other wand out of the right-hand pocket. The wooden rod felt far more powerful than his own. For a moment, he was frightened, but set it down in front of him anyway. He held his own wand out, while pressing the ring on his left hand on top of his right knuckle. He chanted the charm all of them had used on that dreadful night last summer when they thought the Potions Master was dying. All of them had been linked together then, even Weasley. He called their names out loud. "Parkinson! Rosier! Rosier! Avery! Crabbe! Zabini! Nott! Edgecombe!" He wished he could call Goyle's, too.

Then he cried "_Morsmorde_!" and sent up a flaring Mark in bright green over his position.

_Now that was really stupid,_ he thought. _In two minutes I'll have that lunatic Moody on my ass wanting to drag me to a cell next to Father's. Or half the centaurs will show up wanting to play Umbridge games. _

Despite that, he stood where someone could see him if they were looking, though he was ready to defend himself. _Wish I were close enough to Hogwarts to Accio my broom. Doing that sure saved Potty's arse with that horrible dragon's egg. _He chanted a brief charm against the wet. _I hope someone finds Snape soon. This rain can't be good for him. If my aunt told the truth about where she sent him, anyway._

Crabbe was the first to stumble into the small clearing. "Drake! I hope you know where we are."

"I know which way to Hogwarts, anyway," he said. "Did you see any of the others?"

"No, not yet. But Goyle found me and said you were looking for us."

"I haven't seen him yet," Draco said wistfully.

"I've seen him lots of times. I'll tell him you miss him," Vince said. He glanced around. "I hope the professor is all right."

"He's still alive, I think. I have his wand and a ring he gave me. The ring glowed a little bit when I did an Affinity Charm."

Vince's voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you think it looked that big because Snape is so thin, or what? Or did she put an extra spell on it?"

"How would I know?" Draco said as soon as he realized what his friend was talking about. "I'd just as soon not see it again, know what I mean?" No doubt all the boys' side of Slytherin would hear about the Big Snake one way or another next week. He really, really hoped Vince didn't talk about what _he_ did with Lestrange.

His friend snorted. "Your pale arse wasn't much to look at. Glad the old bag thought you were up to snuff, though. She might have gone looking for more, and I was scared she'd have _me_ strip down to take a look at my broom."

"Pansy is going to kill me," Draco said with a moan.

"Probably," Vince said.

Fortunately, that was when the Rosier twins found them. Between the four of them, they found some dry wood and started a fire. With any luck, the rest would see it.

Draco thought it took half the night, but at last all of them were there. He led them back towards Hogwarts. Pansy refused to talk to him. They reached the castle and stopped by the entrance to the Ravenclaw quarters first. Marietta Edgecombe would never be left unguarded again if he could help it. "Thank you," he said to her just before she went inside. "Thank you for saving the professor's life. You must have been terrified at what she could do to you."

"No," she said. "Not any more."

Zabini stepped forward. "Please don't risk yourself like that any more," he said. "Next time I'll do it."

Edgecombe gently shook her head, and went inside. Draco took the rest through the secret way into Slytherin. He was shaky and exhausted by then, but had to find out if someone had been able to help Snape. If necessary, he was going to stand by the gargoyle and shout the names of every kind of candy that existed to speak to the Headmaster.

He decided to go to the infirmary first, after dropping off his cloak and mask in his room and making sure the others remembered to take them off as well. Draco stopped for a moment as he passed by his godfather's private quarters. Winky wasn't in her usual place by the door. She was either with the professor in the infirmary, or helping with the search.

He hoped.

Alastor Moody

Percy finished his report, and then rushed to the loo in the tiny apartment. Moody followed him, and gave him a swig from his own flask once the young spy finished vomiting. "It could still be worse, lad," he said.

"How? Snape could be dead, no matter what the bitch promised Snake-Face. I just stood there like a piece of trash while that little bastard Malfoy actually came back for his friends. It must have been Edgecombe who kept Lestrange from finishing off the professor right then—she said she was no longer her apprentice, but owed some loyalty anyway. I know you're going to think Malfoy enjoyed himself, and I suppose he did, but he tried to back off of it once, only to see what happened to his beloved House Head because of it."

Moody sat Percy down at the kitchen table and poured the boy more Firewhiskey. Spies had to vent, though he was slightly surprised at the boy's language. _I probably shouldn't be,_ he thought. _Having to stand and watch this kind of thing is hard. No doubt Albus has had to be a sounding board for Snape all this time. _He remembered what the Potions Master had been like the night after being elevated to the Inner Circle. _Will Percy ever come to that? Don't be an ass, Alastor, of course he will if this lasts long enough._ His own spying days were over, but he remembered them well enough.

He listened to the Weasley boy with one part of his mind and remembered how young Severus Snape had been in his hands at Azkaban with the other. The Slytherin had been far different—almost impossible to interrogate under normal conditions, and terrifying to listen to once he broke. _I should have realized when he stopped talking that it didn't mean that he had found enough resources to start resisting again, only that I had nearly destroyed him. I wish I'd had the confidential records from his time at St. Mungo's after his parents had died; I wouldn't have made that mistake then._

After hearing what Lestrange had done to Snape, though, it might not make any difference. He had no illusions about the dour Slytherin's state of health or what internal injuries could do to someone already debilitated, never mind what that other odd hex might have done. It sounded familiar, too. He wished he could remember the name of it, never mind how to take it off. _Damn, I hate growing old like this!_

Mad-Eye suddenly stood up, despite the wrenching pain from his stump. "Where's an owl? I need to warn Poppy right off not to use any magic. What healing spells do you know?"

"Not as many as I'd like," the young man said, his eyes wide. "Oh, Merlin, I didn't think of what could happen to Madam Pomfrey."

"I didn't either, not till right now." He quickly wrote a note to Dumbledore and sent the owl. He knew Floo messages were faster, but the one for Hogwarts was usually closed at night. He briefly considered a Patronus message, but he couldn't think of any way to keep the boy from watching how it was done without leaving the apartment. Percy was in far too much danger to breach confidentiality like that just yet, and Moody didn't want to start the Obliviate game. _Snape's probably dead by now anyway,_ he thought. Oddly, that wasn't nearly as comforting as it could be. Never mind the way the man had confided in him a few weeks ago. _Oh, crap,_ he thought as he sat down again. _I _will_ miss the bastard if he snuffs it, and not just because Percy isn't ready yet._

"Now," he continued. "Tell me more about what young Mr. Malfoy did…"


	64. Chapter 64: Defender of the Child

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, and zafaran. Read their stories, too.

Chapter 64: Defender of the Child

"Without you, life would be forever sweet,

Without you, t'would be a merry dance;

Without you, I would trust each face I meet—

Without you—I wouldn't have a chance."

"Defender of the Child", Heather Alexander, _Life's Flame_, www dot heatherlands dot com. Strongly recommend everyone visit this site and buy all of her CD's.

Harry Potter

He knew something was up. McGonagall had that 'I-want-to-talk-to-you-look' that made him wonder what he'd done this time, but he left the Great Hall after breakfast without her really making a move to waylay him. Harry knew she'd probably lower the boom after the game on whatever it was he'd done, Voldemort had done, or the Ministry had done. He made a hasty escape when Snape came in surprisingly late and scowled at the older witch. He'd probably just receive another lecture on thinking himself the center of the world if he asked any questions then. His Head of House knew where to find him.

Ron didn't seem to know anything about it, nor did anyone else, as the Quidditch team limbered up on their drills before the game. There was a vague rumor the Ministry had done some weird stuff last night, but Harry knew he'd find out soon enough about _that_. It was a bit soon for his godfather's will to be processed, if Snape was right. He couldn't think of anything he'd done lately that the Ministry should care about, but that never stopped them from interfering with his life anyway.

Besides, for some reason it felt as if a big load had just fallen off his shoulders. Harry didn't know why or now, but he wasn't disposed to argue. He was glad their game was first today, though. The weather should stay clear for most of the afternoon before it clouded up, or so Ron had found out.

The whistle blew. The game began, and Harry took off, looking for the Snitch. _I'll worry about it later,_ he thought.

He never saw the Bludger that hit him less than an hour later. As he fell to the ground, vainly trying to remember how to do a Cushioning Charm, he landed on his left arm, and swore as sharp pain struck him. _I've broken it again,_ he thought angrily. He was out of the game and Hermione helped him to the infirmary. Harry was grateful when she kept the fussing to a minimum.

Madam Pomfrey just sighed when she saw him. "You're here for the night, Mr. Potter."

"Can't you just let me walk around in a sling? I promise to take it easy." Harry meant it every time he said it, too. It wasn't his fault things happened around him all the time. "I'll watch the rest of the game on the bench and go back to my room after that."

"No," she said with a smile. "I know what your idea of resting is, Harry. Miss Granger, bring him his homework if you don't mind. It's going to be Skele-Gro again, and some reading might distract you. And don't sigh at me, young man. If you didn't mangle yourself quite so often you wouldn't have to take the stuff. It's the same spot you've broken before."

Harry fumed as he was forced into a hospital gown. Again. What a way to spend a Saturday night! He didn't know whether to be happy or not that he was by himself for right now. Still, the game wasn't over, and he might not be the only one trapped here. Of course, with his luck, Cho would be hurt in her game later today, and cry at him some more.

Maybe he could talk Ron into bringing up his chess set once the game and the post-match dissection was over. Or maybe they could do the team homework up here, as long as he was the only one hurt.

Then he smiled ruefully to himself. Like that was going to happen! Someone else was bound to end up here in a school this size. With his luck it'd be Cho or Malfoy. He'd be lucky if Hermione decided to take pity on him and bring him some of his Quidditch magazines along with his books. At least his right hand wasn't affected. Every once in a while, the scars from Umbridge's quill stung a little, but they hadn't bothered him for over a month.

He sat on the bed kicking his heels and wishing Hermione would come back soon. He swallowed the Skele-Gro, which was just nasty, and took a look at the morning paper to distract himself from the pain shooting through his arm. It'd be like this for most of the night, probably.

Hermione had a big smile of her face as she brought up the books. "Good news, Harry! Professor McGonagall told me the Ministry ruled on your guardianship. The hearing was last night and Mrs. Weasley won!"

Both of them shattered the quiet of the infirmary with their cheers. "But why didn't Ron or I get an owl?" Harry asked once he was done shouting.

"They didn't finish arguing till this morning, or so Professor McGonagall said. Maybe they're still signing papers or something."

Harry was a little worried, though. It wasn't like Mrs. Weasley to forget something like this. Wait! Maybe that was why Snape had come in to breakfast so late. He said he was going to be involved in it, too, only on the other side.

But he forgot about that when he saw Hedwig flying into the infirmary with a note in her claws. He opened it eagerly. _Harry—it's done! Sorry to take so long to owl you about this, but we didn't finish signing papers till noon, and Molly and I fell asleep on the couch once we Floo'd home. We're so happy to have you with us legally as well as in our hearts. You never have to stay with anyone else again. Love, Arthur Weasley._

Then he heard Ron tearing up the stairs and through the door. "Harry, did you hear yet? Someone whose dad works at the Prophet was owled a tear sheet from tomorrow morning's paper! They had the hearing!" his friend shouted.

"Yes, Hermione just told me, and Hedwig dropped off a note from your dad." Harry had never been so happy in his life. It didn't matter how much his arm hurt.

Ron stopped by his bed. "Your dad, too. I mean, he's your dad now as well as mine."

Harry blinked. "You're right," he said. It sounded good.

The three of them whooped and shouted. Hermione cried a little. Madam Pomfrey walked over and asked them to be quiet, even though nobody else was in the infirmary. Ron told her the news, and the mediwitch smiled broadly. "How wonderful!" she said. "But do try to keep quiet. Harry, you still have a broken arm and need some peace to heal."

"It doesn't bother me a bit right now," he said.

"I suppose it doesn't," the old nurse said. "You and your friends may have one more hour if nobody else comes in, but after that the two of you really need to leave. Do try to keep it down a little, though I know that's hard with such good news."

"Yeah, we'll have a party in the Common Room for this one," Ron said. "Bet the Snakes aren't celebrating one bit."

"I don't know, they were just starting their game with Ravenclaw when I left. There were a few comments that they were glad Professor Snape could come out to see it."

"Probably planning something nasty," Ron said.

Harry was surprised Snape went to the game at all. If he was still the representative for Malfoy's mother, he should have been at the Ministry all last night. _Glad I don't have his schedule,_ he thought. "So, how did our game go after I had to leave?" He didn't want to think about the Potions Master now.

"Oh, Ginny pulled a fast one!" Ron said. "I was busy trying to spot the Quaffle, and going nuts because I didn't see where it was, but she pretended to be more hurt from a Bludger than she really was. The Beaters were pretty much leaving her alone, because Seamus was taunting them like mad. Nobody was watching the game clock—everybody had forgotten there was going to be a second game today. So almost no one was paying attention when she put the Quaffle in for the final score. They probably won't fall for that again, though."

Harry and Ron talked Quidditch while Hermione sat by. Then Dobby popped in. "Mistress Nurse, last game over, nobody hurt," he said. Then the elf burbled happily. "Heard good news, Harry Potter!"

"You used to live at Malfoy Manor, didn't you?" Hermione asked.

"Oh yes. Mistress Narcissa good, but Weasleys better," the little green elf said. "So happy Harry to go to them!"

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Did Professor Snape look well?"

Dobby chewed his lip, clearly not happy at being asked.

"We don't wish him any harm," Hermione said, with a practice Glare of Death at Harry and Ron. Harry was glad even his red-headed friend knew when to shut it.

"Master Severus, some Slytherins, they go away right after end of game. Some go to castle to find something, then go out to Forest." Dobby looked quite unhappy now.

"Thank you, dear," the old mediwitch said. "Mr. Potter, why don't you dress with Mr. Weasley's help and go back to your room for the night? You know you need to rest even if you can't sleep, keep the arm elevated once you lie down, and come see me in the morning. I'll take a look at the break then, but it should be all right. No parties, though. At least not for very long. I don't blame you for wanting to celebrate, but you should wait till tomorrow night."

"Thanks!" Harry said. Hermione left, while Ron helped him with his shirt and stuff. At least the arm wasn't too swollen to fit in his shirt-sleeve, though it was a little tight. After that, the two of them went back to Gryffindor Tower. He had the funny feeling he was being kicked out to clear the way for others, and was afraid he knew the reason.

A party was in full swing already, since all his other friends had heard the good news as well. He forgot all about the Slytherins as he was congratulated. It was all right for him to eat and drink with the Skele-Gro, though he asked Hermione to make sure. He stayed for only a little while, though, knowing the mediwitch was right.

Late that night, his arm was hurting quite a bit despite propping it on a pillow while he lay in bed. _I probably shouldn't have taken it out of the sling,_ he thought. He couldn't sleep. Everyone else was finally in bed, even though it was Saturday night. He tried to read, but couldn't find his Quidditch magazines. _I bet I left them in the infirmary. _Harry managed to drape the Invisibility Cloak on him one-handed, though it was awkward. He wasn't worried, though—if he was caught he'd just tell Filch he was on his way back to the infirmary because he'd been told to do so if his arm bothered him too much.

Walking around with his arm down hurt, since he hadn't been able to manage the sling by himself. Just sitting didn't help much either, so he stuffed the sling in his robe pocket and decided he'd ask Madam Pomfrey to help him put his arm back in it.

The hallways were really quiet for a Saturday night. Usually he wasn't the only one dodging prefects or Mrs. Norris.

As he approached the infirmary, he heard noise on the other side of it. That was good. Maybe nobody would notice the slight creak the door made when he sneaked in. As he walked closer, he heard someone yelling loud enough to cover anything. Harry hesitated, but went in anyway. The mediwitch was too busy to see him, obviously, but he could still fetch his magazines. Someone could help him with the sling in the morning.

He opened the door carefully. He'd learned long enough to use the cloak on top of his hands for stuff like that. The knob was a little stiff to manage one-handed, but not as bad as he remembered it. Either they'd worked on the mechanism a bit or he'd become stronger.

Once he was in, Harry shrunk back. Someone behind a screen was in a lot of pain. _Snape?_ The voice was too deep to be any student he knew of. Hagrid was standing around, too, and trying to say something. He moved in a little closer to hear what the half-giant said through the noise.

"He fought me from the moment I found him, Poppy," the groundskeeper said, sounding almost in tears. "I tried not to hurt 'im, but I couldn't help it. Kep' trying to get away."

"You did your best. I'm just glad you brought him here," Madam Pomfrey said. "I was afraid something like this would happen. Did you see any of the others out there?"

"No. But I couldn't stay to look too long, not with the perfesser this bad."

"I know I'm asking a lot, but could you go back out? I know they'd hate being found out, but if they at least knew which way to go if they're lost…"

"Will he be all right?"

"He's been worse than this. Not often, but I'll put him together again." Madam Pomfrey sounded sad, at least as far as Harry could tell with Snape still moaning, though more quietly, and the screen still in the way. "He'll be worried about his students once he's rational again."

Harry ducked, even with the cloak on, as Hagrid went out the door. _Voldemort must be angry that Mrs. Weasley won,_ Harry realized. He didn't understand why he hadn't had a vision of it this time. _Maybe I have learned something from those Occlumency lessons after all. _He decided to stay, instead of sneaking out. He should have the guts to witness what someone else suffered for his sake, and maybe run an errand or two now the half-giant was gone.

The moaning subsided into sobs. _I remember when I would have given anything to know Snape was too weak to yell at someone,_ Harry thought. He heard Madam Pomfrey speaking gently now, and he took a few quiet steps closer to the screen. He was careful to make sure he didn't knock against it. The shadows behind it showed the Potions Master was still trying to move, or at least wave his arms about.

"Severus, it's all right. You're safe now. No one is attacking you. You're in the infirmary with me, and Hagrid is out looking for the others. Don't push me away like that. I'm here to help you." She paused a moment, and then spoke again. "You have to let me help you, Severus. Then you can tell Albus what happened tonight. You're safe now, Severus, you're safe. You have to let me take those robes off and find out how badly you've been hurt. Won't you let me clean you off? I know you hate it when blood makes your robes stick to your skin."

Harry felt queasy. She sounded like it happened all the time. Maybe it did. Maybe last summer hadn't been the first time Snape had been only a heap of black robes too hurt to move. Or the last. _Always for me,_ he thought, _always for me. And all I do is call him 'greasy git' and help Ron make fun of him._

The nurse sighed. "Oh, Merlin. Not this. Not like the Longbottoms. Severus, I have to put you in a body bind so I can help you. I know you hate them, and I'm sorry." She chanted the spell.

The screen flew away in a flash of light and so did Madam Pomfrey. Both ended up slammed into the wall. Harry dropped the Cloak and pulled out his wand. Why had Snape hurt the mediwitch?

He went over to the older witch and checked her pulse, the way Hermione had shown him. She was still alive, though unconscious. Harry faced the bed. Snape's face was badly bruised, blood was dripping to the floor from the edge of the Potions Master's robe, and the injured man was screaming loudly.

"Why did you do it?" Harry shouted, the wand shaking as he held it. "What did she ever do to you but help?"

Snape shook his head violently, and waved one arm at the woman. He didn't have a wand in either hand, and it had to have been magic that made the screen bang into the wall and injured the nurse. Tears ran down the Potions Master's face into the pillow, mixed with blood and dirt.

Harry lowered his wand. Maybe it hadn't been Snape's fault after all. Something had hurt the mediwitch, and he wished he knew what it was. "_Finite Incantatem,_" he said, hoping that would take off the _Silencio_ or whatever it was.

But that didn't work. The older wizard was crying now, and that was scarier than any time when he'd yelled. "I wish you could talk," Harry said. Then he thought of something. "_Legilimens!"_ he said, and waved his wand the way he remembered both Snape and Dumbledore doing, and concentrated. If he thought about it, he could make his scar warmer, though he'd tried not to do it lately. Last year, it had made the visions sent him by Voldemort sharper.

He didn't hear any words, but for a moment he was overwhelmed by pain and fear. Then he got an image of the Headmaster, accompanied by the sharp, sweet taste of lemon drop and the touch of warm hands stroking hair. "Of course," Harry said to himself. "I'll find him and bring him here. I'll be right back."

Then his mind was filled with the open mouth of a wolf, hot breath in his face and the sound of a shrieking howl. He didn't understand it at first, but realized who it might be. "Lupin?" he asked. "You want Lupin here, too?"

Snape looked blank. Ok. Time to play charades. Harry pictured the Dark Arts teacher in his head, and the Slytherin nodded. Then the older wizard closed his eyes. His breathing was ragged, and Harry knew he had to hurry. Madam Pomfrey didn't look any different, but he didn't think she was going to wake up soon, either. He wanted to put a pillow under her head, but Hermione had rammed enough first aid knowledge into him and Ron that he knew he'd better not.

He sped towards the Headmaster's office, only to meet him on the way, in night-robe and cap. "I have to go to the infirmary, Harry, and warn Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore said.

"I've just come from there. Hagrid brought Snape in, then went back out. When Madam Pomfrey tried to help him, there was some kind of explosion and she and the screen ended up hitting the wall. She's still alive, but she's out of it. Oh, and I'm supposed to find Professor Lupin, too."

"Did Professor Snape explain why?"

"He can't talk. I had to do _Legilimens_ and I saw your face and Remus's. He's…he's hurt, too, but I don't know how much. There was some blood…but his clothes weren't ripped or anything. He kept trying to get away before the nurse tried to do a spell on him, and Hagrid said Snape fought him all the way, too."

"Ah." The ancient wizard looked down at the note. "I was sent a warning about this. I wish I'd had it sooner." The Headmaster stopped and thought, then spoke. "Dobby!" The house elf appeared. "Dobby, please ask Professor Lupin to come to the infirmary as quickly as possible."

Dobby disappeared. "Harry, you had better go back to your room now."

"No. I need to be there," he said. "It was because of me, wasn't it? Because Mrs. Weasley became my guardian instead of Mrs. Malfoy. I remember, Snape said she was the best. He even smiled a little when I chose her. Someone else might not have won."

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "Come along, then." They walked quickly to the infirmary.

Once inside, nothing had changed. Snape was still breathing, and so was Madam Pomfrey. The Headmaster went straight to the mediwitch, his old face full of anguish. "Oh, Poppy, they've really done it this time. I never thought they'd target healers, but I should have realized…" He looked up at Harry. "I'll take her to St. Mungo's myself and see her settled in."

"Will Professor Snape be all right?" The pool of blood under the Potion Master's bed looked bigger than it had been.

"Until Lupin can remove the curse that makes spells react on the caster, there's little we can do," Dumbledore said. "I'm glad you came with me, Harry. Please stay here till Professor Lupin arrives, anyway."

_But I was able to do Legilimens on him without being blasted,_ Harry thought, but decided he'd better ask Remus about that. The Headmaster was really upset.

The ancient wizard conjured a stretcher and slowly levitated Madam Pomfrey into it. Harry couldn't help compare that with the rough _Mobilicorpus_ that Sirius had cast on Snape back in the Shrieking Shack. It had seemed funny at the time.

It wasn't now. Dumbledore did something complicated at the fireplace, and then threw Floo powder in it. Both he and the mediwitch left for St. Mungo's.

Where was Lupin? Harry was frightened. Snape's face looked ashen now, and his breathing sounded worse. What could he do with a broken arm? It ached worse than ever now.

Well, the blood on the floor was dangerous, anyway. Harry fetched some rags and cleaned it up one-handed. He'd done some chores at the Dursleys like that a few times. Then he had another idea. Hagrid had carried the Potions Master without being hurt. It could only help to wash some of the dirt off the man.

Harry found a sink and filled a bowl with warm, soapy water. He levitated it to follow him, and set it down on one of the wheeled tables. He set his wand down and began to clean some of the filth and dried blood off Snape's face. He went as gently as he could, but the Slytherin still made small noises of pain. There was blood on the robes, even though they weren't torn, and red stains on the bedclothes.

Lupin came in, fully dressed and with a small satchel. "Tell me what happened," he said, looking alarmed.

Harry did. Remus nodded in comprehension, then took a book out of the satchel and leafed through it.

"Why was I able to do a spell on Snape and not Madam Pomfrey?" he asked. Harry had a new thought. Maybe the Potions Master had been struggling so nobody else would be hurt. _I was an idiot to yell at him like that. I hope he didn't understand me._

"That's a good question," Lupin said. "I think you'd better move out of the way, though."

Harry pulled the table with the bowl and rags on it with him. He sat down, suddenly exhausted. _I wish I could sleep,_ he thought, but his left arm still hurt too much. Remus noticed. "Harry, this won't last too long. Here, you'll feel better with your arm in the sling. Why did you take it out anyway?"

"It was easier to prop up on a pillow when I went to bed, but it still hurt and I couldn't sleep. I don't know how to put the sling back on by myself, and I didn't want to wake up Ron."

Remus quickly managed it. "There. Now to try a countercurse. We'd better have a protective circle around us first, though."

"I already tried _Finite Incantatem,_" Harry said. "But nothing happened. Not like when the nurse tried anything, that's for sure. But he's really hurt, even though his robes aren't torn or anything. Blood was soaking through them to the sheets and stuff."

His friend looked thoughtful. "I know it's quite late and you're hurt and tired. But Professor Snape is injured. It won't be much help to remove the curses if he dies before we're done. Be ready to duck out of the way in case anything does happen. We have to remove those robes and find out what we're dealing with, and we can do that without magic."

"I'll fetch more warm water," Harry said. "But I don't know many healing spells."

"You'll learn them tonight. If nothing else, he can have some potions. I think if you give them to him, there shouldn't be any reaction." Lupin went to the cupboards. "Let's try a potion for pain first."

Harry helped look. He saw plenty of pain potions, Dreamless Sleep, and others, but wasn't sure what some of them were. Then he saw a set of funny-looking vials, and remembered a Friday afternoon when black sweat poured from the Potions Master's skin. "But he's taking that stuff from the Swiss, isn't he? Do you know what reacts to it? I mean, I can't take pain potions with Skele-Gro."

Remus turned pale. "No. I wish Madam Pomfrey had an assistant. I don't know what we can do for him, then. Well, we had better see how badly he's hurt first."

Harry levitated the bowl back to the sink, changed the water and fetched new rags. He was glad he wouldn't have to be the one to manage all those buttons. He returned with the bowl to find Lupin working at removing the robes by hand.

"I'll need a rag, Harry. Some of the blood is drying and will make the cloth stick." Lupin looked worried.

Snape's eyes flew open in obvious terror. Harry could feel it come off the dark wizard in waves. Remus spoke in a low, soothing tone of voice, but the Potions Master began trembling. Harry levitated a blanket over and put a Warming charm on it. Hermione had described the symptoms of shock, and this looked like it to him.

He was horrified at all the marks, both old and new, on his teacher's body once the clothing was partially removed.

"I can only take off so much without using a Slicing Hex," Lupin said quietly, "unless I want to risk injuring him even further."

Harry quickly looked through drawers till he found a pair of scissors and handed them to the DADA instructor. Remus nodded, and began cutting apart the cloth. Snape began making funny noises, like he wanted to scream but he was afraid of making too much noise. _I know what that's like,_ Harry thought, who remembered nights in the cupboard like that. He bit his lip when he saw how much dried blood was on the shirt. The dark Slytherin's eyes went wide when Remus made a start on the breeches. "We'll stop there for now," the DADA instructor said, his face going pink.

The Potions Master tried to curl up in a ball, but Lupin kept patting him and making reassuring comments. "This is where I need your help, Harry. I'm glad you thought to bring your wand. This is the spell for healing cuts." He demonstrated it on a torn rag, which knit itself back up again.

"Shouldn't we find out more about what is wrong first?" Harry asked, who was terrified.

"I can't do that without removing the curse that makes magic rebound. It does seem as if you can do spells for him when I can't."

He suddenly realized why. "The scar acts like the Mark sometimes," he said.

"Ah! And so only one of his own can possibly heal him," Remus said. "How cruel."

_And I'm it,_ Harry thought, _unless some of the students that Dobby said left with Snape know more than I do._ "What kind of curse is it, anyway?"

"It's a variation of one I have in one of my books." He leaned over the terrified patient. "Snape, we don't mean to neglect you, but in order to help we have to stop for now. This blanket will keep you warm till we can." As soon as Lupin backed away from the bed, Snape's shaking slowed down a little bit, though Harry noticed some of the muscles were jerking around.

"He's had a _Crucio_ or two on him, hasn't he?" Harry asked once they sat down by the satchel. "I remember doing that the time I had it after Voldemort's revival."

"Yes," Remus said tonelessly.

_And Madam Pomfrey said 'not like the Longbottoms' like she was worried he'd never come back from it._ He remembered Neville's parents. Harry read the page Lupin showed him and forced himself to think clearly. "It comes like a dark cloud, right? And light always beats dark. That's why it says some kind of weird _Lumos_ is the only thing that will do it."

His friend pressed his lips together. "But it has to be done by someone who really likes the person, Harry, or it won't work."

"Let me think a moment," he said. _I don't know how I feel about Snape any more. I used to just hate him like the rest did, but last spring I _really_ hated him. I hated a lot of stuff last year. I hated the lessons. I hated being put on the floor when Snape attacked me and I didn't do a _Protego_ right. I hated finding out Dad and his friends were bullies like Malfoy and his gang, only worse. I hated all the Slytherins. I hated Umbridge. I—oh hell, I really _really_ hated Snape because it was his fault Sirius died. I even hated Dumbledore for a little bit because he knew about the Dursleys and never did anything._

_I don't hate Snape that much any more. But do I like him enough to help with this? I know Remus doesn't. Even though he's said more about stuff like that than he used to, I think it's because he feels guilty more than anything else. The Headmaster would be the best for this, but he's not here and his spells would probably bounce the way Madam Pomfrey's did._

"I have to remember all the stuff he's done for me," he said out loud. "He stopped me falling off the broom my first year. He yelled at me and Ron for the car and everything, but what we did probably was against the rules. He yells at me and Dumbledore makes it all better, never the other way around. I bet he's tired of _that_. But he did blow Lockhart off the stage in front of everybody my second year, and that was pretty cool.

"The year after that, he came out to the Shack. Ok, he was probably trying to go after Sirius, but we all thought my godfather was the one who betrayed my parents. Maybe Snape thought so too. I don't know if the Marauders' Map would work for him, so maybe he never saw Wormtail's name on it inside the castle. The three of us…oh, crap, we probably came close to killing him that night, and he still brought us back on stretchers even after that." He hated remembering that part. "He kept telling people to watch out for Moody, and all I did was lie to him. He shook hands with Sirius when the Headmaster told him too, and showed his Mark to Fudge to tell him Voldemort was back. He could have gone to Azkaban just for that. He was really scared when Dumbledore asked him, 'Are you prepared?' I know I'm probably missing stuff I don't know about, but he did all this stuff even though he hated me." Tears were starting to gather in his eyes. "Last year he lied to Umbridge about the Veritaserum she wanted to give me. I bet she would have liked _him_ to do lines with that quill of hers!"

"Harry," Remus said, "he did try to stop Sirius Black from going. He was even polite for the first ten minutes of it."

"I wondered about that," Harry said, biting his lip. "I should have asked Snape when I first had that vision, but I hated him and those horrible lessons so much! I remember when Voldemort possessed me for a little bit when I was around the Headmaster. I didn't care so much about dying as long as I could be with Sirius again. But what if that had happened during the lessons? Of course he was going to be furious when I snooped inside the Pensieve. I almost took Ron's head off when he was looking in mine. Snape must have thought I was going to tell the whole school how happy I was that Dad and the rest of you had so much fun with him.

"And this summer. I hated him _so_ much, I wished I had told everybody after all. But instead he helped with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, as well as sending me the pensieve with all those good memories of you and Dad and Mum." He set down his wand and wiped his face. "He's probably done lots I don't even know about." Harry took a couple of deep breaths. "I don't know if I actually like him even now. But I can't hate him any more. I would have died in that car coming back from the boxing match if he hadn't put a knife in his arm to stop that spell. Look at everything he's done even while he hated me, Remus. The least I can do is to try."

"Yes," Lupin said. "Now practice this wand movement first. All right, that's close. No, don't worry about doing it fast. If you worry about that it won't go right. Think of it as taking shots at the Quaffle while the penalty clock is ticking. I know you haven't had as much practice at it as some, but even Seekers play off fouls every once in a while," he said in a light tone of voice. "Try doing it very slowly first."

Harry obeyed, but he was conscious of how much blood he'd had to wipe up from the floor already, and how much might now be seeping into the blanket wrapped around the injured man. Wait. He knew what he needed to do. He did the basic mind-clearing exercise that Snape had taught him and that he'd finally learned how to use in boxing, and later with Dumbledore. _That_ was better!

"Good. Now do it while saying _Lumos._"

He stood up and pointed himself towards the bed and performed the spell. This was the right moment, he _knew_ it somehow. If they waited much longer Snape was going to die.

Ribbons of silver and green light leaped from his wand. _I know what it's like, professor. Dudley and his friends hunted me, too. It was like a fairy tale coming here to Hogwarts to find out I was already famous. You were the bad part of the story, you and Voldemort—but I only saw _him_ once a year, and I saw you all the time. But you were never really my enemy, not really. Maybe you didn't like me because you thought not even the Headmaster liked you any more because I was here now. You gave so much to me anyway. How could I go up against Snake-Face if I didn't know how to fight? And the Wizarding World is dangerous, I know that now, just as bad as home in some ways. I never would have learned how to keep up my guard here if you weren't always there to remind me that it isn't all cakes and ale around here. Don't die, professor. We all need you._

He remembered the boxing ring in his dream, where Snape had left himself open for a knock-down blow—and even then had reached up to take the pain and darkness from his scar. _Let me do something for you for once,_ Harry thought. _I had so much fun this summer! It was almost like living in a real family. I think I owe that to you._

The ribbons of light wove themselves around the terrified man until they formed a cocoon around him, almost like a pattern used around a maypole. Then the waves of light darkened till they were almost black. Harry waved his wand and shouted "_Lumos_!" again. A really bright light enveloped the cocoon and dissolved it.

"Wow." Harry said as he let his right arm drop.

Lupin nodded. "Apparently the curse was cast by a Slytherin. The ribbons turn the color of the caster, and absorb the darkness when it is time to come off. The extra light destroys the darkness entirely. However, let's take a few precautions when I try to cast a spell." He created a magic circle around both of them, and cast _Revealo Incantatem._ Instead of bouncing back, the spell showed the illusion of a dagger plunged into the Potions Master's throat.

"What spell is that?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," his friend said. "I also don't have any idea how to remove it."

"Can't he be healed without that? It won't help much if he can talk if he dies anyway."

Remus nodded. "At least we can make a start." They approached the bed again. "I'm going to cast a few healing spells," he said in a soft voice as he held out his wand. "I do know how to deal with broken ribs. At least you'll breathe easier till someone who knows what they're doing can help. I have to remove the rest of the clothing, and I'm sorry for that. " He vanished them and Harry glanced away. It wasn't right for him to see stuff like this, not on a teacher. By the time he turned back, Lupin had turned pale and had tucked the blanket around Snape again. He then chanted some more spells, which Harry tried to memorize. A couple were for broken bones, but the rest were for the cuts and blistered skin. The Potions Master looked bewildered then, as if not understanding what was happening.

Dumbledore came back through the fireplace. He looked almost as badly off as Snape in a way. _What happens if he gets sick? None of us know anywhere near enough._

Remus told the Headmaster what he'd found. Once more the ghostly dagger's hilt appeared, with the blade buried in the man's throat.

Snape stopped whimpering as soon as the Headmaster came within his line of sight. Dumbledore stroked his hair a little and said, "Severus, it will be all right. I'll summon the Baron and he'll know what to do."

Harry didn't understand all the feelings that boiled up inside him then—so much love, but mixed with fear and an edge of anger, quickly suppressed. It was the same way he'd felt for some of the summer when Aunt Petunia was so nice to him—it was what he'd always wanted, but he knew he could never trust it. For some reason he also caught feelings of guilt. Harry thought he understood that one. Snape must like the mediwitch, too. _I didn't help much on that,_ he thought, knowing once more he'd shot off his mouth without thinking.

The ancient wizard turned towards Harry. "You've been up for long enough. Take one of the beds in the corner and lie down."

He was glad to obey, and was grateful he hadn't been sent back to the dormitory. He kept his eyes open a little longer, though. The Bloody Baron finally showed up, and following the Headmaster's instructions, reached out with one spectral hand and pulled the 'dagger' out. Snape cried out in pain. Harry almost expected blood to gush from a real wound, and was glad it didn't.

"Severus, can you speak now?" Dumbledore looked really worried.

"Yes…" Harry could barely hear the whisper. "Madam Pomfrey…I am a danger to the school, Albus. I…"

"Hush. Remus will show others what to look for. I had hoped not to see that spell again, but now we know, we can watch out for it. Hagrid told me how hard you fought being brought in. You tried to push Poppy away, even as hurt as you are. She'll be all right after a couple of days in St. Mungo's. Molly Weasley is sitting with her now, and she has many friends there to make sure nothing else happens." The ancient wizard waved a wand at a chair and sat down just as it scooted underneath. "I woke a few people up in Switzerland and someone will be here tomorrow at the latest, someone I know can be trusted. Now you can talk, you can tell us what potions you _can_ use without conflicting with your regimen."

Lupin interrupted. "I will look for better ways to remove these curses, too," he said. "Headmaster, what is the name of that second one?"

"It used to be known as the Ghost Dagger," Dumbledore said. "Finding a ghost to remove it is the only counter I know."

Harry put a hand to his own throat. What would happen if someone ever used it on him? _Maybe I ought to ask Nearly Headless Nick to join the DA!_ He'd never thought of ghosts as being important or having any special abilities. _I need to learn a lot more spells if the bouncing curse is used again, too._ That part really frightened him.

The Headmaster bent down to the injured man again. "I'm sorry, Severus. First you can't talk, and then we don't let you. We still need to know what potions you _can_ use."

"The lesser pain potions…Boneset…not together of course…can't think of any others."

Boneset was just a milder version of Skele-Gro. Harry let his eyelids drift downward. Snape was in the best hands now, or better ones than his.

He was awakened sooner than he liked by someone noisily knocking at the door. The sun was up, but just barely. Harry looked around. Snape was probably behind the screen over to one side. Winky emerged and opened the door.

Harry shammed still being asleep as Draco Malfoy walked in, looking rather the worse for wear. "Winky, is the professor here?" the blond Slytherin asked.

"Yes, young master, but very tired," the elf said, looking distressed. "Hurt, too. Mistress Nurse gone, she hit her head when bad spell threw her against wall. Master Headmaster call me, say watch and help till another Mistress Nurse comes. He try some spells, make sure Master not dying. But my master cold, even with blankets. I help him drink hot tea with sugar, that help, but I's afraid! Please, let him sleep?"

"He'll want to hear what I have to say," Malfoy said gently. He glanced over Harry's way. "Potter, I know you're awake. Do you mind?"

Harry sat up. "You're lucky the Headmaster knew how to take off one of the curses or he wouldn't know you. Well, he'd know you, probably, but couldn't say anything."

Draco grimaced. "Yes. Aunt Bella has an interesting sense of humor." He took a deep breath. "Potter, I really need to speak to him privately. If you can, please leave."

Harry knew he shouldn't be here but he wanted to listen in anyway. He waited till Malfoy had gone behind the screen, walked to the door and opened it, threw on the Invisibility Cloak, and closed the door as if he was on the other side of it.

"Professor?" Malfoy said in an anxious voice from the other side of the screen. Harry crouched down, knowing he had probably put the cloak on badly. He made sure all the edges reached the floor, and slowly padded across the floor so he could listen in better. Fortunately he was barefoot and was careful to breathe slowly.

"Draco…" Snape's voice was hoarse.

"They're safe, they're all safe. I brought them back. I wanted to come back here and find out if they'd found you, but I couldn't leave them behind…"

"Good." The older man sounded a little stronger. "Are you all right?"

"Nothing like you. A bit of the old _Crucio_ when _he_ found out I was still hanging around, but I think Auntie felt it too, so I didn't mind. It's my fault you were hurt so much, I shouldn't have backed off that first time. You'd be proud of the others, though. They stuck by you no matter what she did."

"You must…you must do what she says. It's too dangerous to fight any of them…"

Harry was around the edge of the screen now. Malfoy's face looked all red and blotchy, while Snape still looked like death. _Didn't the Headmaster do anything to help after I fell asleep?_ he wondered. Winky hovered, clearly unhappy.

"I know, godfather! I should have given in the first time she wanted me to er…substitute for you. My own aunt!" Draco took the rag the elf offered him and began weeping into it.

"It doesn't matter. You helped the others return." Snape's skin looked waxen, not ashen. Harry didn't know if that was an improvement or not. Then he thought about what was being said, and wished his imagination would let up. The picture it was showing him was an ugly one. He remember the time a Bludger had hit the front tip of his broom just wrong, and jammed the Firebolt up between his legs, and tried not to think what some hexes would be like there.

"I wish I'd never done any of this! I was so stupid!" Malfoy said through his sobs.

"You have already helped the others. Bella could have done a lot to them."

"Isn't there any way to protect you?"

"No. Don't try. You have to survive." Snape's gaze turned inward, as if he were already most of the way gone.

"I've lost my father! I won't lose you!" Then his look of confidence faltered. "She…she won't make me do anything to you, will she?"

"Of course she will," Snape said with a slightly peevish tone. "After this, she'll undoubtedly doubt your loyalty to her. If you disobey, she is quite able to devise punishments that won't affect her." He sounded as if he were in class, and about to levy points for a melted cauldron. The Potions Master sighed. "You have to remember what comes first."

Harry bit his lip. _I wish I hadn't stayed. I wish I hadn't seen this. All this, just for me. No wonder Snape clouded up when I talked about Christmas at that last meeting. He knew this would happen, or something like it. And I wanted it as soon as possible._

The Potions Master sighed. "You…you probably won't have a choice. You understand what I'm doing and why. You'll have to be strong enough to carry on. Even if I live, the next time I'm cursed by your aunt that way might be permanent. You will have to find some way to help the others without me."

"No!"

"You see people like that in Knockturn Alley sometimes…mad or crippled from a curse no one knows how to heal…they don't last long…" Snape's voice was fading.

"I swear you won't end up there!" Draco said. "Never!"

Harry was so horrified by now he was going numb. He knew the teacher would rather die than spend the rest of his life voiceless and wordless. He'd seen a few of those twisted people the time he'd accidentally ended up on Knockturn Alley. He had been frightened of them back then, but now he wondered if they had suffered a few of the things Snape had. "I swear, too," he whispered to himself.

Winky went up to Malfoy and said, "Little master, let Master sleep now."

The young man nodded. "I'll be back later, sir."

Snape barely nodded. His eyes were open, but they had no life in them. The blond Slytherin left the bedside and looked through the potions cabinet. He took a pain potion for himself and sat down to let it work, his head in his hands. Harry didn't understand why till he remembered Malfoy saying 'a bit of the old _Crucio_'. Then Draco stood up, took a deep breath, and walked out the door.

Harry waited a bit so Malfoy would be down the hall and not see the door open when he left. There was something familiar about the way Snape looked. Then he remembered. Muhammed Ali's eyes had been like that in the light of an Olympic flame.

The house elf was worried, too. She spoke quietly in the high voice of hers, and tried to help Snape drink some water, but he didn't respond. Harry quietly left the infirmary. _I'd better talk to Hermione, and then the Headmaster. Maybe he isn't dying, but he needs help, soon. Somebody has to know what to do around here with Madam Pomfrey gone, don't they?_ As Harry walked back to Gryffindor Tower, he remembered at least one time that Snape had forced potions down a student unlucky enough to have done something stupid in class. _Maybe Snape is her backup, and has been all along. Oh, crap. I'm going to have to learn more of this stuff if that bouncing magic curse is used again. Remus is good at taking them off, but doesn't know a lot of healing spells. I'd better practice that weird _Lumos_ he taught me._ _Maybe I'd better teach it to Malfoy, too. Even if he is a ferret he's really upset by what happened. Maybe he'd help out even if it wasn't Snape that was hurt._ He shook his head. Now _that_ was a scary thought.

Harry didn't know what to do once he reached his dormitory. It must be really early yet. Not even Finnegan was up, and he was one of those seriously morning people. He took off his Cloak and apologized to the Fat Lady for waking her up. She blinked at him from under his nightcap, but only grumbled a little bit when he quietly told her that Professor Snape was hurt and that he'd had to help.

He was suddenly overcome by exhaustion once he walked into the bedroom. _I won't be any good to anyone like this,_ he thought, and sat down on his bed, for just a moment.

Ron was waiting for him when he woke up. Harry quickly reached for his glasses where they'd fallen on the floor and sat up. "What?" He had to visit the loo something fierce.

"What happened last night? One of the firsties said she went to the infirmary a bit after breakfast and some strange woman was there instead of Madam Pomfrey. Winky was there, too, according to her, and that's one elf attached at the hip to Snape."

"Wait till I go to the lav and I'll tell you and Hermione. It'll save time." He told Hedwig to fly to the girls' side and hoot three times, the usual signal.

Ron nodded. Once Harry was back, the three of them found a quiet room away from Gryffindor. This shouldn't be common knowledge till the Headmaster said so. He told them everything that had happened, though he left out what the ferret had said. That wasn't their business, and he hoped his own promise would never have to be.

"The git not being able to talk! Too bad they fixed it," Ron said blithely.

"Ronald Weasley! How dare you say something like that? It must have been horrible." Two spots of color bloomed on Hermione's face, just the way they had when she'd held them in the air at wand point over Edgecombe.

"Well, it'd be rotten if it happened to you," Ron said. "But when it comes to Snape, a person's allowed to dream, isn't he?"

Hermione glared at Ron. "It's rotten happening to anyone. Well, not Voldemort, of course." Her eyes grew speculative.

Harry guessed she was seeing a certain beetle in her mind, and thinking it over, but decided not to say anything about it. "Do you still have your notes from that potions overload paper?" he asked.

"Yes, I do. I think I have a list of the potions he _can_ take, too."

"But he told the Headmaster already," he said.

"And he's going to remember them all when he's hurt like this?" Hermione said. "I'm glad he wasn't left alone, but it sounds like he's not recovering very quickly, either."

"But the other healer must have arrived soon after I left," Harry said. "Besides, I doubt he would have been glad to see _me_. I'm the reason he's hurt."

"Well…" Hermione wavered. "But Winky doesn't know very much. She can't read or write, or send notes if she needed help. Maybe this new healer works for the wrong people at St. Mungo's, too."

Harry hadn't thought of that. He'd heard the story of the Auror who had died, too. "If you can find the notes, I'll go see the Headmaster now," he said. "The gargoyle usually lets me through most of the time even if I don't know the password."

"You missed breakfast," Ron said. "Here, I grabbed a muffin from the Hall. You're a member of the family now."

Harry recognized the sacrifice, but accepted it. It was something he could eat one-handed anyway. By afternoon his arm would be all right, though. He'd almost forgotten the joy of knowing the right side had won the hearing in the fuss last night. "Thanks, Ron," he said.

"Do you think I ought to owl Mum about this? She and Dad might be in danger, too. Once the rite is performed, they'd have to kill all of us, but…"

He hadn't thought about that. If the enemy treated their own so cruelly, anyone else was certainly fair game.

Hermione interrupted. "What if the owl is intercepted?" she asked. "Umbridge is still with the Ministry."

"Maybe I can ask the Headmaster if he'll send them a message," Harry said, talking around bites of the muffin. "I don't know if I'm going to have an Occlumency lesson this morning or not, but I should go there soon."

They walked back towards Gryffindor. Hermione darted in and came back down with a sheaf of paper. Harry took off towards the Headmaster's office, only to realize the two of them were sticking with him. "I'll be all right inside the school," he said.

The other two laughed. He joined them in a moment once he thought it over, and accepted the escort. If Snake-Face had friends inside, this would be an easy time to attack, when everybody thought things were going the other way, and his left arm still in a sling.

They reached the gargoyle just as the clock outside was pointing Time For Extra Lessons. Harry hadn't seen that one before. The three of them stumbled through a number of things before hitting on Blood Lollies. Harry made a face at that one, though Hermione just looked puzzled. "They're not as horrible as they sound, though I don't like them all that much," Ron said. "You ought to buy a dozen of them for Snape, just in case he really is a vampire."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We've only seen him outside for every Slytherin game," she pointed out.

"Bet there's potions for that," Ron said.

Harry went in to leave them at it. Dumbledore sat in his chair, looking older than ever. His eyes had maybe half a twinkle, or 'twinkle on stun' as Hermione had once put it. Harry gave him the papers. "Hermione had a list of the potions that are ok with the detox stuff for Professor Snape. I told her and Ron what happened, and she thought the professor might not remember everything with being so sick. Ron is worried that his parents are in danger till the rite or whatever is performed, but Hermione is worried about owls being intercepted again. None of them will say anything, sir."

The Headmaster looked through the lists and looked happier. "Yes, some of these will be helpful just now. The new healer is doing her best, but could use this knowledge."

"Er…is, um, is she all right?" Harry knew he was questioning the ancient wizard's judgment, but given some of the people hired here, thought it couldn't hurt.

"Yes. But it is wise of you to ask. Professor Snape is in good hands."

"How is Madam Pomfrey?"

Dumbledore looked happier. "She'll be back in a few days, good as new. She'll be glad to hear you asked."

"And…how is Professor Snape?" He was glad he was learning how to correct himself and call the Potions Master with the title he'd earned, if only for not strangling them all some days. _I had a hard time keeping my temper with just the DA a lot of the time,_ he remembered.

"Not well. But he'll be better soon, now we can help him more," Dumbledore said with the ghost of a smile on his face. "Lemon drop?"

"Yes, please," Harry said. "And er…when is his birthday?" He thought he knew what to give the dour man now, something he could enjoy right away. _Maybe I could give it to him early,_ he thought, _even if it's not till next spring or something. He may not have that much time if this goes on much more._

"It was yesterday." The smile faded.

"Oh." Harry knew he'd better do something soon. He thought for a moment. Though he knew he probably wasn't going to hear the truth, he needed to ask this anyway. "I…I felt some weird stuff after I did the _Legilimens._ Professor Snape was really scared of Remus."

"He always has been that frightened," the Headmaster said. "He only hid it better earlier."

_Then why do you make him work with—oh. It's for me again, isn't it? No wonder he hated me so much._ Harry decided to try for the second question. "When you came in, he was so glad to see you," he said. "But he was frightened, too, like he didn't believe in it. If he's really on our side, and ok, it's finally sunk in even to _me_ that he is, why is he afraid of you?"

For a moment he didn't think Dumbledore would answer. Then the old wizard sighed. "I can put him into Azkaban with a word," he began. "I hold his parole from that place, and I have had to fight to keep it from being revoked several times. The Ministry likes their headlines, you see, and they're disappointed they can't use Severus to show how they are keeping us all safe—not to mention discrediting me for trusting him. Why should he trust _me?_ You saw only a few hours ago how I chose Madam Pomfrey's welfare over his own, though none of us knew how badly he was hurt. I _hoped_ he wouldn't die before I returned, but I did not truly _know_. Because of my own poor judgment with you, you have too much experience with that yourself."

Harry remembered the night he'd won his bout at the boxing tournament and had had to watch Dudley go off with Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and that Frank Bruno guy. Yes, he did know what it was like. How many times here at Hogwarts had he been glad when he'd been allowed to do something or had points restored when Snape had tried to ruin his life? He could see for himself where the Potions Master stood with the other side. "I guess he has to run his classroom the way he does, then," Harry said. "It's the only place where we all pay attention." _And sometimes we don't do that very well, either. I'm glad I'm here. What would I have done if I'd never had my letter? Or never met Ron or Hermione? I'd probably be even nastier than last year if everyone hated me the way they did my second year. Even then I had my friends. Doesn't Snape have _anyone _besides a house elf?_ But he knew better than to ask that question.

"If it is any comfort, Harry, you are not the first person this year to confront me on this. Professor Snape is not entirely alone in the world, and Winky isn't the only one to care for him. Several members of the staff have become quite protective of him in the past few months."

_That means they weren't before._ Harry wished he hadn't thought of that, and wondered what had happened to change things.

"However, I am pleased to see you are concerned about Professor Snape. You would not have been last year, or even for part of last summer. You are to be commended, though I must ask that you not discuss any of this with others. You undoubtedly saved Madam Pomfrey's life by not moving her and coming for me, while you and your friend Remus quite likely saved Professor Snape's with the little you were able to do before my return. His injuries were extensive, but he will be able to heal from them completely."

"What about the curse—I mean, the second one?" Harry asked. "What if it happens to him again? Will it become permanent?"

"Professor Lupin will assign you detention some time next week, once he has finished his research. Try to give him a good reason. He will discuss it then. We may have to make more use of the ghosts here than we have in the past."

_We'd better,_ Harry thought. Of course, hearing the word 'research' reminded him of Hermione. She'd probably borrowed his cloak and was in the Restricted Section finding all the right books before Remus could. "Could there be books in Grimmauld Place that might help? If the house is to go to me, do I have to give anyone special permission to check out the library?"

"That is a very good idea," Dumbledore said with a pleased smile on his face. "You will have to write a note to each individual who should have access, and they should probably carry it when they are looking through the books. Some of those volumes are more interesting to deal with than others."

Harry suppressed a smile at the thought of how the Monster Book his third year had nearly eaten everything in his trunk. _I should have petted it and fed it something the way I did Mrs. Figg's cats,_ he thought. _Maybe it wouldn't hurt for Remus or Hermione to carry other stuff like that. You never know._ He glanced up at the clock inside. "Er, shouldn't we have the lesson?"

"I am too tired, Harry. Come back after supper and we'll both feel better then. Your arm won't hurt any more and I'll have more sleep."

He knew when he was dismissed. Harry was surprised to see it was almost time for lunch. There was ton of gossip about Madam Pomfrey and the new mediwitch, who was a lot older and had a foreign accent, but almost none about Snape. Malfoy was there with his friends, and none of them seemed to be talking at all. He did hear a comment or two about 'Bad potions—those stupid Swiss!' and variations.

_So that's the story,_ he thought, and went along with it when asked. Hermione picked up it quickly enough, and chattered enough about her paper so everyone would go away. Ron's surprised look argued for a quick kick in the shin under the table. To keep his friend from saying something that would invite the wrong kind of interest, Harry asked questions. Soon a couple of Ravenclaws walked over from their table, and the first thing he knew half their end of the table was full of talk about Potions instead of anything else. In fact, Ron had given up trying to say anything and was trying to take notes.

Harry supposed he should, too.

Then Winky came in, quietly went to the Slytherin table, and tugged on Malfoy's sleeve. The blond Slytherin left the Great Hall without a word.

Suddenly, Harry couldn't eat anything more and went back to the dormitory. He sat up in his bedroom and hoped the ferret hadn't been pulled out for anything bad. He unlocked his chest and lifted out his Pensieve. He finally knew what to give Professor Snape for his birthday.

If only he was allowed enough time.


	65. Chapter 65: Patching Things Up

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, Technomad, and zafaran (duj is on vacation.). Read their stories, too.

Chapter 65: Patching Things Up

Pansy Parkinson

She was too tired to sleep and wept into her handkerchief as the sun slowly rose. Then she heard a noise at her window in the bedroom she shared with the others. What was one of the school owls doing here now? Pansy sighed, and let the stupid bird in. She recognized the handwriting on the short note immediately. _Oh, Draco,_ she thought, _do you really think you can make everything right with a smile?_

She would go to meet him, just to get it over with. Then she wouldn't have to talk to him. Maybe not ever again, though the betrothal bond between them literally ached at the thought. But she owed him, they all did, for coming back when it was clear Mad Bella was itching to murder them. And Draco had also made sure they'd returned to Hogwarts all right. Snape had already been vanished, so the ferret hadn't been after that. _He was probably hurting, too, after that _Crucio_ the Dark Lord handed out. _

Pansy wrote a note back. _Usual place. On my way now._ It wasn't like she wanted to do much of anything else.

Slytherin had a lot of extra rooms if you knew where to look for them. Of course, their Head of House knew about them, but rarely disturbed anyone as long as they kept quiet. Pansy bit her lip. Maybe she shouldn't be so hard on Draco. Every boy in their group had been crossing his legs after watching what that horrible woman had done to the professor. If only her betrothed hadn't clearly enjoyed obeying his new mistress so much!

Pansy dressed in fresh robes and slipped out of the room. Libby Rosier _was_ asleep, the little beast, as were the other two. Fortunately they had all established a 'don't ask, don't tell' agreement a couple of years ago. Snape had chosen their room assignments and study groups from their first year, and theirs had held together fairly well.

She hurried down the hall, but noticed that Winky wasn't at her usual post. _Well, if the professor dies, we'll hear her screams all the way from Astronomy Tower,_ she tried to convince herself. She remembered how Mimsy had behaved the morning after Grandfather died. They'd convinced the elf to keep on serving the family, but the little thing had never been good for much afterwards. Of course, she had been a lot older than Winky, and more set in her ways.

Pansy didn't want to think what might happen to the silly elf if Snape died. She knocked softly on the door of their usual rendezvous place. It flew open immediately. Draco sat on the couch, a bottle in his hand. "You know you'll lose points if someone catches you drinking," she said as she went over and sat by him.

"Don't care," he said with a hiccup. "Had to talk to you, Pansy. Had to. Love you so much."

He looked terrible. His face was blotchy and his hands were shaking. She sat down, took the bottle and set it down on the low table nearby. His hands were cold and she warmed them up. Most of the time he did that for her. She felt small muscles in his palms spasm. "Is…is the professor alive? Has anyone found him?"

"In the infirmary. Winky's with him, but nobody else. I don't know where Madam Pomfrey is, but I can guess. I should have asked him if he knew what happened…" He swallowed. "Oh, Pansy, he thinks he's going to die. Maybe not this time, but whenever they hurt him next. Or worse."

She almost asked what could be worse, but didn't as she remembered that flying spectral dagger, and the blankness in the Potions Master's eyes. "Why didn't you just let her have her fun with him, then? If only you'd kept your mouth shut…"

"'S wrong," he said. "Just is. Probably going to hex him anyway. You saw what she did last summer. Pettigrew just did what he was told, but she _enjoyed_ it."

Pansy had to agree with that. She put her arm around his shoulders. "I still wish you'd kept it buttoned," she said.

"Couldn't help it," he said. "Didn't really want her, but knew I had to, or Snape would be dead now. She used her Mark on me, Pansy."

"Do you really think I'm going to fall for that one?" she said, and pulled her arm back.

"_She_ was surprised Snape hadn't touched any of us," Draco said, his mouth twisting. "Ask your mum if the professor could do that if he wanted."

Pansy thought she just might. She remembered something else the Hellbitch had said. "What was that about your father and Snape, anyway? It didn't make any sense." She hoped it didn't, anyway, from what it sounded like.

"Can't tell you," Draco said, his face turning green.

Pansy scooted back a bit, in case he was about to throw up. "But you always told me your father took the Mark before he left school. He's five years older than our Head of House…" Then _she_ felt like she was going to vomit, too. No. "That can't be right," she said. "Of course he would have waited till Snape was old enough to join, too." After all, how could Lucius Malfoy use his Mark on someone younger and not initiated yet?

Draco turned his face away, probably to hide the tears starting to well up in his eyes.

That had to be wrong. Nobody touched a first year, nobody, and very few were brave enough to even look at a second-year. Of course her betrothed had to have it wrong. Unfortunately her mind wouldn't let it rest. _How do you think Draco even knows about it?_ it asked her. Pansy knew her father talked to her older brothers about lots of things she wasn't supposed to hear about. She was glad she'd put an Echo Charm on the lamp in Dad's study so that everything went to the lamp in her room. It kept conversations for her that she could listen to later--and a good thing, too, or she wouldn't know anything about what was really going on. But Draco couldn't have heard _that _right.

He picked up the bottle again and took a drink. "I didn't know what else to do, Pansy. I didn't want my godfather to be…to be shared out like that. It's just wrong."

Pansy knew he had a point, even if things hadn't worked out. She definitely had to have a talk with her mother as soon as she could. She didn't know what to say when Draco slumped against her and cried. "Never touch you like that again, never, not till we're married…I know I've asked too much, but you're so beautiful…" She patted him on the back and didn't mind her robe becoming soaked with his tears. "Oh, Merlin, how I hate being her apprentice…" Then he just leaned his head against her shoulder.

His right hand twitched again. She held it in her own to warm it some more. "I'm glad you sent up the Mark so we could find each other in the Forest, Draco," she said. "We haven't really had time to learn how to Apparate yet." She thought of something else, and decided this was a good time to find out. "What was that Sunday morning last summer like for you?" It hadn't been much of anything for her, but she had her suspicions about some of the others, and not just Goyle. She had wondered why her Mark had hurt so much, and had gone outside to find out if she were being summoned, but nothing had happened when she'd touched it. Okay, she had felt a _little_ depressed about something, but that could have been from a lot of things.

She felt him stiffen. Pansy almost always knew when Draco was about to lie to her. "You can tell me the truth," she said. "We can't squeal on each other anyway. The betrothal bond won't let me put you in any danger. That's the only thing that's kept _you_ out of trouble for so long!"

He sighed. "It was horrible. Mother kept me from doing anything stupid, and then the Mark hurt so much. Even more than the hex I took last night. Then it stopped."

"I didn't think Goyle was the only one," she said, stroking his beautiful hair. Pansy thought she could put names to the rest, too. What was she going to do about it? She'd taken the Mark herself mainly because of her parents and Draco. She kept playing with his hair to give herself time to think.

"If you tell," he said softly, whispering into her neck, "they won't believe it's just me. We could all die, including Professor Snape. Pansy, hex me the way my aunt did my godfather if you're still angry, but don't say anything about this. I shouldn't have told you, even with the bond."

"I won't," Pansy said. _At least not for now._ Besides, Draco was right. Goyle was already dead, along with all those other black boxes on the front of the Prophet. How many others would follow if _he_ became suspicious of all his followers again? Had all of them really been disloyal? Sending Draco to his death while they were still betrothed might kill her too.

And then a truly traitorous thought crept into her brain. _Should _any_ of us be loyal now?_

Pansy shook with fear. If any of_ them_, including her parents, realized she was thinking like that, she would be dead, too, no matter how many names she gave up. She thought about all her friends screaming the way Snape had last night. Was that what she really wanted?

Maybe Goyle had been right. Maybe Draco still was.

Minerva McGonagall

She rose before dawn, unable to sleep. Albus told what had happened once she'd awakened him. Soon after she arrived at the infirmary with a tea-tray and the Sunday Prophet, its lead article the hearing. This was as good a way as any to find out if that dreadful hex on Severus was truly gone. _I will visit Poppy later,_ she thought. She'd sent an owl to St. Mungo's and found out that the mediwitch was healed of the minor crack in her skull and was now resting comfortably, with Molly Weasley sitting at her side.

She discovered she was irritated that the Headmaster was not sitting with Snape. Albus did look truly dreadful and in need of a Healer himself, but he could lie down just as well in the infirmary as he could in his own bedroom, or so she thought. Still, by the time she'd left him, he was sitting at the Floo talking to someone from Switzerland, so that much progress had been made.

McGonagall entered the quiet room with the tea-tray and newspaper floating behind her. Severus was probably in the bed behind the screen. Mr. Potter had probably departed earlier this morning. She peeked around it and saw Snape lying nearly flat. Winky lay sleeping underneath the bed, but the Potions Master's eyes were open. He didn't seem to notice her. Chill fear gripped her heart. She quietly brought up a chair and a small table next to his bed and settled her burden on it. "Severus," she said softly. "Can you hear me?" _Can you understand me?_

He blinked. "Minerva?" His voice was hoarse. A muscle in his cheek twitched.

"I know you're still in pain. Albus is talking to someone in Switzerland, and I have a good idea where Poppy hides your file. Do you want any help sitting up?"

"Hurts to bend." He was pale, and his skin clammy to the touch underneath several layers of blankets.

"Let me heat things up a little," she said. "It's a trifle chilly in here." She chanted a quick Warming Charm, then helped him drink some hot tea. _This is terrible,_ McGonagall thought. _We've always depended on him when Poppy wasn't here or was ill herself._ If anyone else had needed the infirmary, they would have been out of luck. She also wondered how long he had been here with only an exhausted elf to watch over him.

She rang a bell and summoned Dobby. "Master Severus need help?" he asked, after glancing around.

"Oh, Winky bad!" peeped the elf from under the bed. She emerged, rubbing her eyes.

"Winky tired," Dobby said. "Go back to sleep."

McGonagall looked at Snape to see how he was taking this. A faint smile appeared. "Do as he says," the Potions Master said wearily. "I will need you more later."

"Yes, Master," Winky said adoringly, and collapsed back into a little green heap.

"Minerva, I do need Dobby's help," Snape said, looking embarrassed. "If you could, ah, wait somewhere else for a moment…"

"Oh, yes," she said, when she realized what the problem likely was. "I'll be in the office till you call." McGonagall popped into the small room, though she left the door ajar in case extra help was needed. From the sound of things, it wasn't going terribly well. Severus only made those sharp little noises when he was in great pain. Surely Dobby would say something if it were an emergency, though.

Or would he? She had little medical training, and the elf might have less. "Is it all right for me to come back in yet?" she asked through the door.

"Yes, Mistress," Dobby said, who disappeared with a jug into the lavatory. She heard something being dumped and flushed. Snape sat a little higher angle and looked as if he felt a bit better. The elf didn't come back, though, and she wondered why.

She was still uneasy, however. "Severus, if you need to go to St. Mungo's, I wish you would say so. I seem to recall someone dragging _me_ there last spring."

"They won't understand the interactions with the other potions I'm taking."

"So I shall take you to the clinic in Switzerland instead, where they do. And since you are no longer being affected by the other hex which causes magic to rebound on the user, I suggest you are not in a position of power here."

"I…I just want to rest."

"I know. But after all these years, it's obvious when you're in pain." _You've always tried to hide it, Severus. Even when you were a student. Perhaps especially when you were a student._ She sat, aware that she was probably going to lose this negotiation unless Albus came in her side as well.

"I've taken all the potions I'm allowed to," Snape said.

"That you happen to know of, and that you remember," she said. "You're not a Healer, and there are reasons even Poppy is not supposed to prescribe for herself. But if you really want to stay here, I suppose there isn't much I can about it. For now," Minerva added. She unfolded the newspaper. "No doubt I'll have an easy time of it today doing the crossword all by myself."

"Ha, ha," Severus said. "Your obvious attempt to rouse my interest…is working rather well." He panted for breath, as if saying so much was an effort.

Minerva smiled. She first glanced at the article about the hearing, and read out some of the more complimentary bits about how Snape had done, despite his loss. She also pointed out a few things about the Weasleys, and noticed how he brightened whenever she mentioned something nice about Molly. "When I visit Poppy later today," she said, "I'll ask Mrs. Weasley to drop by here and take a look at any substitute Albus finds and makes sure she's competent. I'm sure she'll want to talk to Harry, too."

Snape took a deep breath, or tried to, anyway. "Mr. Potter," he said, as if struggling with the name. "Mr. Potter was here last night. I remember…I thought he'd be happy to see me hurt, but he wasn't. He tried to help. He somehow understood I needed both the Headmaster and Professor Lupin…"

He looked as if every word tasted like vinegar. Minerva understood what it cost him to own up that Harry wasn't an angry, spoiled brat. _Probably the same way I hate admitting young Malfoy is more than his looks and his pedigree,_ she realized. "I certainly understand Albus, but why Remus?" Dumbledore had told her, but she didn't know how much Severus remembered or comprehended of what had happened last night.

"Lestrange told me before…before I couldn't understand any more…what the curses were," he said. "Wanted to see me crawl and beg…now I owe both the wolf and Potter a debt."

_No wonder he fought so hard to keep Hagrid from bringing him in,_ McGonagall thought. "Well, if it's any consolation, both Mr. Potter and Remus owed you a great deal ahead of time. Allow them the chance to pay it back. You've saved Harry's life a number of times, and helped us keep him from the Malfoys. Remus—well, I've seen how sick making the Wolfsbane Potion has made you so far this year. He has, too. Just before the start of the year I believe we all finally saw what it costs you to have him here at all."

For a moment she wondered if she should have mentioned that. Snape grimaced, but his eyes were thoughtful, not angry or worse yet, blank. Minerva briskly turned the pages to the Sunday Latin crossword puzzle and began reading off clues. Severus was a little slow at first, but soon picked up on their usual game.

Then he began taking longer to respond. She summoned another elf to order more tea and a light breakfast. _Should he eat anything solid at all?_ she wondered.

He broke into a cold sweat and looked alarmingly pale. Minerva stood, then stooped down. "Winky, wake up. I'm going to the Headmaster's office. I'll be right back."

The elf rubbed her eyes and smiled. "Yes, Mistress Tartan," she said.

Snape's eyes were half-closed. He didn't argue with her, or say anything. McGonagall wasn't a mediwitch by any means, but knew enough that this meant trouble.

She went past the gargoyle and went into Dumbledore's personal quarters. Her old friend didn't look well either. "Albus," she said, "he has to go to St. Mungo's or to Switzerland now. Or you need to bring someone qualified here. There's something dreadfully wrong." A thought occurred to her. "Dobby didn't tell me, but I imagine he went to you after he helped Severus with the jug. What color was the urine?"

"Almost entirely black. Someone is on the way from the clinic, but had to pack. She is qualified, though retired, and worked with me during the Grindelwald War. _Someone_ applied a Cruciatus to Snape in a more focused way than usual to a certain area." He grimaced.

"Lestrange," Minerva said sharply. "I think only a woman would do that." Granted, she had felt the occasional impulse with some men, but had always restrained herself. "He's bleeding internally, isn't he?" She felt queasy knowing she had only sat and played crossword puzzles with the man.

"Yes."

The fireplace flared in the small dining room flared up, and an old woman's face appeared in it. "I am ready now," she said.

"Minerva, this is Francesca Grussweiss. Frau Grussweiss, this is Minerva McGonagall, our Deputy Headmistress. She may be trusted with everything."

McGonagall stood up and bowed. "Charmed, I'm sure. We have little time, however."

Albus went to the flames and extended his hand. "Are you ready?"

"As much as I ever shall be, yes." The woman took the proffered hand and came through the flames with only a little soot on her, holding a valise. "Let us go to the infirmary now and speak of things on the way."

McGonagall felt happier once she'd learned the mediwitch was related to Magister Lowenstein and answered the barrage of questions about Snape's condition. She was glad she had observed as much as she had.

Once they reached the infirmary, Severus looked relatively unchanged. His eyes were fully closed, though. _I am glad something is happening,_ she thought, suddenly afraid that if she had kept quiet nothing would have and Snape would have gone to sleep, never to wake.

Winky stood protectively next to her master and glared up at the stranger.

"It is all right, little one. I am only here to make him well again," said the new mediwitch. "At the very least I shall not hurt him, and will help him with the pain till others can heal him properly. My nephew is working with his brother on potions that your master can use."

"Master bad about potions yesterday, won't take them," Winky said, her hanging down.

"Indeed? You are good to let me know," said Frau Grussweiss as she set down her valise and pulled her wand and a small book out of the pocket of her thick gray robe. "Herr Professor, awake! It is better I do this when you can answer questions."

Snape slowly opened his eyes, but didn't look like he'd be able to manage it for long. "I remember you," he said. "You had a butterfly in your hair."

She smiled briefly. "And you are much too brave for your own good. You have left some phrases out of your day-book, I think."

He blinked and looked more aware of things. "What do you mean?"

"Well, 'bleeding to death' would be more helpful than 'tired', I should think. And my nephew woke up last night when it began _screaming_, and then started chiming. We were all quite worried when it fell silent."

"I thought I brought that back with me when I came back from the clinic." His eyelids began to drift down again.

"My nephew did not tell you that he made himself a duplicate. I know it was bad of him, but you should be glad now. I hope your own people had so much warning."

Minerva glared at Albus, who looked sheepish. He took her aside while the older witch proceeded with a full diagnostic scan. "Poppy woke me up and said the same thing," he said. "That's when she sent an owl to Hagrid to take Fang out and start looking for him in the Forest."

"And of course I am the last one to know," McGonagall said sternly.

"Severus is in good hands now," Dumbledore said. "Now it's our turn to rest. Both the school and the Order need us strong."

Minerva agreed. "Wait," she said. "What happened to the students?"

"Mr. Malfoy brought them back much earlier this morning. He visited the professor for a short time quite early, then returned to Slytherin. Hagrid didn't confront them, but saw them escort Miss Edgecombe to Ravenclaw. Nobody seemed to be hurt."

"They wouldn't go to the infirmary if they were," Minerva said. Then she realized someone else was in the room. Albus had said to trust the woman, but some secrets were not for public consumption. "Let's go into the office and talk there."

Though it was a relief to sit down away from various medical procedures, which she didn't care much for whether she was the subject or not, she still worried about Severus. Once they were both seated, she told the Headmaster how Snape had managed the puzzle with her this morning. "I didn't see any problem with him finding the right words," she said. "I shouldn't think there will be any permanent effects from this instance of the hex. It must have been dreadful for him, though. I've never heard of the curse before. How does it work?"

Dumbledore grimaced. "It's like an ectoplasmic dagger plunged into the throat. There is only one way of releasing it from a victim. Since in this case the 'handle', so to speak, was left out far enough for one of the ghosts to grasp, it was meant to be removed if only we could find a way to reveal its presence, considering the second curse caused most magic to react against the user."

"What happens if this dagger is thrust all the way in?"

Albus turned his face away. That was answer enough. "That could be what Sybil meant by darkness," Minerva said. "Severus would think it worse than death." So would she.

"I know,' Dumbledore said in a strangled whisper. "Even if the first version of the spell is used, repeated exposure tends to send the dagger deeper each time."

"You won't have to put him on watch again, will you?" She remembered a couple of incidents during the first few years Snape taught here when she had suspected something had gone wrong. The Slytherin was simply too good at what he did to have accidents like that in the Potions lab.

"I hope not." Her friend looked ghastly now.

McGonagall wanted to take the Headmaster back to his quarters and put him to bed, but she had a duty to both Hogwarts and the Order to look after Severus. "What happens to him if the effects somehow become permanent? We don't have any real way of caring for him here."

"Hagrid would take him in."

"He'd still be vulnerable to the wrong sort of student," Minerva observed. Even some of hers, if the Marauders were anything to go by. "Sometimes I think Filch terrifies them from the start so they won't dare to hex him. Sometimes I think Snape does that, too."

"I know he does." Dumbledore's eyes looked bleak, as if he could see no place for Severus here either under such conditions. "The Swiss have offered him a safe hiding place, but I fear they could not care for him permanently."

"I hope he doesn't think about that part." She had a home to go to, as did the rest of them. Even Sybil had cousins in Blackpool she could take refuge with if she had to. "He _can't_ go to the _Malfoys!"_

"I hope not," Albus said softly. "Young Mr. Malfoy is coming up to the mark very nicely these days, though. I will have to speak to him. I hate placing such a burden on someone his age, but he is likely to accept it. Provided he survives this war, too."

There was that. Severus could be left a charity case abandoned by everyone he knew, dependent on the mercy of the Swiss, or of any surviving Death Eaters. Or of a Ministry searching for an easy scapegoat. Minerva admitted to herself she had seen herself mourning the Potions Master, but nothing like this. "We don't have to decide today," she said. "He was as rational as ever when he pointed out my mistake over leeks this morning."

The Headmaster sighed. "I must return to my office. Harry may show up for a lesson this morning. I'm sure he'll have questions about last night."

"Answer them, then, but put off the lesson till later. This Healer is going to be busy enough, between helping Snape and the usual Sunday night crowd. You don't need to add to her worries," McGonagall said crisply. She stood up and opened the door.

The mediwitch was behind the screen murmuring something, while Snape replied in low tones. Then there was a moment of silence, the flash of a charm, and a brief sound of pain. Minerva had sudden doubts about the woman.

"We'd best go," Albus said as he came up behind her. "She and I knew each other during the war, and I would trust her with my own life. Besides, he won't want spectators considering where he was hurt the most."

McGonagall nodded. She escorted Dumbledore to his quarters, and was surprised to see it was still breakfast time in the Great Hall. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger were there, but not Mr. Potter. The Slytherin table looked fairly empty. _I will have to find time to speak to Mr. Malfoy sometime today,_ she thought. She had never liked the blond boy and thought him more of a poser, in his way, than Mr. Lockhart, because he was so full of the nonsense his parents stuffed him with. Before she would allow any kind of responsibility for Severus to be placed on those well-tailored shoulders, she would take her own measure of him. She would also Floo Switzerland and confirm the mediwitch's bonafides with Magister Lowenstein. _I'm becoming as paranoid as Moody in my old age,_ she thought. _Perhaps it's time someone did. _Granted, Snape had seemed to recognize the Healer, but it would not be the first time Polyjuice was used around here.

Once the children had left the Hall, she retired to her own quarters and built up her fireplace. As Deputy Headmistress, she had almost as much access to the wards as Albus did. Lowenstein answered her fire-call after a short delay. He reassured her. "I should know my own great-aunt, Professor McGonagall. I was in the room trying to talk her out of this as she took your Headmaster's hand. Her own health is not as good as she would like us to think, yet she does not like it when we try to take burdens from her."

This sounded rather familiar. "I hate to keep asking more of you, as I know you have other duties and other patients, but could you or some assistant you trust be here to make potions as they are needed? It must be someone familiar with my friend's problems. Of course, I'd like it very much if he could teach Potions, too." She may as well ask for the moon, even if she would only receive green cheese in return.

"I cannot," Lowenstein said. "However, I have thought of someone who might, but only for a short while. If I understand matters correctly, you shall have to find someone for longer much sooner than you like."

"Yes." She bowed her head a moment, then raised it again. "However, I am greatly worried about him now. Who is it you have in mind?"

"My brother Klaus. He was interested to hear someone younger than he had such a bad case of this, though he was less surprised when he heard the name. Your Professor Snape is respected more outside his country than in it, from what I have heard. He will teach no babes in arms, though, only those who will pay attention. He will also assist in brewing, especially for your potions master. He knows the protocol as well or better than I do, having endured my poor attempts to develop it."

She thought furiously. Even Albus thought Madam Tranh's methods were best suited for beginners. "I shall be delighted to have him here," Minerva said. She would contact the other one as soon as possible. Dumbledore had enough on his plate at the moment.

"Frankly, madam, I do not see how your professor managed his workload," Lowenstein continued. "Or how he has done so much this year. Teaching, brewing, these Head of House duties, whatever they are, and these…these other activities. I am surprised he has lasted this long."

"I should be, too," McGonagall admitted. _I left too much to Albus. I thought he would recognize when Severus could not lift the load any more. Well, we found out last summer it was too heavy, didn't we?_ "We will be quite grateful for anything he can manage."

"Now, as for his stipend. My brother is normally paid on a daily basis for any time he must spend away from research," the Magister continued.

Minerva sighed and settled down for a long bargaining session. This was going to be much different than dealing with a parolee from Azkaban, a destitute werewolf, or a Death Eater posing as an Order member. She hoped. "Wait," she said. "I heard Snape's house elf complain that he hadn't taken his regular potions yesterday."

Lowenstein blinked. "That could help. I will need a fresh blood sample from him as soon as can be managed. If you can arrange for that while this connection is open, all the better."

McGonagall summoned Dobby and gave him a quickly scribbled note to take to the infirmary. "We should be here long after the sample arrives," she said briskly. "We still have a budget in this place, though one would never know it some days. Your brother won't have to worry about meals or lodging, and may give detentions if he requires assistance for lab work. This year we do have a house elf assigned to the Potions Department, although she will be assisting Severus till he is better. If he is here longer than a week he may certainly go home during the weekend. I also plan to find another teacher for the younger students."

The Magister smiled. "You do not give up easily, do you?"

"No. We should really have an official Bursar, but those duties have generally devolved upon me. The time we tried Professor Vector she attempted something called quantum accounting, and it was not a success." She tapped a piece of paper with her quill. "So, what is your brother's normal stipend?"

Severus Snape

Snape opened his eyes, half-expecting to see Madam Pomfrey bending over him again. Then he remembered. This old witch had spoken to him in at the clinic, and knew altogether too much about how frightened he was. Well, he had a right to be now. When she finished chanting the latest spell over him, he said, "How did the Acromantula venom work on your fingers, madam?"

"It was bee venom, and I have not tried it yet," the old witch said with a half-smile. "Although with all this wand work I think I shall need it. You remind me of the Manticore, who found out more when he was being interrogated than most who were asking him the questions."

He felt flattered, but knew where that led.

"I shall be here long enough for Polyjuice to fade away, and I have noticed the wards in here are set to make a noise if someone under Imperius is brought in. See, I anticipate your questions. Of course, if I were really on the side of this idiotic Dark Lord of yours, you should still be in deep trouble, but I cannot follow anyone so stupid."

"How so?" He was intrigued, and distracted from the movement of her wand over the light blanket covering him.

"There is a reason no one attacks healers," she said, "no matter whose side on which they may happen to reside. Many of this Riddle's own are likely to start thinking, which is always a bad idea for some leaders. This world of yours is so small, many in it have been helped by your Madam Pomfrey while at school, and probably dislike the idea of her being hurt. That is why I say this man is very stupid. If he does not understand his mistake, he will soon regret his error anyway, even if nobody says anything to him. Choosing to do evil is one thing, but following someone who is headed over a cliff at great speed is yet another. At the end, many of Grindelwald's followers did not show up for the last battle because he attacked during a funeral for your Headmaster's wife and children. In older days, a truce held for such things, even with the goblins when they were angry with us."

"Healers…there's only one in Azkaban, and he's only there for the guards. Not sure if they had any there when the Dementors watched the place," Snape said. "When I was in St. Mungo's, just out of prison, they didn't want to have anything to do with me. You can't blame them…those with the Mark hurt their families…but you're right about Madam Pomfrey. She…she didn't care what I'd done. The ones at St. Mungo's, they thought I deserved whatever the specialists did, but she just healed me. I mean, really healed me. I _hate_ how I was used to hurt her!" He wished Fang hadn't found him in the Forest when he thought of that.

"War is different now, and not better, I think." She swallowed.

"I wouldn't know," he said.

"No. For you it has always been war, and nobody on your side at all," she said. She finished off with a flourish of her wand, then frowned.

Snape had to admit he felt better, though he still had trouble catching his breath lying so flat, with only a thin pillow for his head and his feet propped up. "I wouldn't be alive today without the Headmaster vouching for me," he said. He never would have lasted as long as Sirius Black had in Azkaban.

"I have my own opinions on how you ended up in this situation," she said, her face flushing pink. "Yet I should not inflict them on you. If you like, you may call me Malachite. It is shorter and easier on the tongue than Frau Grussweiss. If you had been alive during the last war, I think we would have called you Hippogriff."

"I am honored," he said, and meant it. From what little he had learned of the intelligence effort during the Grindelwald war, the top operatives were given mineral names, while the field ones were given names of magical beasts. "Although I believe I would have ended up as Thestral."

"No, you are too bad-tempered for that," Malachite said with a laugh. "And some have seen you without having to witness death first, although it is said some of your classes come near to that."

He felt indignant now. "In all the years I have taught here, madam, not a single student has died of or in my class. I can't help it if those dunderheads keep trying to kill me and themselves, but I have certainly done all I can to prevent it."

She nodded, then sat down in a chair by the bed. "Few can match that sort of record," the mediwitch conceded. "Now, I have a problem here. I cannot help you calm your muscles, which shake from the Cruciatus, without relaxing them too much and have you bleed inside again. Yet those twitches are also not good for healing the vessels which were smashed. Also, I must do a charm soon to heal the bones, and you will not like that at all."

"I'm surprised you know how to heal so much without potions," he said.

"In the other war, we often did not have them and had to improvise. I think I shall do the bone-healing now, though. You are still in pain and this does not help."

"It's been worse," he said, though he wished he hadn't tried to shrug.

"I am sure of that." Malachite stood again. "This one is called the Osteo Malagum, and it will set everything properly. However, it will hurt like a day's worth of Skele-Gro all by itself. Go ahead and yell, you will want to."

Flitwick had told him he'd used that one last summer. Severus nodded, before he could change his mind. Then he was too busy with the sudden wave of agony to speak anyway. Winky appeared out from under the bed when he cried out and held his hand. It didn't really help much, but it was nice to know the little elf was trying to comfort him.

The pain gradually receded till it was gone. He felt better, especially since he could now breathe better with his ribs properly knit. Lupin had done a decent patch-up job for an amateur, but it wasn't really the same. Once he could speak again, he said, "That…that helped."

"Till the next time, anyway," she said ruefully. "My nephew has warned me that you stay to heal only till you can walk again, and then you are gone. When I read your records here, I suspect I will find the same thing. But for now you will stay here till I say."

"There's too much to do and no time to do it," he said. Snape knew he shouldn't trust this woman so soon. Naturally he couldn't tell her half of what went on here, but she would likely find out much of it once she found his file.

"It was like that before," she said, and sat down again. "I must tell you, your Headmaster has told me much about you and this war last summer. He is afraid he has hurt you badly. Which he has. But he wants the best for you, however he goes about it."

It frightened him to hear she knew so much—unless she was bluffing. How much had Albus told her, anyway?

"Well, so much for your bones. I wish I could give you some Blood Replenishing potion, but there is no point till your injuries are more healed. Many small vessels inside you were smashed when you were hit with the Cruciatus curse."

He winced at the thought of her seeing those particular bruises, but he'd put up with a few things from Poppy last year under circumstances that had bothered him even more. Severus turned his head as the mediwitch carefully lifted the covers and his gown, then went over him with her wand the way she had through the blankets. Then he felt cold enter his lower body, and an odd prickling as well.

"There. You should be all right now, though another should check this work later. I do not think you are too damaged if you rest enough, but you will not be entertaining any ladies for a while. This pooled blood, though, it is causing you pain as well. Since you are a Potions Master, do you have any leeches in stock?"

"No. I was going to order some for next term." He remembered something. "Madam Pomfrey had collection vials which were charmed to let blood into them without piercing the skin."

"Just a moment, and I will find them," she said. "Removing some of the spilled blood from under the skin will speed recovery, I think." The old woman smiled. "Now we are back in the old days, when a little bloodletting cured everything."

He felt odd. He ought to be angry or terrified someone outside Hogwarts knew so much. "How…how do you know the Headmaster?"

"Oh, we were in the same business once upon a time," Malachite said while rummaging through a cupboard. "Grindelwald wanted more than Britain, you know, and those of us in different lands had to work together or die. I had friends who acted as spies, and some of them did not live long." She returned with some glass vials in her hands. "You are not the first I have to stitch together. I earned my certificate after the war, because I did not know enough during it. Albus saw people die, too, back then. This young man I have heard of, he has death hanging over his head like a sword, but I see it over you as well. You have kept this boy from being given away to the wrong family, and are being punished for it."

He nodded. It was so odd how he kept remembering _Potter_, of all people helping him—and while wearing a sling, too. The boy had likely broken his arm during the game before the Slytherin one. Lupin had been there, too. Severus was ashamed at how he had shown his fear. The time before the last hex had come off had been like being underwater—though he had been able to see and hear clearly, he had understood so little. _He cleaned off my face with warm water, not cold, and even though it hurt, it was better than feeling the stickiness on me._ After all these years of saving the dunderhead's bacon and receiving only insolence in return, it was just very strange.

"Now, I must take another look at things," she said. He turned his head as she lifted the covers again. "Do not worry, everything is still there," she reassured him. When five of the vials were full, his lower torso was much less painful. An owl entered the room. She took the note from it and read it. "My nephew needs blood that has not sat around quite so long," Malachite said. "He will not need much." Snape held out his arm without arguing. She attached the full vial to the bird, and it flew off.

She began to levitate him, and Winky scrambled out from under the bed. "There! Now you must rest, and not go creeping off. I shall put you in this private room, like so, and leave you a jug for necessities. You also have water, which you should drink much of, and I am sure your little elf will fetch you anything else you need. You should eat something light in a couple of hours, your insides should manage it then. You must not use magic to disappear anything you leave in the jug, for I must see if my spells are working right. A potion would work much faster, it is true, but we both know the problem there. My spells will knit you more slowly, but they will work if you do not ruin it."

Soon he was in the private room. Malachite even warmed the sheets with a charm before putting him in the bed there. Then she bent to Winky. "Your master will be bored, since he will probably not sleep. You can hold the paper for him to read, since he must lie flat and should not exert himself in any way. If he finishes that, you may fetch him something else to read. He should not use magic, and should be helped to drink water now and eat later."

"I can't," he said. "I mean, use any magic. I don't have my wand. I think young Mr. Malfoy may have it." Unless Bella had taken it. Surely he would know if she'd destroyed it.

"I shall contact this young man, then, and see if he knows where it is, but not till you rest for longer. You will be anxious, so I will do it today, but it would be best if you did not use magic till tonight, or even tomorrow. If you do not obey, I shall put you in a magical sleep, which I should do anyway."

Severus knew he shouldn't even try to think of ways to maneuver himself back to his own quarters, He probably wasn't bleeding any more, but he knew he was far from well.

"And Winky, you must come see me if he leaves anyway," the mediwitch said. "Your master must not move around for at least a day or he will be hurt inside again."

Snape bit his lip as the house elf solemnly nodded. The old woman smirked at him. "You are not the first to think to get around me. But behave and you shall be in your own bed soon."

She left the private room. Winky held the paper half-folded, as her small arms had trouble holding it all the way open. He glanced at the half-filled-out crossword, though he ached for a quill to complete it.

Then he realized that he might have very little time to enjoy any word puzzles. Fear struck him like a blow. He was glad these feelings had waited till he was out of public view, but it hurt to know the mindlessness he'd suffered last night might be permanent someday.

"Master?" Winky's timid voice floated over to him. She put down the paper. "You hurt again? I go bring nice lady?"

"No," he said, and closed his eyes. "I…I'm just afraid, Winky. Last night was bad for me. Someone put a spell on me so that anyone who helped me would be hurt. That's why Madam Pomfrey had to go to St. Mungo's. She tried to heal me, and was flung against the wall. The wolf—I mean, Professor Lupin, and Mr. Potter, took that one off me. But I had a second one underneath it. I couldn't talk. I couldn't even think in words, only in pictures and tastes and whatnot. It was scary. I'm afraid it might happen again. I'm afraid it might stay with me forever the next time." He remembered how terrified he'd been in the Forest when he'd regained consciousness and the groundskeeper was picking him up. "I hit Hagrid, too, when he first found me,: he added. "I wish I hadn't. I didn't want to hurt anybody, and I did anyway."

"Master didn't mean it," Winky said, patting his hand. "Masty Barty angry all the time, but he hurt, oh, he so hurt! Bad spell on him, too."

Severus didn't know what she meant, till he remembered hearing that Crouch, Jr., had been under the Imperius Curse for _years_, from his own father, to keep him calm and hidden from the authorities. _Well,_ he thought, _Albus must have been tempted a long time before last summer to try it out on me._ Part of him was still angry about his own experience; Master Barty must have been furious once he'd finally thrown it off.

The elf continued. "But I stay with Master, no matter what. Elves talk to anybody, hear anybody, even Crookshanks or Mrs. Norris. Winky will help."

How pitiful he'd become that affection from a house elf drove him to tears. Of course that was when Dumbledore had to walk in.

"Albus," he said, embarrassed at how the moisture ran down the side of his face and plugged up his nose. Winky quickly wiped his face, apparently taking the mediwitch's lecture about him not lifting a finger to heart.

"My boy, I am so sorry." The Headmaster sat down by the bed, while Winky scooted to the other side.

Severus tried to restrain himself. Dumbledore had witnessed too many of his tantrums over the years. No doubt shaking like this was bad for continued healing. But he couldn't stop sobs from breaking out. "It's never going to be all right," he said, gasping.

"I wish I could tell you differently," Albus said.

"I'd rather die than be left a mindless hulk." Snape breathed slowly and carefully. His ribs ached again. He'd probably tear himself up if he couldn't exert more control.

"I know. Yet while there is life there's hope. You are more important to us than what use we can make of you," the ancient wizard said. "We're trying to find a way to keep you safe in case the spell is made permanent somehow."

"I'm not safe now. I never will be. Without magic, without _words_, what do you think will happen?" He could imagine the sport he'd give to any group that had custody of him. Here at Hogwarts, he'd be more helpless than he was as a student, and the Marauders had made mincemeat of him back then. Anywhere else, and his fellow Death Eaters could easily work off private grudges. If he was affected by this _severing_ curse again, he probably wouldn't be allowed to die till his captors tired of him.

"I don't know, Severus."

That was a surprise. Usually the Headmaster was full of cheer and lemon drops no matter the situation. Snape didn't realize how much he'd relied on that endless optimism till it was gone. He really was on his own.

"Winky will go where Master does," declared the elf in a soft voice.

Severus nodded. Oddly enough, that really was a comfort. House elves were much tougher than most people thought. He changed the subject. "I'd like to talk to Draco again," he said. "He told me a little of what happened after Bella hexed me, but it was hard for him. His hands shook, and I think he was punished for something. She must have made him pay for trying to help me and the other apprentices."

"I want to speak to him myself." Dumbledore was clearly happy to talk about anything besides impending doom.

"Please…please try to help him," Snape said. "He's different than he was last year. You know that, or you wouldn't have brought him into the Order." Narcissa would do her best, but he was afraid that wouldn't be enough. He knew what Lucius would do to his son if he ever learned the truth.

"I will, Severus," Dumbledore said. "But I need to know what I can do to help you now."

Snape tried to fight back his emotions. He shook again, whether from horror at what had happened to him or the standard leftovers from the Cruciatus, he didn't know which. "I don't deserve this!" he choked out as sobs racked him again. He hated being so weak.

"No. You don't. You never have," Albus said gently. "If you can trust me enough to lower your barriers the way you did last night, I can help you calm down so you can rest. If what I do doesn't work, I can ask Dobby to help you the way he did not long ago."

The Potions Master was surprised the Headmaster knew about that, or hadn't fussed at him over it. He tried to breathe more slowly. "I remember," he said in a whisper. "I was so glad to see you. I knew no one would hurt me as long as you were around. I was so afraid, I'm always to afraid when Lupin is near me. I wish I could stop it. Poppy's book helped, but only what I did last summer made any difference. The only time I really stopped being frightened of things was when you put the Imperius on me."

"Well, we won't need that today," Albus said with a wan smile. "This is just a spell to help calm you and stop the twitching for a bit. I hope you don't remember how badly you were hurt when you first went back to Tom, but the potions didn't work as well as we hoped after Hagrid found you and brought you back. Oh, Severus, I wish I'd been around more last year. I could have helped you then, too."

Snape nodded. That didn't matter. _Now_ was all he would ever have, especially if Bella's hex was used on him again. Besides, nothing had really changed. The Headmaster was full of regrets, yet again, but if the old man had to choose between him and someone else again he knew what would happen.

He lay back and listened as Dumbledore chanted something long and sonorous that gradually left him limp on the bed. Winky clung to him and made soothing noises.

"Now I'm going to place another charm on you," Albus added. "It will form a sort of girdle to help you heal even if you move a bit or your muscles start twitching again. You really must remain absolutely still, though, even when this other spell wears off."

It felt odd to just lie in bed without any anxiety. His torso now felt as if it were encased on a large, flexible bandage. "I'm surprised you haven't asked me for a report yet," he commented dully.

"You must rest, and regain your health first. Winky will stay here. Both Potions and the Order will just have to do without either of you till you're better."

Snape gradually closed his eyes. He knew he needed to make amends to both Hagrid and Poppy for last night, but he would have to heal before he could.

At last he fell asleep.


	66. Chapter 66: More Consequences

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, and zafaran. Read their stories, too.

Chapter 66: More Consequences

Albus Dumbledore

He almost began snoring in the chair. It had been a long and terrifying night. As usual, he'd chosen someone else's welfare over Snape's. Yes, head injuries were frightening and had to be acted on swiftly, but nobody had known how badly the Potions Master was hurt when Harry had come for him and Remus.

He'd been awake for most of the evening before then. Albus had counted every minute since Severus and his apprentices had been summoned. Poppy had been white when she had told him over the Floo how Snape's charmed book had cried out. Sleep hadn't been possible for either one of them after that. Moody's note had warned him just how deadly the danger was.

The Headmaster was glad beyond reason that Harry had chosen to stay and help the man who had been so harsh to him over the years. Albus would remember till the day he died how Severus had looked up at him while the hex that stole all language from the man had held the younger wizard in its grip. _Even after all I've done to him he still trusts me. _He hoped he'd never be smug about it again. _Worst of all, I will send him out again and again, until he dies of it, for the sake of others._

This morning, he had thought to lie down for a bit, till Dobby had rushed in with a warning that Master Severus was bleeding inside. He'd finally found someone in at the clinic on a Sunday who was willing to contact Magister Lowenstein, and then his great-aunt. Fortunately the process had been well in hand before Minerva came rushing in, or he'd have to worry about her sharp tongue. Snape was lucky in his friends. They were fewer than they ought to be, but they were loyal.

Dumbledore sighed, pushed himself up out of the chair, and looked down at the sleeping wizard. _Oh, Merlin, I hope Flitwick is wrong and Severus has another year. We need him so much. He _doesn't _deserve this. I'm just amazed he's finally said so._ That was another mark of progress. For all his complaints, Snape had never made that comment before.

He walked out of the private room into the rest of the infirmary, after making sure the wards would notify Malachite if his friend's condition worsened. The old mediwitch was treating a first-year with a bad splinter in her finger. Albus admired the way she handled the problem, and took time to reassure the girl that Madam Pomfrey was all right and would be back soon.

Once the little Hufflepuff left, he sat down and filled Malachite in on what he'd done with Severus. "With the charm around his belly, he can move a little once the relaxation spell is off without fear of rupturing anything," he said. "He's still having muscle twitches. I don't know if it's because of the potions regime, having to make the Wolfsbane Potion, or just the usual post-Crucio reaction. He went into convulsions last summer, but not since. The wards will notify you if his condition deteriorates, even if Winky isn't paying attention or has fallen asleep. In fact, someone should replace her now. She looks exhausted."

The old woman nodded. "If he lives to be old enough, he will have trouble. One of my nephew's associates has a theory about some hexes settling into the bones. At times, I think I have trouble because of that myself."

He bowed his head. "I would give everything I have if I could see him live past all this, let alone to any great age."

"I must admit, this Trelawney person has not helped," she said. "He has no hope left, and is more vulnerable because of it."

"He didn't have much to start with."

"Yet he may see death as better than this new hex," she warned.

"I know he will. A few of the other teachers would likely feel the same way." Minerva and Flitwick would certainly agree, though Vector might _prefer_ thinking only in numbers.

"It is his life," the old woman said sadly. "Perhaps he is not used to thinking of it that way, being under the rule of another, whether you or someone else, for so long, but it still belongs to him. You cannot save him by keeping him prisoner. I think he will continue to fight, if only for the students he wants to protect. You must let him make this decision himself."

"I did save him," the Headmaster argued. "I kept the Ministry from killing him. There were times I protected him from himself." Yet a small voice argued that any prisoner might try to escape. He'd shown last summer he was willing to use any means to force Snape to his will.

"You told me of this Sirius Black, who died on impulse because he was kept confined for too long. Do not make the same mistake. You must let go. If he…if he becomes helpless, it will be time to think again. Even then he may be better off elsewhere. You must think of what is good for him, and not what you want."

She patted him on the hand. "You have a right to grieve over losing him. Do as much of it as you wish now, since you have the time. You may not have that luxury when it happens. I know this from my own heart, from the bad times we all went through. He is a like a child to you, perhaps one which is wayward, but still you must let him go."

He smiled, though his heart wasn't in it. "I have failed him for so long. I want to make it up to him. I want to see him happy. Instead, I send him off to be tortured for the sake of the Order or to risk his life in other ways. I never thought what teaching potions for so long could do to his health. It didn't seem to bother the others before him. I forgot to notice they didn't teach without any interruption for as long, or at such an advanced level. I knew he hated dealing with children. I knew he acted the way he did because he wanted them frightened of him rather than the other way around." Albus stared down at the floor. "I tolerated it, though, till Harry came here. Looking back, I know I told Harry to show respect for Severus, but didn't do so myself. Naturally, the boy thought it quite all right to defy him. I abandoned everyone last year, thinking it was for the best. Minerva said she wondered if I let Umbridge run rampant on purpose, knowing I would look all the better when I returned."

"It is hard to run a school. It is harder to run a war. Doing both is a recipe for madness!" Malachite said, then shook her head. "Only you can say what is in your heart. I suspect you will not have this double role for much longer. This Trelawney, is she the same who gives you the prophecy for the boy?"

"Yes."

"It is possible the two are connected. You should not have to choose between the two."

"Oh, but I already have," Dumbledore said.

"Professor Snape is a grown man who has the right to make decisions for himself. He likely does not expect to come first with anyone no matter what he is told. It is a pity that anyone must live so, but many have. He is choosing to stay. Despite what you have told me about your Ministry, it would not be hard for him to leave this war and find a place that is safer. Yet he has not. I bow to his honor, for the temptation must be great. Do what you can for him, though, and do not let this be an excuse for treating him badly, as if he had no choice at all."

Albus grimaced. "Your counsel is wise, as always. What can I or Hogwarts do in recompense?"

"You are already doing it. At my age my family thinks I am best on the shelf. Sometimes I envy you, Alabastor. Though your road is hard, as least they do not treat you like a glass doll."

"They try," the Headmaster said.

"And now it is my turn. Or shall I call the tall Scotswoman and tell her you will not go to bed, even though you are tired and your friend in safe hands?"

"No, please!" he said in mock horror. "I'll go quietly." He went back to his office, meaning to lie down. Dumbledore sat his desk for just a moment, only to have Harry arrive. He kept the session short and put the boy off till later in the day.

The list of potions Snape could take was valuable, even with Magister Lowenstein aware of the situation. Harry's insights were even more so. The boy was much more perceptive than in the past about what was _not_ being said. _He's right. Severus is still frightened of me, even though he was glad of my presence last night. I have left him no sanctuary, not even that of his own mind. Even death is not a haven to him now._ He was also glad to see Harry realize how much he still owed the Potions Master, and had thought of possible resources they had yet to tap. The library at Grimmauld Place could indeed hold many of the answers they were looking for. Despite his own reluctance to allow a student to do so, Miss Granger was the best to explore it. Professor Lupin ought to assist, though, since his current position as executor offered him more protection. The boy's idea to have whoever looked through the books carry some sort of official permission was an excellent one.

Once Harry was gone, Albus slumped in his chair. Dobby appeared, made sure he ate, and then assisted him to bed.

Dumbledore awoke just a few hours later. He owled Moody first, and Arthur Weasley for later. He knew how adoption rites worked, and the sooner Harry was protected by belonging to the Weasleys through magic, the better.

For once, though, he would allow someone else to go to the head of the line. He had to speak to young Mr. Malfoy and discover how the boy and his friends were faring. Again, he used Dobby to have the blond Slytherin brought to the office. He trusted the elf's discretion to make sure neither one was seen on the way.

He hoped Alastor and the boy would become used to working with each other. No matter what prophecies were spoken, he shouldn't assume that _he_ would live to see them. _If only Harry and Draco could manage to deal with each other,_ he thought wistfully. But that was like wishing for the moon.

The other two arrived at nearly the same time in his office and sat glaring at each other. Moody looked stormy and young Malfoy looked—ah, yes. "Hangover Potion, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked as his two guests sat.

Draco shook his head. "Tea will be fine, sir."

Mad-Eye snorted, and took a swig from his hip flask. "Younger generation has no stamina these days."

Albus suspected the boy had endured a great deal last night. He handed Draco a cup. "Mr. Malfoy, I need your report. Professor Snape told me as much as he could, but remembers little of what happened after he was hexed. I shall discuss last night with him in more detail later, but under the circumstances I doubt he will be able to contribute much more than he has already."

"Why isn't he here?" Moody asked.

"He is in the infirmary. Certain people were not pleased he lost the hearing for custody of Mr. Potter to the Weasleys. Mrs. Lestrange was imaginative." He wasn't going to mention that Percy Weasley had undoubtedly given the retired Auror a good idea of what happened already.

Draco let his head hang down a little. "Mr. Malfoy, your report, please," the Headmaster said gently. The young man had indulged in spirits forbidden in school, judging by the blotchiness of his skin, but Albus couldn't bring himself to take points under the circumstances.

"All right," the boy said, still looking at the floor. "Yesterday afternoon, our game ran till it was almost dark. We were lucky not to have it called. I really wanted to win, with yesterday being the professor's birthday. I'd heard he'd been out the night before from Winky and I was glad he was able to watch. He told another apprentice during the game that we could be summoned because of the hearing. I think a note was sent to another apprentice."

Dumbledore approved of Malfoy's discretion in leaving off obvious identifiers. He encouraged him to continue.

"The game was just over when my arm hurt. We fetched our masks and cloaks, went out to the Forest, and Apparated. I don't know where we were, but it was a lot darker. _He_ was there, along with that horrible snake. The only other Death Eaters who were there were Pettigrew and Lestrange, the way it was last summer. The Gryff had Weasley by his side. You can't mistake that red hair, though the cloak covered most of it. I've put a hair-repelling charm on mine. My hair is shorter than Father's, but people would notice any strays that color as well."

Moody sat up straighter, no doubt stunned at such a display of intelligence. Mad-Eye had a low estimate of those he trained, almost as low as Snape's, and had probably expected little from someone he'd never dealt with before. "What happened then?" Albus asked.

"I knelt before Madam Lestrange, since I'm her apprentice now." Draco took a deep breath. "The professor warned me about her. I wish I'd listened."

Malfoy held his teacup in both hands and drank. After a moment, he continued. "_He_ said Lestrange could do what she liked to Professor Snape except kill him, and that my godfather couldn't use his favor from the last time he almost died to stop her from doing anything." His tone was bitter. "She just laughed. Then the Dark Lord left, along with Nagini. Pettigrew and Weasley were supposed to watch.

"She put a _Silencio_ on him when he tried to explain how we could still trap Potter. Then she told him—told us—what she was going to do. She vanished his clothes and bound him to the ground. She took off the _Silencio_ then, probably hoping he'd beg her not to do it. But he…he wouldn't. Then…then she did the first one."

"What did she think would scare him?" Moody leaned forward, obviously pretending for everyone's benefit that he didn't know.

Draco set the cup down and put his face in his hands. Then he sat up straight and stared, as if seeing it all over again. "It was something she called a _sever-us_ spell she found in an old book and tried out on a Muggle," he said faintly. "It's supposed to stop people from talking or thinking in words. It stopped the professor from thinking at all."

"Perhaps he was faking," Mad-Eye suggested.

"You didn't see his eyes when it happened," Malfoy said in a whisper. "It wasn't him there any more. He…he did cry and beg then, but like a whipped dog, not a person."

"I tried to reach his mind while he was still affected by it," Dumbledore said. He almost shuddered at the memory of the chaotic mix of images, sounds and smells that had faced him when he'd use a gentle _Legilimens_ on Severus before the curse had been lifted. "I believe it's a version of the old Soul Divorce curse that cuts the bonds between consciousness and language. It's not the same as a Dementor's Kiss, but its effects can appear similar. You might have heard of it as the Ghost Dagger."

Moody looked thoughtful. "You were able to take it off, weren't you?"

"Yes. The Bloody Baron proved most cooperative. However, Severus is still badly injured and healing slowly, due to his potions regime. Mr. Malfoy, please continue."

Draco swallowed. "Then she, she um, chanted a spell to um, well, the professor was excited," he said, almost stuttering. "She undid her cloak. She wasn't wearing anything under it." His face turned red.

Mad-Eye stayed impassive. Albus tried to follow his example. He'd suspected something of the sort, given where Snape had been injured the most, but it still disgusted him. "No one is blaming you," the Headmaster said.

"I had to stop it!" the boy said shrilly.

"Why?" Mad-Eye asked. "She might have called it good if she'd enjoyed herself."

"It's not right!" Draco said. "It just isn't."

"I know some Malfoys who would sit back for the show and take bets," Moody said. "Your father among them."

The young man bit his lip. After a moment, he spoke. "Yes, Auror Moody. I know more than you think I do. That's why I couldn't let her do that to him. Unfortunately, she became angry and hurt him. I wish I'd kept my mouth shut then. Edge—one of the other apprentices should be awarded an Order of Merlin. She knelt down by the professor and reminded my aunt that Snape had to stay alive. I was amazed she didn't end up hexed into a pile of ashes. Then one of the others started to move forward, too. I tried to pretend I was angry for a different reason." He took a deep breath. "That was when I distracted my aunt. I would rather not go into detail, Headmaster. She was pleased enough afterwards to let us go. After placing the rebound spell on Professor Snape, she banished him. I was sent back to the Forbidden Forest. I looked around for him first, and then I went to Hagrid's hut. He was already gone and Fang with him. I was afraid my friends were still back in the clearing and Madam Lestrange was hurting them, so I touched my Mark and hoped for the best.

"I ended up in some bushes just behind Pettigrew and Weasley. My aunt didn't know what to do. I don't think she had enough strength to send them back after dealing with the professor. _He_ came back, and called me out. I was commended for loyalty to my friends, and punished for disobedience to my mistress." His hands shook.

"Professor Snape has developed a potion that helps with the Cruciatus curse," Dumbledore said. If only he could give Slytherin the points this boy had earned.

"It's not too bad now, sir."

That explained the smell of spirits. From the look in his normal eye, Alastor Moody didn't have any trouble figuring it out, either. In fact, the old Auror uncapped his flask and poured a tot in the boy's teacup. Malfoy nodded his thanks and took a sip.

He didn't sit quite as straight as before, as some of the tension left. "We were sent back, but we were all separated," Draco said. "I started a fire and gathered the rest together. It was nearly light when we all returned to Hogwarts. I visited the infirmary, and was glad someone had found the professor. Pot—Mr. Potter was also there, a sling on one arm. He left, and then I spoke with my godfather. He thinks he's going to die, or worse." He took another drink from the cup, then sat as straight as a metal rule.

"Why didn't you go to the castle and find some help the first time you landed in the forest?" Moody asked.

"When I saw Hagrid was gone, I thought it was more important that someone find Professor Snape. You don't know how badly he was hurt." For a moment, anguish filled the young man's face, then was forced back. "Besides, who'd want to help _us_?"

Dumbledore winced. To Mad-Eye's credit, the Auror only nodded. "Fair enough. Good reasoning under the circumstances. Maybe you aren't a dead loss after all."

Instead of bristling at the backhanded compliment, Draco nodded. Then again, anyone who'd grown up on Snape's tongue couldn't be that thin-skinned.

Moody leaned forward. "What should you do now? Think about it."

Draco blinked. So did Albus. Maybe this was going to work after all. The young Slytherin sat back for a moment, and then spoke. "I should write a letter of complaint to Father. It's what I would have done last year. Actually, I should ask to visit him and not trust this to an owl. He has something in his cell so the guards can't listen in if he doesn't want them to. I will be appropriately indignant. Father still thinks of the professor as his personal property. He won't like knowing my aunt hurt him so much, again. I'll have trouble confessing exactly how I stopped her, of course, and let Father pry the story from me bit by bit. Of course I won't say a word of this to Mother," he said with a blank face. "If she asks, I can tell her that everything is all right, but in a way that she won't like. It will be easy to suggest that I am fonder of Aunt Bellatrix than perhaps I ought to be."

Alastor raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to walk down that path?"

"It's…it's the only one that will work." Draco's voice shook a little. "I will have to convince my aunt of it as well. Pansy—I mean, Miss Parkinson, will hate it. She'll hate me."

"Then you'd better brew up a potion or find a charm or whatever the daring young men do these days," Moody said harshly. "There's such a thing as _too_ pure a bloodline."

The boy went deathly white. "She said she'd taken a potion."

"Did she mention which kind?" Albus asked, now worried. He hadn't thought of that complication.

Silence hung in the room. "No," Draco said in a low voice after a minute.

"Well, lad, you're on a hard road," Mad-Eye said. "I don't envy you a bit. Floo me sometime and I'll give you a few pointers if you want them."

"May I please go, sir?" Malfoy asked. "I would like to see if Professor Snape is any better. I know he can't have many other potions with the Swiss regime."

Dumbledore nodded. "He's probably sleeping. Madam Pomfrey is at St. Mungo's because of the rebound spell, but should recover in a couple of days. Her substitute is from Magister Lowenstein's clinic, and understands the problems."

Draco murmured his thanks, and left. The Headmaster turned towards Mad-Eye. "Well, what did you think?"

"He's still a rotten little prick, but he managed better than I thought he would," he said. "I ought to let him read the file we have on dear Madam Lestrange. It might make him feel better knowing he's not her only victim. That was nasty there, her being his aunt and all. My boy threw up everything he'd eaten over the last three days once he was out of there. Thinks the brat enjoyed himself. I suspect the bitch used her Mark on him to bring him up to snuff, myself. At least now young Weasley sees his situation could be a lot worse."

"The boy did seem reluctant to talk about what she had him do," Albus conceded. His stomach twisted. He had never liked such methods during the Grindelwald War, and hated them worse than ever now.

"Can't blame the lad for that," Moody said, as he took another swig from his flask. "Pity's he's a Malfoy. We have Aurors in place who've shown less sense in a pinch."

Dumbledore blinked. He'd never heard Mad-Eye talk about a Slytherin like that, or offer to give any pointers, either. "I thought to you wanted to keep your sacred corps Snake-free. Except for Miss Tonks, of course."

"I say a lot of things! I must admit, I am surprised the Phoenix Breath didn't interfere with the boy's er, activities last night."

Albus thought about it. "A phoenix dies and is born in fire. Why not that kind as well? Besides, times have changed since even you were young. I read Muggle papers and I'm amazed at just the advertisements. I feel so old some of the time." Of course, newspapers a century ago often sold the same things, whether they used the phrase 'male vigor' or the franker words of today. Any brewer worth his or her salt had a repertoire of the same. _Nothing really changes,_ he supposed.

"Well, you ought to feel old. If you didn't, I'd be in real trouble!"

The Headmaster shook his head. "I'm becoming upset over things that were ordinary over a hundred years ago, Alastor. When Snape stayed out late last month and Flitwick defended him, I was angrier than I should have been. Both are unmarried, don't look at their students, and I've had no complaints against them from any of the female staff. I think I've forgotten what it was like."

"I thought a certain Scotswoman kept you reminded."

"It's mostly wishful thinking these days. I try not to be jealous of anyone who still has the time and energy to indulge himself like that."

"Don't envy the Malfoy brat! I know all about Bella Lestrange and what she thinks is fun. How badly was Snape hurt?"

"If the Ghost Dagger had gone all the way in, we'd be discussing permanent care options for him right now," the Headmaster said, glad Moody had changed the subject. "It's a good thing the mediwitch from Switzerland knows some old healing spells that don't depend on potions. He was still bleeding internally this morning, but that's been stopped. He shouldn't be moved, though. If you have any plans that involve him, I suggest you discuss them with him soon and implement them as quickly as possible."

"How well did he recover from the removal of the Dagger?"

"Enough to help Minerva with the Sunday crossword puzzle. He was rational when I spoke to him earlier today, though understandably upset." He hesitated, then plunged forward. "This is the prophecy Sybil Trelawney spoke for him late last summer," Albus added, then recited it.

"_First the shadow, then the night._

_Two sun cycles for twilight._

_Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,_

_And store up joy for end of day."_

He then added Flitwick's interpretation about the timing.

"I think I know what he's afraid of now," Mad-Eye said. He sighed.

"Yes. I'm encouraging Winky to stay with Professor Snape as much as possible, especially for the next few days. For now he is too debilitated physically to do much, even if he wanted to. However, I am worried about his attitude once he recovers his strength."

"Winky probably still misses her darling Barty, and isn't happy unless any master yells and throws fits," Moody said. "And it wouldn't be the first time he's tried to do himself in. Before he just gave up and went into that funk, he tried to chew his wrists open—"

"Yes, I know. We still have his medical records from Azkaban," Dumbledore remarked. The point was well taken, though. If Severus truly wished to end his life, he was quite capable of pretending recovery and then mixing himself a fatal brew. "I simply hope that responsibility for his apprentices will keep him in the game for as long as possible. You know, Alastor, he could avoid all this. He could be rich, independent of Hogwarts and the Ministry, and in perfect health. All he has to do is to betray us."

For once, the old Auror looked thoughtful. Then he shook his head. "Damn it, Albus, you do have a way of putting your finger on the sore spot. I just don't understand why he hasn't. It's not like the Order's offering him much!"

"And that is my fault?" _I should have realized how bad things were last year,_ he thought. _Molly Weasley tried to tell me, but I refused to listen. I should have realized how bad things were for Severus all along. _

Mad-Eye grimaced. "If only he wasn't such a prickly bastard." He held up a hand. "I know, I know. The three of us last year should have been named Pot calling the Cauldron Black. None of knew how to play nice, and with you gone half the time Sirius Black called the tune. Molly tried to knock some sense into everyone, but nobody listened. You were an idiot to keep Black confined the way you did, though. Snape suggested we use him as a lure to distract the Ministry from anything else we were trying to do. Sirius frothed, of course, and claimed the Snake was just trying to get him killed, but once he had time to think he was all for it. Poor Lupin was going out of his mind over the drinking. I even heard him yell at his friend once, and that's not like him. I still think Kreacher was encouraging it somehow. Snape ended up with the short end of the stick again, though, because Marauders always stick together. Frankly, I think Lupin was tired of being the target and thought it was someone else's turn. Like a fool, I joined in. I can't blame the sod for not eating there last year, even without that door-right nonsense. The fact that _you_ automatically assumed anything wrong was his fault wasn't much help."

Dumbledore nodded wearily. "I trust you realize what I'm trying to do by having you sit in with me when Mr. Malfoy gives his reports."

"Of course I do. You're finally being sensible. If anything happens to you, McGonagall can run the school, but there's no way she can manage the war as well. You're having a devil of a time as it is. You need a paranoid lunatic like me to keep the troops from disintegrating or keep them from boldly killing themselves like that shower at the Department of Mysteries. Potter needs a lot more training than he's had so far. Snape thinks you're mad to stake everything on the boy, and I can't say I blame him."

Mad-Eye grimaced. "I have to admit there's more to young Malfoy than I thought. If Snape dies, or ends up on Longbottom Row, the ferret is the natural leader of those baby Snakes. If only there's a way to have them _all_ on our side. And yes, I know if I look cross-eyed at his precious godfather that I can forget about it. Did I recite the lesson correctly?"

Albus nodded. "Five points to Ravenclaw. And don't forget, Miss Edgecombe is one of your own. What did Percy say about her?" It had been clear to him which apprentice had intervened.

"Said he thought the poor girl was going to end up in flames," Moody said. "I picked up a funny rumor last month that she almost ended up married to someone in the Macnair family. Merlin, I'd throw myself in front of a dragon before letting myself become related to that mob, so I can't say I blame the girl for feeling the same way."

"She was mistaken for part of the entertainment by a certain huntsman," Dumbledore said. "Mrs. Lestrange was not diligent about watching over the girl, though Miss Edgecombe was originally her apprentice. After the incident and a suicide attempt, the switch was made. Her dowry is now larger than it used to be, and Macnair is apparently out of favor with the Inner Circle. Filius is worried about her, but she tends to go to Professor Snape for counseling."

"Well, he'd certainly know about that kind of problem. Oh, don't look at me like that," Mad-Eye said peevishly. "We talked about a lot of things in Azkaban, and not all about the DE's. When Percy told about how Snape tore apart the tramp with the story he was told, it wasn't hard to figure out who he was really hexing. That's probably why Old Tom had Wormtail fetch the Muggle for the practice session in the first place. Probably thought he was offering Snape a special treat."

"You're probably right." Albus was still ashamed at how he'd reacted that night. "You might want to know Mr. Potter was in the infirmary and assisted when Severus was brought in. He was able to cast a _Legilimens_ on the professor even with the rebound hex in place. No doubt his scar acts like the Dark Mark in that respect. He is rapidly revising his opinion of the Potions Master, now that he has learned enough Occlumency for it to be safe to tell him things."

Moody smiled sourly. "You really don't trust me when it comes to Snape."

"Any reason why I should?"

"I could ask you the same question, guv'nor, considering what you pulled on him last summer."

Dumbledore sighed. "That's why I'm trying to protect him now, even from me. What really surprises me is that these past few months he's been acting more, more—"

"More human, you mean. _Both_ my eyes nearly fell out when he complimented Lupin at the safe house, and was halfway civil to me when I harassed him in his room. If you don't mind, I'd like to take a quick look at him. My magical eye tells me a lot, especially when I pay attention to what I see and not what I want to see. Besides, Winky knows how to keep _me_ in line. We had some interesting times when I was in that box for so long."

The Headmaster had forgotten. Of course it made sense that Barty's house elf would take on the duties of keeping Moody alive as a Polyjuice farm. No doubt Winky had feared telling anyone about that. "All right," he said. "But if he's asleep, let him be."

"I'm not that much of a bastard! I have been one in the past, but you're seeing the new, improved model these days." Mad-Eye laughed harshly as he pushed himself up to a standing position. "Though I could use a few new parts. Arthur Weasley says one of those fancy Muggle legs does everything but the cha-cha, but I want to make sure it's not going to blow up first."

Dumbledore smiled till the younger wizard left the room. Then he let the mask of good cheer fade. Lemon drops weren't going to help this situation. Their best operatives were either too old or too young, with those in the middle like Snape suffering from overuse. He almost hoped that Trelawney's predicted darkness would come from Bella's dagger of the mind, rather than death. Being removed from the game in that fashion would at least allow Severus hope of a cure. Yet even the few choices currently left to the man would be taken from him then.

He must plan for all eventualities, even that of his own death before the war was concluded. _I told Harry I would be foolish to sue for guardianship because I cannot depend on waking up every morning. I should believe my own words._

Alastor Moody

Mad-Eye gimped his way over to the infirmary. He broke into a smile when he recognized the woman sitting at the desk with a huge pile of paper. "Mally!" he said, wishing he could still pick up her up in his arms and whirl her around in mid-air. "I wondered where they'd found someone who knew her way around meatball curse-fixing these days. It's nothing but potions now."

The old mediwitch looked up and smiled back at him. "You old goat!" she said. "I have wondered what became of you. I tried to send a letter once, but your Ministry claimed not to know where you were."

"Liars. They just didn't want to know! Fudge is only the latest in a long line of idiots in charge over there." He lowered himself down to a chair across from dear, sweet Malachite, not waiting for an invitation. "I remember that time in France when you were tearing your hair out because your beloved Manticore was late for a rendezvous…"

She snorted. "It turned out he was shacked up, as you say, with a girl at a farmhouse. He claimed she had much information, but we knew how well to believe that one."

"The Charms professor here at Hogwarts is like that, too. Don't bother to try to find him on Tuesday or Thursday nights, either, unless you want Madam Puddifoot to turn you into a blueberry muffin. Flitwick says his Lucille is the only thing keeping him from sampling the tasty little darlings around here. I caught him out five years ago, and I'm still embarrassed he had me fooled for as long as he did. I should have known that age doesn't slow some people down at all." Moody remembered seeing Malchite's best operative once, but from at a distance and in poor light, which was just the way both of them liked it. _What I didn't know the Grindys couldn't torture out of me,_ he thought. "Say, whatever became of him, anyway?"

"He committed suicide shortly after all was over," Mally said abruptly. "A friend of mine found the body and a note. She…she managed things when I was too, too distraught, is that the word? Alicia tested both the corpse and the note, and said I should not distress myself by looking at either. I wished I had known he was so upset. We had had a disagreement, you see, and I have always blamed myself. I have thought sometimes he fooled us and may yet be alive, but that is only wishful thinking, I believe."

"Well, I'm glad you survived. Did you ever marry that fellow from Basle?" He had a pretty good idea what the disagreement had been. The other man had seemed quite taken with Mally during the short time he'd hidden out with her group.

She brightened. "Yes, we did. He died ten years ago, and I have several children and grandchildren. My great-nephew runs the clinic where Professor Snape is treated, while his older brother was his first subject. Allard thought I might wish to speak to Alabastor again when he learned more about his patient, as my friend was greatly troubled over the fate of this man. We all are, really."

For a moment, Moody was confused, and then remembered that Alabastor had been Dumbledore's code name. _I might need some potions myself if I'm going to forget _that, he thought sourly. "So, how is _our_ Manticore doing?"

"Spit! That name is bad luck now. The professor is sleeping. A young man with very blond hair came by not long after lunch and returned the wand we thought had been lost. He was also by a minute ago, but I nearly put him into bed when he asked to see his godfather, so he left. I have been reading the file, which is long indeed. I noticed the specialist from Azkaban who did so much damage much earlier liked to work on hands. I seem to recall someone like that, Tourmaline."

He fidgeted. Using his code name like that meant he was in real trouble. Oh, hell, he couldn't lie to _her._ "I'm sure my name is in there," he said. "And you might notice that I was careful not to do anything permanent. I don't recall your group being kind to prisoners either, Mally. You have no idea how stubborn Snape can be. He wouldn't tell me anything at first, even with enough Veritaserum to turn his liver yellow. He insisted he was spying for Dumbledore, and I knew that couldn't be true."

"Did you ever ask?"

"Of course, I did, but I never had an answer back till it was almost too late. Of course, we were all pissed off the big fish walked out free as a bird because they could buy their way out. I'd like to see anyone, even old Tom, put a decent _Imperius_ on Lucius Malfoy! Then Crouch, who was far worse than I was, told me Snape was going to be Kissed. I didn't have much time to find out anything I could before then." He still remembered what the older official had done to Evan Rosier, and to his own son.

"And then," he added in a softer voice, "Albus came down and took him out of Azkaban, maybe half an hour before it would have been too late. I wondered back then why it took so long for him to act. I sent half a dozen messages to Hogwarts asking for confirmation and never had a reply to any of them, till the last one."

"Exactly how did you send the messages, Alastor?"

Oh, good. She was beginning to understand. "I put them in the departmental outbox for the messenger to take to the Owlery. But the last one, the one that was answered, I put on an owl myself. I know exactly what you're thinking, Malachite, and you just might be right. When they finally found me after being held captive for so long, I wanted to talk to Barty Junior _myself_, if you know what I mean. But Fudge had him Kissed before anybody could find out who was helping the boy. I'm pretty sure Winky knows more than she's said so far, and that's why Albus was so quick to take her to Hogwarts after. I'd like to have a chat with Fudge someday."

She tapped her fingers on the table. "This does put a different color on things. But you were still cruel. Even with proper healing, this professor has suffered terribly. I do not quite understand why you were brought here to teach, especially after the werewolf problem the year before. No wonder this man is unpleasant towards Mr. Potter, if he must face a killer one year and a tormentor the next."

Put that way, it did sound pretty bad. "None of us here have had an easy time, Francesca," he said.

"Yet Snape is hurt as a student, too, and nobody seems to do anything to stop it. I have seen this before, someone cursed to be the target, and it never ends well. There are changes in the minds of these people, and then they are blamed for not being normal. When this war is over, if he lives, he should be allowed to go far away and never see anyone he does not want to for a year or so. From what I can tell, he is never allowed to choose where to live or how to work by anyone."

Moody shifted uneasily, and not just because his stump was hurting him. Even the Headmaster—or maybe especially the Headmaster—hadn't worried about Snape till just recently. And things were only getting worse. He'd rather lose his other leg than not be able to talk or think. "What about this Ghost Dagger spell?" he asked. "Have you ever heard of it?"

"Oh, yes, I shall speak to Allard about it. If the professor is disabled by it, he should be hidden away carefully, though in a place where only English is spoken."

"Why?"

"Because I have heard of Muggles who have suffered a stroke learning how to speak again, though sometimes not for a long while. Our facilities have three different languages, and he would likely be confused."

"What about your own people?" Mad-Eye asked.

"Our children grow up with them naturally. But this professor has not. It would be best to give him a good chance to learn again. He has so much mind damage already, I am amazed he speaks at all, or does so much. Many like him have turned into stone, yet so far he has not. That elf is a great help there, I think."

He thought of the empty people on the floor of St. Mungo's where the Longbottoms lived. He'd rather die than end up there, and couldn't blame Snape for feeling the same way. "He hates being pitied,' Moody said. "I thought you'd better know that."

"Oh, yes," she said, with a dimple starting to show. "I order him about like an old mother, and he takes his medicine like a good boy. Too bad he does not marry a woman like that."

He thought of Molly Weasley. "Too bad I didn't marry a woman like that either," he growled. "If you need a rest, though, let me know. There's a woman in the Order a lot like that, and he already thinks well of her. No, not like that, she's married to someone else, so don't try any matchmaking. She's sitting with Madam Pomfrey today, but once she's rested up from that, she could take a turn here." _Snape, don't ever say I never did anything nice for you!_

Malachite nodded. "I shall ask Albus what he thinks, too."

Moody grinned. "The old discipline comes back fast, doesn't it? Well, I'll be the last one to complain about you being careful. Now, I know you won't want me to, but I need to look in on your patient. I promise to go on tip-toe, metaphorically speaking."

She frowned. "He is fearful enough already. You are probably a nightmare to him."

"Well, that's fair enough. That little Winky is one to me, after all those months in the chest with seeing only her and Barty boy. Snape and I have talked since, Mally, and it's not as bad as it was by any means. We did Three Truthful Answers just last month, and he went to sleep like an infant."

"Ah, but next time you must let him do it for you," she said, not joking.

"You're probably right," he said with a sigh. He supposed it was fair enough.

"Well, then, go see him. But I shall be watching and listening, so do not presume." She waved her wand and he was surrounded by tiny sparkles. Mally set a mirror out. "If you try to fool me, I shall know immediately, and fetch help. You will not like what will happen then."

"I know I won't," Mad-Eye said, having seen the hexes she could manage long ago, and knew she'd probably learned more since. "I'll be good, I promise." He levered himself up and stumped toward the private room. Once inside, he noticed how Winky automatically placed herself between him and her master. "I'm not here to hurt him," he said. Moody knew he shouldn't be angry at not being trusted around Snape. He stood for a moment and just observed the man in the bed.

The Potions Master was even more pale than usual, and that was saying something. Of course, almost bleeding to death from a _Crucio_ in the bollocks could do that. He winced just thinking about it. He'd been kicked by a centaur there once and it'd taken a week for the swelling to go down, even with a potion. Someone had bathed and changed the younger wizard, or done a charm for both.

It was hard to believe the bastard had just turned thirty-six. He looked a couple of decades older. Moody knew that he and the other older Aurors thought of Snape as a contemporary, and not like they did Lupin or Black, or even Shacklebolt. _It's been a long, hard road from Knockturn Alley, hasn't it, Snape? And only death or worse at the end of it. I wouldn't like to be in your shoes. Even cobbled together from bits and pieces I'm still me. But you—a Potions Master at the age of twenty-one, and nothing to show for it but a few papers._

"I'll bring old Tom's head to you, and lay it on your grave if I must," Moody said softly. "We all owe you that much."

The dark eyes opened. Snape whispered, "A tisket, a tasket…"

Mad-Eye laughed, and continued the rhyme. "A head in a basket…"

"It does not answer to questions you ask it," they chanted together.

"Unless, of course, the head is recently dead and you know the Albertus Magnus charm," the younger wizard added.

"Or you put fresh blood between the lips. The Greeks did that, I believe," Moody said.

Winky looked at the two of them as if they were both deranged. She was probably right. He felt like humming a verse or two of 'Ça Ira', or the _Internationale, _except that the only prisoner of starvation around here appeared to be Snape, judging by the way his wrist bones stuck out. "I won't keep you long," the old Auror said. "Malfoy gave his report. He isn't quite the spoiled brat I thought him, and I hope he takes me up on my offer to give him a few pointers. I count on you for the Snake-Face Survival Seminar, mind you."

"Have a seat," the younger wizard said. "I have a few things to tell you."

Moody never minded sitting down, though standing back up again was sometimes a chore. Winky sullenly brought him a chair. He glared at her. "Now, look, missy, it wasn't my idea to have your Barty Kissed. Someone else managed that while I was still in the infirmary being checked over. And I almost never yelled at you when you brought me food and water while I was in the chest. I'm not going to hurt your new master, either."

The house elf hung her head and sniffled an apology.

Moody grinned. "Heard you told the Ministry you didn't know anything about it. And made them believe it."

Winky glared at him. "Old Master dead. Young Master dead. Old Master say I be bad, tell anyone about Young Master, he give me to Gray Ones. I's just a stupid elf, drink too much butterbeer, cry too much."

Mad-Eye smiled. "Well, Snape, you have your work cut out for you. I never met a house elf more suited to a Slytherin like you."

"You be nice to Master Potions Master!" Winky shouted. "He good Master!"

For a second, Alastor didn't want to believe either one of his eyes. It almost looked like the Slytherin was _smiling_ a little, though it quickly faded. Funny, that. He'd heard from Shacklebolt that the Muggles had a spy who'd up and gone _human_ on them, just this last year, from the Russia House no less. The fellow had risked international scandal by trying to buy a girl out from some art museum, or something. Magnus somebody? Moody shook his head. Who would have thought the Slytherin could turn like that? "That's better. Sorry about that, Snape. I just wanted to clear the air."

"Quite all right." The sick man rested a little, then spoke again. "I have a first year student from Knockturn Alley who has agreed to give me a list of his friends who still live there, and are looking for some extra money. We need more than one source in the area. Mr. Andreas himself shows some talent, although anyone who lifts from Hagrid's pockets needs to exercise more care in choice of targets. Two hours of mucking out the back of the groundskeeper's cottage seems to have helped with that, or so I hope."

Moody snorted. "I should think so!"

"When he received his letter, he was already apprenticed to old Mr. Bartholomew. I suggest that he deal with Mr. Fletcher, but not for too long, if you understand me."

"Two dips are better than one for working a crowd. I'm surprised you're telling me this."

"The Headmaster believes I would be leading Mr. Andreas in the wrong direction by encouraging the use of all the boy's abilities. He's probably right. But you are…less constrained. I do suggest that someone should keep the boy on his academics. You might lure him into more study by emphasizing codework. He'll need better language skills and Arithmancy for that." Snape's voice was a whisper now.

Mad-Eye knew a will and testament when he heard one. "I'll keep an eye on that wretched ferret for you, too," he said with a martyred sigh. "After last night, Weasley's finally beginning to see that there's a lot worse out there than a little slap-and-tickle with the Toad. But if anyone can survive that insane bitch Bella, it's a Malfoy. He's tougher than you think."

"Good." Snape's eyelids fluttered.

"Don't you die on me," the Auror said harshly. His magical eye detected a sudden fading in the Potion Master's life force. "Winky, bring the mediwitch here now."

The house elf scurried away. Moody brought out his wand and chanted a quick spell so the Slytherin could draw on his own strength till help came.

Malachite rushed inside and drew her wand as well. The healing charm she used pulled on the earth-magic of a given place to work. The infirmary had been placed where it was because of the lines below that offered their energy, or so he'd been told. The act clearly wore the mediwitch out, though, and she trembled. Lucky for him, she was close enough for him to reach and catch her before she fell. It didn't hurt his feelings to have her land on his lap, either. He impulsively kissed her. "There you go, another miracle worked by the team of Tourmaline and Malachite," he said.

"Ah, you were always mad," she said.

Snape's color was better now. "Get a room," said the weak voice, though his eyes were still closed.

"It _is_ a miracle,' Moody said. "You just made a joke." He was reminded of that morning last summer when everyone was certain the Potions Master was dying, and only a sprig of gorse from Azkaban had completed the spell.

Malachite stood up, patted Mad-Eye on the cheek, and waved her wand again. "You cannot die on my shift," she declared to Snape. "It would make me look bad, and my nephew would be upset at me for ruining his experiment."

"I've heard Professor Flitwick knows some good healing spells," Moody said. "He teaches Charms, and he helped Madam Pomfrey last summer."

"Perhaps you are right," she said. "I am becoming old. I should not be so tired with just this little bit of healing."

"Professor Snape has always been what the Muggles call high-maintenance," the old Auror said. "Haven't you?"

Without opening his eyes, the Potions Master said, "Ha. Ha."

"Now for some soup," Malachite said. "As thick and hot as you can stand it. You have not eaten for too long a time, and healing is hard work for you as well. Your insides are not strong enough to digest what you really need to have, but that will change in a day or so. Winky, go to the kitchens first and bring soup, thick, but with no solids in it."

The elf disappeared, and then came back in a moment with a bowl. Malachite brought a rolling table over with a wave of her wand.

He heard the sound of a chime, probably to signal the mediwitch about someone coming in. Moody said, "I think someone's out there. Winky can fetch Professor Flitwick and I can feed the patient. Won't be the first time." He faced the Slytherin. "At least you're not on a hunger strike and won't spit it in my face." The elf disappeared again, while Malachite left to find out who was there.

Snape opened his eyes and grimaced. "Maybe. Depends if I like the soup."

"It looks and smells like cream of mushroom to me. Now, here comes the broom, so open wide…"

The Potions Master rolled his eyes and obeyed. Moody was careful to give him small bites and leave him time to swallow. No need to repeat the unfortunate incident that had left him missing half a pinky finger till he could have it regrown. It would be easier all around if Snape were sitting up, but if Malachite wanted him to lie flat, she probably had a good reason.

Soon Winky was back and took over the feeding. Mad-Eye left the private room, spun his magical eye around a couple of times for the amusement of young Mr. Potter who was having his arm checked over—the boy was probably glad to be rid of that sling, he'd never liked the things himself—and went back to the safe house to report to anyone gathered there.

He tried to phrase things delicately, especially with Miss Tonks around—she wasn't as sophisticated as she liked to think—but Fletcher winced and crudely held himself at one point in the story, which probably left the girl no illusions at all about what had happened.

Once he finished, Moody wondered gloomily if it were safe to let the girl in the kitchen, allow Fletcher to cook up a mess, or take a hand with the pots and pans himself. Sending out for takeaway was _not_ an option, no matter how any of the others whined.

Damn. He was _never_ going to admit he actually missed Kreacher at a time like this.

After note: Read A Perfect Spy by John LeCarre for more on Magnus and the art museum. I believe the version of 'A tisket, a tasket' I used is from the French Revolution, though I actually stole it from Time Enough for Love by Robert Heinlein.

Please review!


	67. Chapter 67: Fever Dreams Part I

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, and Technomad. Read their stories, too.

Chapter 67: Fever Dreams Part I

Harry Potter

He went back to the infirmary at his friends' urging, if only to be certain his arm had healed properly. The old mediwitch had an odd accent, but was kind. "Your Madam Pomfrey will certainly return in a few days," she said, while going over his arm with a wand. "A friend is with her to keep her from loneliness."

Harry was glad. He remembered hearing about the Auror who'd died at St. Mungo's from some Devil's Snare when everyone thought he was improving. He didn't seen the Potions Master anywhere in the infirmary, and the screen that had been in the corner was folded up against the wall. "Er…how is Professor Snape?" he asked.

"Ah. He is weak, but shall recover," the woman said in a quiet voice. "The Headmaster says you did much last night to help." She glanced over to a door at one end of the infirmary, but not the one that went to the office.

He looked down at the floor. Everything from last night or early this morning seemed unreal now. "I had to try," Harry said. "Is he, um, talking and stuff?"

"Yes, quite well. Now, try to stay away from Bludgers, young man. You have hurt that arm in the same place before, and it will take longer to heal each time. Some day it might to have to heal the Muggle way, and I know you should not like that."

"I was told my X-rays looked funny," Harry said, and then felt silly. He didn't know how to explain those, though Hermione could have.

She pursed her lips. "I suppose they do by now. Muggles are not entirely stupid, and have their own ways. You should eat more cheese, drink more milk, for the next month or so. The stronger your bones are to begin with, the easier a Healer's job. Now go see your friends and have a happy time, you have earned it."

Just at that moment the door at the end of the infirmary opened, and of all the people in the world, Moody walked out of it. He grinned at Harry and put an extra spin on his magical eye, just for fun.

Harry smiled right back, but the old Auror walked out before he could ask any questions.

"Ah. You may go now, Mr. Potter, I should check on the professor." The old mediwitch went towards the door, now left half-open.

Now that Harry thought about it, he'd almost never seen a member of the staff in the infirmary. Maybe they usually stayed in that extra room. But in that case, why wasn't Umbridge put there instead of out where everyone could stare at her? He shrugged and did as he was told for once, though he really wanted to see how Snape really was, and who was taking care of him. Harry knew Moody didn't like the Potions Master, and had made almost as many nasty cracks last year as Sirius had. He nodded at Professor Flitwick, who came in the door as he walked out. _I hope nothing's wrong with him,_ Harry thought.

As he walked back towards the Gryffindor common room, he wished that Malfoy had been there. It hadn't been the real Moody who had turned the Slytherin into a ferret, but just the sight of the blond boy's reaction would be good enough for him. It wasn't quite as funny now as it had been then, though. The spoiled brat wasn't the same this year, and had clearly been concerned about Snape this morning. _I bet everybody would faint if some of us Gryffindors sent cards and sweets,_ he thought. _Half of it would be bought from the twins and do stuff nobody expected, probably. And whatever Neville sent would blow up._

Harry realized with a shock that they couldn't, even if they wanted to. Well, unless the chocolate turned into slugs, or dancing toads. Somebody would tell somebody, and the Potions Master would have to answer questions, maybe at the end of a wand again. _Maybe part of what happened last night was because he's been slacking off on us for part of the year,_ he thought fearfully. _Of course, it was mainly because of the hearing, but those sick bastards just like hurting people, even their own._ He didn't really want to start acting the way he had last year, though, or to hate people the way he had for part of the summer. It was easier to see what was really going on after the Occlumency lessons with the Headmaster, but he wouldn't have learned anything from these ones, either, if he'd gone into them the same way he had last year. _I wanted those visions, and I hated the idea of losing them. The fact that Snape was in charge made me fight whatever he taught me all the harder._

The boxing lessons had helped, but the Pensieve had been the real turning point. He gave the password to the Fat Lady, went up to his room, and made sure no one else was there. Harry practiced taking a memory in and out on his own for a bit. It was dead easy, though he still had trouble getting out of one before it was over.

"Harry?" It was Ron.

He blocked an impulse of anger. He had a life outside these lessons, and still wanted to live it. "What's up?"

"Team and homework. We were all too excited to care yesterday, but it just won't go away by itself, mate, no matter how hard I try."

Harry laughed and put the Pensieve away. "I should check you for Polyjuice, Ron. You're actually dragging me to schoolwork instead of Hermione bashing us over the head."

"Yeah, well, we can blame it all on Snake-Face later," his friend said with a grin. "He's our biggest NEWT. But Mum told me we need all the rest to pass that one. I hate to think she might be right, of course…"

"And it's loads easier to do a lot of this as a team." Harry gathered up his books and papers. "Where are we sitting?"

"Down in a section of the Great Hall, like before."

He followed Ron, who had his own stack floating behind him. Once they gathered together, everyone started talking at once about the hearing. It made Harry worried about his good fortune. Everything had to be paid for. When was it going to be his turn and not Snape's, or someone else? For a moment, he felt like he was behind the same glass bubble he hid behind during the Occlumency lessons.

"You all right, mate?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Just didn't sleep well, with the arm and everything. That new mediwitch said it was all right now, though."

His friend nodded, but his eyes still held a look of concern.

Harry leaned forward and pretended to stare down at his Transfiguration homework for a moment. He mentally thought about changing the glass into air, and watching the globe around him blow away. _I don't want to be locked away the way Snape is,_ he thought. _I have to be able to control stuff, sure, but I have to find a way to escape, too._

Suddenly, it felt like the room was louder and all the colors were brighter. He laughed at a couple of jokes and helped make someone else's quill dance in the air, as Seamus pretended it was the Snitch and he was going to hit it with a club to send it away from Harry.

He even managed to write some notes during the hour or so he was with the team. When the meeting broke up, though, he thought of something. "We can't leave Hermione out, Ron," he said. "Even though she doesn't have to hit us over the head to do our work any more, she's still our friend."

"When was the last time we took her out to the practice patch to take bets on how long she can last before she pukes?" Ron said.

Harry knew his friend wasn't as heartless as he sounded. "Not for a while. Not out in the rain, though. If she ends up sick because we push her too hard, Madam Pomfrey will string us up."

The red-haired boy nodded. "She doesn't mind flying inside. Wonder if we can make the Room of Requirement turn into a flying practice area?"

Harry hadn't thought of that. "Well, let's go see." They were headed towards it when Dobby appeared in front of them.

"Harry Potter, the Headmaster wants to see you," the elf said. "Dobby can't stay, going to infirmary to help."

He sighed as Dobby disappeared again. "Well, let me know how it works out," he said to Ron. Now he needed to find out if he could make the glass come back after letting it go. _I wish I knew if it would stand up to what Mr. Scaly can dish out,_ he thought glumly as he walked to the gargoyles and played Twenty Passwords with them. At last, he hit on the right one and entered the office.

Harry swallowed when he saw Ron's dad there, too. "Mr. Weasley!" he said, and stepped forward.

The older man stood and wrapped Harry in his arms. "You can call me Dad now, lad."

He could hardly talk. "But it's not fair—why can't Ron or Ginny see you here, too?"

"Fair's not in it. It's not fair you had to grow up without parents or proper care, now is it?" Mr. Weasley said, as he shot a stern look at the Headmaster.

Dumbledore kept a bland expression on his face. "Please, be seated. I thought this was the best place to settle certain matters that should be spoken of privately."

Harry couldn't argue with that, and did as he was told.

Arthur Weasley began. "Now, Harry, there are several different kinds of adoption in the Wizarding World. Molly and I won the right to call you son, but not the right to interfere with your finances, or to change your name. We didn't think that was right, and it gave us an advantage over the Malfoys, who wanted oversight of your accounts, if nothing else."

"That part was on purpose, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Professor Snape kept me and most of the rest of the Order posted on what he'd been doing with Mrs. Malfoy's paperwork. He made some choices that helped us a lot."

"And look what happened to him!" Harry burst out.

"He knew it was likely, even though Molly's drinking the Ordeal Cup is what made the real difference," Arthur said. "Now, I can understand being upset over what you saw last night. But I've been told he'll recover and be able to scowl at everyone in about a week, perhaps."

_He still did it anyway,_ Harry thought. _He could have died, and he did it anyway._ He remembered the blood seeping through the robes, and the look on Lupin's face when he covered the Potions Master with the blanket. "He can scowl and yell at me all he wants to," he said, and then added, "But I still have to be a brat about it back. All my friends have to be like that, too, except Hermione, because she's always telling us to be respectful anyway. Nothing can change where anybody can see it, or somebody will tell somebody and he'll be hurt again for some stupid reason."

The Headmaster smiled like the sun coming up. "Oh, my dear boy, I am so glad—not only because you understand about appearances, but because you hate it."

"Sn—I mean, Professor Snape hated me for real last year. He didn't change when we were by ourselves."

"But were you really by yourselves?" Mr. Weasley asked. "Weren't you giving You-Know-Who all the room he wanted right in your head?"

"Oh." He hadn't thought of that.

"Now you can keep the thoughts of others out, you may find that private meetings between the two of you go a bit better," said Ron's dad. "Your Potions Master has been complaining how his potions make him act oddly to everyone that will listen, so he has more excuse than usual to do what he likes. I just don't think he's used to it yet."

"But he's changed a lot in class. He didn't even yell at Neville after his cauldron blew up in the Forest after being banished just in time." Harry had been astonished at that, as had everyone else. "Professor Snape spoke to him after class, he said, and he was kind of shaky once he made it to Transfiguration, but we all joked about checking the gr—er, the professor for Polyjuice." He remembered something. "Luna Lovegood says he was like that in her class last year, and that she thought ours was the only one he really yelled in."

"Professor Snape prefers the higher-level classes," Dumbledore said.

"As much as I don't mind this kind of talk, we have things to do this afternoon," Mr. Weasley said. "Harry, as I said, there's more than one kind of adoption. I want to find out what's best for you. Now, I know this is a bit awkward, but are you seeing anybody this year?"

Harry blinked. That had been the furthest thing from his mind so far. "Er, not really," he said, his face going hot. "Cho—I mean, Miss Chang and I, we broke up last year, and um…" The few times he dreamed of any girl that way, Cho had shown up and laughed at him. Sometimes in the dream he'd walk away, but other times he had kissed the other girl anyway. But not Ginny. The other girl had never had red hair. He could never remember what color, but knew it hadn't been her.

"All right," the red-haired wizard said. "I know how well I would have taken that sort of question myself at your age. Now, for this next one you have to be honest, Harry. Don't tell me what you think I want to hear. How well do you like Ginny?"

He bit his lip. "That…that would be one way to be part of the family, wouldn't it? I don't know much about Wizarding betrothals, though…" He didn't want to tell Mr. Weasley that when he looked at Ron's little sister, it was hard for him to see her as she really was. In his head, she was always the girl near death down in the Chamber of Secrets, the one he had to save from both the Basilisk and the memory of Tom Riddle.

"Lad, I told you to tell me the truth," Arthur said. "It won't change how we feel about you any road. You can be her brother, if you like. I know I'm asking you this too soon, but we don't have much time to seal this adoption one way or the other."

"I _wish_ I were in love with her!" Harry burst out. "She's beautiful now, and I ought to like her more…" And he did like her, but not the way he had felt for Cho, either his fourth year here or his fifth. "I'm really bad at this, I know…"

"We all are at your age," the older man said. "In my sixth year, I didn't know I loved Molly, either, just that I hated any boy who looked at her."

Harry was confused. Seeing Ginny with someone else didn't bother him much, as long as he knew the bloke was all right. "I don't know. I don't think I'm in love with anyone."

"There is nothing wrong with that, Harry," the Headmaster said.

"But what if I become adopted, and fall in love with her later? Would that be wrong?" He wished he knew more about this kind of thing.

Arthur sighed. "You need to know this before you decide. The adoption rite that we chose will make you her brother under Wizarding law and custom. It has an enchantment in it that will help you stay only her brother. She will always be only your sister to you. It's only fair to let you know."

"I want to be part of your family so much!" Harry said. "I'll do it whichever way you like."

"Oh, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, looking sad. "If life were fair, you wouldn't have to choose like this. You could grow up and decide what you want for yourself."

"But I can't have that anyway," Harry said bitterly. "_He's_ made sure of that. I want to be part of your family, Mr—er, Dad, I don't care how. If I really loved Ginny that way I would know, but I don't." Then he thought of something. "But what—what does she want?"

Arthur shook his head. "Both parties have to come to each other with full hearts, or it's no good," he said. "Some families make matches when their children are three, and count on the betrothal magic to keep the couple happy, but it does wear off. I can name a dozen marriages that soured before the tenth anniversary. Of course, the other kind does, too! Molly and I are so lucky…" His face grew soft. "I want you to be that lucky, too. Wait till you know your own mind, and hope she feels the same way. Don't worry, lad, you'll be one of us, maybe as soon as next Saturday."

"At least I don't have to worry about having to be polite to Draco Malfoy!" Harry cracked. All right, it wasn't that funny, but making a joke was better than acting like a baby.

To his surprise, Arthur didn't smile. "You might have to, one of these days," he said. "See, I made a promise to your professor that if, if he couldn't, that I'd watch over some of his the best I could. He probably has a list hidden in his quarters. He could be called again, lad, and not come back. It's not over for him yet."

"Why did you do a thing like that?" It wasn't right!

"He's put his life on the line for your sake, it's only fair I help him out," the red-haired wizard said sadly. "I know, you don't like them and they don't like you. Let's all hope none of us have to find out. But next Saturday is going to be for _you_, and don't you forget it."

"Can you be ready that soon?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry prayed they would be. He was ready to take any oath and do whatever magic was needed today, if he had the chance.

"Molly had the rite picked out even before the hearing started," Mr. Weasley said. "She spent all day yesterday at the Burrow fixing things up, till she heard about Poppy, of course. The rest of this week will be more than long enough to have everything laid out the way it needs to be, especially since she owled me this morning that Madam Pomfrey was healing so well. Molly's made up a sitting schedule—might I leave it here, Headmaster? Some of yours will want to take an hour or so in the evenings. They can do their grading there and have a nice chat at the same time." He put a piece of paper on Dumbledore's desk.

The ancient wizard nodded. "Severus is out of danger, and Minerva has found a substitute for his classes, so that shouldn't be a problem."

"That reminds me, Molly wants to stop by sometime tomorrow, with luck when no one will spot her. Both of us need to thank him, but we don't want to cause trouble for him, either."

The Headmaster nodded. "He should be well enough in a week to visit the safe house. It would only be right to give him the sort of party we have for others, especially since he spent his birthday the way he did. We had planned a little get-together here at the school as well."

Harry thought of some of the ways he'd spent his birthdays at the Dursleys. Most of the time, he was let out of the cupboard for them, he had to admit, even if he didn't have presents or cake the way Dudley always did. Last year's had been the best, though.

"Well, lad, we'll have a party for you next Saturday. It'll be all right for Ronald and Ginevra to be taken out of school, too, won't it?" Arthur looked at Dumbledore.

"Yes, and Miss Granger ought to attend as well," the Headmaster said. "She is still part of all this, and needs to be included."

Harry was glad he wasn't the only one who had noticed his friend's growing isolation. _I hope nobody thinks about trying to make Hermione a sister to Ron!_ _That won't fly with either one!_

Mr. Weasley nodded. "I'll say farewell then. I expect you have other things to talk about with the boy."

Harry stood up when the other wizard did, and held out his hand. "Thank you…thank you so much," he said his voice shaking.

Arthur hugged him instead. "That's Dad to you, young man, and don't you forget it!"

"Yes…Dad." Harry swallowed hard and turned his head to hide the tear he knew was starting to seep out of one eye. Then the older man clapped him on the shoulder, wiped his face as if he had problems that way, too, and disappeared through the fireplace.

Of course, _that_ was when the Headmaster launched his _Legilimens_. Harry was glad to find out that the glass ball he had dissipated earlier snapped right back into place, though all his churned-up feelings stayed inside with him. He was happy he was going to be part of the Weasley family, but how could Mr. Weasley promise any help to Slytherins like Malfoy? He wished he didn't remember the promise Draco had made to Snape that morning. _It's hard to stop hating people,_ he thought. _But the git has tried so hard to stop hating me. He was only afraid last night, not mean or angry, and he wasn't able to hide anything._

Harry barely noticed the flood tide of power that washed over him, his glass bubble, and his conflicting feelings. _I wish I loved Ginny the way everyone wants me to. I wished I felt the way Mr. and Mrs. Weasley do for each other towards _anyone_. I wanted Cho to like me the way she did Cedric. But she never smiled at me the way she did at him before he died._ Then he thought of something else. _I hope Ron and the others aren't mad at me for crowding in. There's so many of them, they must feel they have to fight to have their mum or dad notice them at all sometimes. I wish Mr. Weasley hadn't made that promise to Snape._ Deep inside, though, he knew they all owed the Potions Master a lot.

"Harry?"

He looked into the Headmaster's eyes and found himself in a green meadow studded with beehives. Their sound was like Uncle Vernon's mower on idle, a little bit, and everything was warm and smelled like flowers. He'd never seen such a place before, except maybe on a few documentaries, but they had been flat pictures in the parlor. This was alive and real.

All he really wanted to do was to flop down under a nearby tree and soak up the summer. Instead, he somehow made his glass ball thicker, till he was back in the Headmaster's office again. Dumbledore looked sad. "I wanted to offer you a treat, Harry."

"But I didn't know that," he said. "I wanted the other visions, too, and they weren't good for me. Sirius is dead because I decided what I wanted was more important than any lessons Professor Snape gave me. I never did any of the exercises he told me to, not till last summer anyway. I poked into his stuff. Well, I was paid back soon enough for _that,_ seeing my dad and his friends acting like Slytherins and all. Just because I like something doesn't mean it's any good for me." No wonder the Headmaster was cheerful, if he had memories like that to fall back on. Harry was glad he had some good ones of his own, and maybe more later on.

The ancient wizard nodded. "I'm glad you've learned that much, Harry. Are you able to dissolve the barrier around you?"

"Of course. Did it in the Great Hall just before I came here. It's like I transfigure the glass back into air, or something like that. Er, it's ok to do that here, right?"

"Don't worry, I won't surprise you."

_This time,_ Harry thought, knowing he had to be able to bring the glass back any time. He concentrated for a moment and felt the barrier go away, except for a thin skim like ice on the windows first thing in the morning. Funny. That hadn't been there before. He tried to think of different things to make it go away, but it wouldn't. Then he remembered the way Mr. Weasley had held him, and had him call him Dad.

The ice was gone all the way after that. "Better?" he asked.

"Yes. It's not quite like summoning a Patronus with a happy memory, but the techniques are similar," Dumbledore said. He still looked sad. "There will be times when your barrier will have to stay in place, even if partially, for longer than you wish. However, you must remember to let it go entirely whenever possible."

"What happens if I have to wait too long between?"

"It will become more difficult the longer it's left in place. I'm glad that your barrier is this simple. More complicated methods are more difficult, and can end up being permanent. Some must pretend they are not hiding anything even while they are. I would not like to see you damaged by the need to conceal your thoughts."

Harry had the uncomfortable feeling the Headmaster was talking about Snape. "I have a lot of friends, sir, and soon I'll be part of the Weasley family. That should make a lot of difference."

"Yes," Dumbledore said. He looked happier. "I shall dismiss you for now. Remember to practice both building the barrier and letting it go."

"Thank you," Harry said. "Thank you for everything."

He didn't understand why the Headmaster looked sad again then.

Filius Flitwick

He had started to worry several weeks before, when the older students no longer laughed at his jokes, even the ones he knew they had never heard before. He noticed the older ones looked at him with blank eyes, instead of letting their thirst for knowledge fill their faces as they normally did. He thrived on the interchange between him and his Ravenclaws. But only the younger ones seemed to speak to him frankly these days.

He idly listened to one small set of young ladies chatter through the carefully regulated air holes set up in his office late Sunday afternoon. They had been there for a long time, and were undetectable through any test for magical eavesdropping. Flitwick was glad to notice Miss Edgecombe had still gone to see Professor Binns, though she had been out quite late the evening before. Naturally, the Headmaster had informed him why. He was oddly pleased the girl had proven so resourceful under what must have been extremely trying circumstances.

He leaned back, with the hole that gave him the conversations from the girls' side parlor unplugged. Should anyone stop by his office, he would appear almost swallowed by the book he was reading in his office. A charm on his end of the air hole kept the sound for his ears only. It was supposedly dishonorable to eavesdrop, but teachers would be fools to disdain any information they could gather about their charges.

"Hey, Cho, did you figure out that problem in Arithmancy? I hit the wall on the fourth level derivative."

"It took me a while, but if you see that it's almost the same as the second one, only with a different variable, once you balance the equation you'll be all right." There was a short pause. "You don't have to hover over me, you know."

Filius was glad Miss Chang was at least pretending to honor their agreement for her to spend at a few hours per week in something resembling recreation. He was quite worried about her welfare after the wager in the Betting Book. He would not care to see her body broken like Mr. Diggory's, nor see her intellect damaged the way Mr. Montague's had been.

"Yes, we do," said Padma Patil. "You heard about the bet. And you did break up with Potter at the end of last year, even if you have an invitation to be part of the DA again this year. Couldn't you just be, you know, friendly with him or something?"

"That could be just as bad," Cho said. "The Weasley girl will hex me if I hang around too much. I don't think I'm going to have time for the DA this year anyway."

"Oh, Cho, do you think that's wise?"

"Look at what happened to Marietta. I could cross them and end up like her. Our own Head of House wouldn't lift a finger for her, not with the Headmaster there anyway, so why do you think he'd protect any of us who got on the bad side of a Gryffindor? Besides, Umbridge isn't here this year."

"Yes, but You-Know-Who is still out there," said Padma. "Besides, Marietta is fooling around with some Slytherin boy. She's been sneaking down there since the beginning of school. In fact, she was out last night. Why do you think it was Snape put out the alarm for her, and not Flitwick? She probably got what she deserved."

"I know your sister's in Gryffindor, so I'll ignore that remark," Cho said icily. "Besides, you were the one who thought Zabini might want to join the DA last year. You didn't think they were all that bad then. And I've heard you've been lab partners with him in Potions. Really, Padma, if you're jealous of her just say so."

"Those were nice flowers he sent over to her," said a third girl. "Besides, I don't understand why everyone is still so angry with Edgecombe. Granger took care of her blabbing, everyone had a good laugh, get over it. Everyone knows that Umbridge had ways of making people talk anyway. Somebody said she used up a whole bottle of Veritaserum last year. There's no way you can do that on just one person, no matter what Potter said."

There was a deep, thoughtful silence. Flitwick had heard the same thing, with modest variations.

"Or maybe she used the Quill," Cho said.

"She only used that on boys!" Padma said. "Harry still has the scars."

"Maybe Marietta did too. She had a Concealing Charm on her left arm when she came back to school. She's left-handed, you know, and it's hard to charm just a hand without getting the whole arm, especially when you have to use a wand in the wrong hand. I mean, she is only a sixth year."

"That's why you have to join the DA this year," Padma said, sounding nearly in tears.

"Being friends with Harry Potter didn't keep Cedric alive," Cho said softly.

"At least go on your patrols with a partner, the way the Slytherin prefects are doing this year," said the other girl. "We'll all take turns going with you. Maybe…maybe you _could_ have Marietta go with you, snap her out of that horrible funk she's in now."

"She taught the Looney a charm to get her books back every weekend, you know," Cho said. "That's more than any of us have ever done. Okay, maybe she lost her brains over that Zabini boy, but look at the way I acted last year when I was going out with Harry. Maybe you need to stop shunning her."

"It's funny that she talks to Snape so much—I mean, it's only been a couple of times that I've seen it, but he didn't look mad at her or take points or anything, and she isn't even in any of his classes."

Flitwick remembered the girl—ah, yes, Miss Atherston, and sharper than she looked.

"Maybe he wants to make sure she isn't polluting the sacred Slytherin bloodline by fooling around with Zabini," Padma said.

"Oh, shut it already about Zabini!" snapped Cho. "Who _is_ she going to talk to? She already knows what to expect from _our_ head of house. Or us, for that matter. Maybe Zabini told her Snape could be trusted not to gossip all over the school, unlike certain people I could mention! I think I _will_ ask Marietta to do a patrol or two with me. I might be safer that way, if the Slytherins have made her a pet. And, of course, they're the only people here at this school I'm in danger from!"

Flitwick plugged the air hole. His students were quite intelligent, and had learned a valuable lesson about how much to trust him. He remembered Snape's appalled look when he'd given up on the girl, and how upset he had been when it had been obvious the Slytherin had taken him at his word, protecting the girl himself as much as he was able to under the circumstances.

It had been so much fun to score points off Umbridge and bask in the Headmaster's delighted smile.

But it had been Marietta Edgecombe who had paid for it, how much so only Severus knew. Flitwick was no fool, of course, and it was easy to guess what had happened. And to learn the girl had championed Miss Lovegood when no one else had bothered was also unsettling. He should have resolved that situation years ago, but had blithely ignored it. After all, the girl herself didn't seem to mind so much, and her work was still quite good despite the handicap of missing books or notes. Yet even Sprout had murmured a few words over the situation.

How odd that the warm Mother of Hufflepuff and the cold Master of Slytherin both took better care of their students than Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Flitwick put down his book. He had some serious thinking to do.

Naturally, that was the moment Winky appeared in his chambers. "Master Potions Master need help, come to infirmary, please?" The tiny elf looked exhausted.

"I will be there as quickly as I can," he said. Albus had also told him some of what had happened to Professor Snape _this_ time, though Flitwick suspected it had been edited. "Any special charms required?"

"Don't know," Winky said. "Master just so tired, tired, new Mistress Nurse and Master Mad-Eye worried. Don't know what to do!" She burst into tears.

"Ah. Debilitated from blood loss as well as shock from those dreadful hexes, never mind the usual Cruciatus nerve burden." He glanced at the elf, realized she had no idea what he was talking about. "Don't worry. Once I'm there, you won't need to worry."

She nodded, wiped her nose, and disappeared again. Flitwick dodged through a couple of tunnels, flipped a couple of Ice Mice at the spider guarding one, and took the shortcut just the other side of Snape's rooms to the infirmary. The route seemed convoluted, but took less time than through the halls.

He nearly swallowed his heart when he recognized the mediwitch. Malachite was retired, and being cared for by her family and a devoted house elf. The time she'd spent in a cellar in Dusseldorf had left permanent scars of several kinds. She should still be in Switzerland, not overseeing the care of suicidal adolescents and a cranky Potions Master.

Her eyes widened when she spotted him, too. He must resolve that problem right away. "Madam? I am Professor Flitwick, and I teach Charms here at Hogwarts." He let his voice squeak. It always went higher when he was nervous, but all those years ago, he'd taken more trouble not to show it. It was still difficult to look into those greenish-brown eyes and keep his expression from revealing too much. Fortunately, his hair and beard were pure white now, and concealed the slightly wizened features of anyone with goblin blood.

"Ah. I am told you are familiar with the health of the Potions Master here." She looked doubtful now. Good. "I am Madam Grussweiss, and will be here for only a few days, I hope."

"I assisted Madam Pomfrey last summer when he was critically injured," he said crisply, glad they were speaking English, and not German or French. "I know several diagnostic charms as well. Will his bones require alignment again?"

"No, I did that, though he did not like it. I worry now about his strength and nerves. I am trying to persuade Allard that a small portion of Blood Replenishment Potion would do more good than harm. If it were up to me, I should put this professor to bed for a month and let him rest and heal without it, but I cannot."

Flitwick nodded. He would not ask the woman to believe that he was as fully briefed as anyone here, but he would find out from other sources how much she did know. "He does not like being idle," he said. "The sooner he is truly strong again, the better off everyone will be. We are colleagues, and by now, friends. May I speak with him?"

"Yes, of course," she said, though she didn't look especially happy with it.

"I will not overstrain him, Madam Healer," he said. "I am familiar with how he shows it, and know better than to be offended by any ill-temper."

"I wish he had enough strength for that," she said.

"Ah. Then I will be certain to be careful," Flitwick said. "If I may--?" He gestured towards the door to the private room.

Malachite nodded. So many strangers undoubtedly brought back old reflexes to her. He knew that any change in routine upset him, as well.

He walked into the private room, quietly greeted Dobby, and noticed Winky was sleeping on the floor beneath the bed. Flitwick quickly charmed the area to be softer, though he took care to make sure the circumference reached nowhere near the bed's legs.

The Potions Master looked up to the window, now bright from the slanting light of late afternoon, and apparently not noticing his visitor. Filius knew how much stock to put in _that_. The younger wizard looked listless and ill, which was no surprise. Any of the hexes he'd received, never mind a repeat of the Cruciatus, could result in that state.

"Severus?" he asked softly, in case his friend had a headache.

The Slytherin slowly turned his head. His eyes were only half-open and his features were slack.

Flitwick had feared this. He would much rather listen to an outburst of rage, rather than see this apathy. "I know this seems hopeless," he said. "I know you fear this Ghost Dagger hex worse than death. But you are more than just your intellect. I haven't researched it yet, but there has to be a reason why it hasn't been in much use for the past few centuries. There must be a way around it that we simply don't know yet." _It should be one of the Unforgiveables,_ he thought. _If the Imperius, which removes the will, is one, then surely this one, which removes mind, ought to be in their company._ "Unfortunately, I have not made much progress on breaking the dominion of the Dark Mark," he said quietly. "The hearing is now over, which means Professor Binns can spend less time on guardianships and more on wizarding bonds of all kinds. He is quite happy with Miss Edgecombe's diligence, I might add. She has a keen mind and is quick to see the logical consequences of events and the regulations that are supposed to control them. Binns thinks it's been too long since he recommended anyone for the field of Magical Jurisprudence."

Ah. There was a bit of light in those dark eyes after all. "Yes, I know I failed her," Fillius said. "If she does decide on that career path, I will make certain she is apprenticed to someone who understands that a magistrate must be independent of the Ministry. Given the influence Umbridge brought to bear on her through threatening her mother's job, I suspect Miss Edgecombe would rather work for Gringotts than be vulnerable in that way herself."

"Thank you," said the raspy voice.

"I am only doing my job," Flitwick said, "instead of leaving it to others. I am paying a price for neglecting her, too. I fear my students have learned to trust me only so long as a Gryffindor is not involved. And if it's any consolation, I would not care to be Minerva or a member of her house once the Headmaster has finally left the scene. Reaction is always an ugly thing, and she is likely to reap the whirlwind after so long a time of Gryffindor dominance. I know that once this war is over that Slytherin is likely to suffer, too, but I fear your students are all too used to it."

"Who…who will help them when I'm gone?"

"I don't know. Professor Sinistra would find it extremely difficult to execute your duties, if only because she has grave difficulty functioning during the daytime. Some Muggles have such problems, too, or so I have read. It appears to be a biological problem, and some therapies seem to work, if only temporarily. However, she might be able to be sufficiently assertive if she didn't have Albus to deal with. In that eventuality, Sprout and I consider it likely that Professor Lupin would end up as the new Head of Gryffindor." He frowned. "He is well-liked, and few worry about the fact that he's a werewolf. However, he could be handicapped if Madam Umbridge forces her Dark Creature legislation through. He did have a problem taking the potion the last time he taught here, and some of my students are worried about that. However, his friendship with the Trio tends to calm the fears any have about his presence."

"And if the Trio were not here?"

The small wizard frowned. "I'm afraid that would make a difference. From reports of Order meetings, he seems out of his depth when not connected with anyone."

"He is a wolf. He needs a pack."

"Well, I suspect you're right about that. But he would have to identify himself with an entire house, and not just a small portion of it, in order for that to work."

Snape looked thoughtful, which Flitwick thought was an immense improvement over the hopelessness he'd seen before.

"Draco will be much too young, even if he survives the war," the Potions Master said. "Yes, I know, I wasn't much older. But he will have other duties if the Ministry allows him his life and freedom. Marcus Flint is worthless even without the Mark. He is forceful enough to keep order, but cannot think ahead. Miss Tonks is somewhat older, but has trouble concentrating. It will have to be someone Minerva trusts, too. Albus always pretended to trust me, but he never has, not really. Yes, I know, he regrets things now. But deep in his heart, he _can't_ trust anyone who is Slytherin."

"It's not just your house,' Filius said. "Sprout and I are left out of things even though we should not be. For quite a while, we were glad of it. We shouldn't have been. She and I have spoken to each other. We have not been as silent as in the past, and plan to stay that way. Whoever ends up as the new head of Slytherin will have our help and support from the very beginning. We have let you down, Severus, and we are sorry for it."

Snape turned his face away, clearly overcome with emotion. Flitwick sat quietly and breathed deeply. _I was here before Dumbledore became Headmaster, and the odds are good that I will be here after. We must put some safeguards in place, so another Headmaster in the future cannot wield so much influence or isolate one house from the rest. For one thing, someday it will be Ravenclaw's turn to be suspected of evil. Slytherin appears to be in that position most often, but it was not always so. I must think of what can happen after this war, too._

Severus took a breath that was somewhere between a hiccup and a sigh. "So here I lie and wait to heal again," he said. "And there's so little time left."

"I wish I had never thought of that interpretation to Sybil's prophecy," the Charms Professor said.

"I am glad you did. I have preparations to make."

Filius recognized this mood, and knew he had best change the subject quickly. Pomfrey had warned them how Snape sometimes felt, and what the consequences could be. _I should be happy he's made his mood this obvious,_ he thought. "Yes, you do," he said bluntly. "If you like, I'll help you make up a timetable of what needs to be done by when. If you have the most important things managed before Yule, then you can concentrate on enjoying the season for a change. If you survive that, then you and I can make more plans. Your mind is working now, and you may as well use it. You know that old woman out there will make sure your body heals. If not, Poppy will return in a few days and see you whole again. Yes, there will probably be a next time. That's why you have to have plans in place now, and have someone like me know them in case you aren't able to execute them."

Severus blinked. "Right." He clearly hadn't expected this. "Dobby, I need a drink of water, please."

Flitwick suddenly realized that Miss Granger might fight for house elf rights, but Snape was as courteous to them as he was to humans—in fact, more so on most days. _Maybe that's one of the reasons I've always respected him,_ he thought. _He's never made the standard jokes about goblins—oh, he's gone after my height as often as I've gone after his, and both of us have laughed more than we should have about Hagrid's lack of brains—but he's never said a thing about goblin or giant blood. Which is extraordinary, when you think of it—prejudice against our kind is the most open on Knockturn Alley, where everyone is so near the edge they have to look down on _somebody_. Umbridge probably thought he would be her natural ally because of it, and yet he isn't. Part of that might be the Slytherin influence. That house generally has a few with nonhuman blood, such as Miss Bulstrode, or possibly Mr. Malfoy, if the rumors about veela blood are correct. All right, he has a problem with werewolves, but being nearly eaten by one tends to do that. Actually, it's a problem with Lupin, and considering what nearly happened the last time he taught here, I have to admit I'm worried, too. It is a strain to have to find a substitute every month. Severus has filled in for the rest of us so much he could take off the whole year and few members of the staff would complain, but I'm not certain Lupin's health will allow him to make up the time he loses. Filch thinks the wolf ought to go on patrol on full moon nights, and if Hogwarts is ever under attack, he just might be right._

And there was another problem. Argus wasn't as young as he used to be, and Squibs often didn't live as long as their magically gifted kin. He should take an apprentice soon, and preferably one who was a witch or wizard. _I should talk with Minerva soon,_ he thought.

"All right," Snape said. "Did you bring ink and paper?"

"No, but I brought a Speaker Stone," Filius said, searching in his pocket for the charmed object. "It will hold up to three hours worth of conversation, and I suspect our new mediwitch will throw me out long before that."

The Potions Master nodded. "I have only some preliminary thoughts. I will have to form them more rigorously later, but this should make a start. The sixth years should continue to learn the Wolfsbane Potion. I have a bet with Magister Lowenstein and I refuse to let anything force me to lose it. I have some extremely clear notes that Miss Granger should be able to follow, while I have taken Mr. Malfoy through it once already. He had some interesting ideas about use of the Bubblehead Charm during portions of its brewing to avoid future side-effects. Once it's clear that even students can learn the potion, other brewers will take up the practice out of pure shame, if nothing else. The price and availability of the potion should change dramatically because of it. Make sure Madam Tranh is somehow involved. If she can reduce the potion to that bizarre automated process, then the commercial firms will start producing it as well."

"Good," Flitwick said. "What about the seventh years?"

"They should be allowed to make a trial of it as well. I believe it's still an automatic NEWT for anyone who manages it, though no one's ever invoked that clause before. Miss Chang should have no trouble. She has already made inquiries, and I very much suspect she's obtained a copy of the notes I sent Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy last summer. When Quidditch stops for the winter, she will have enough time to sit in on some of the practice runs. I keep the NEWT syllabus in the files in my office. There is a locked drawer in my desk. If Mr. Malfoy cannot open it on my death or disability, you have my permission to have a go at breaking the wards. Everything is carefully labeled. If Mr. Malfoy must depart Hogwarts for any reason, he will find the means necessary in that drawer. The Headmaster may not like what I have written in my will at Gringotts, but the provisions I have made should still be enforced, if at all possible."

"What about disability?" The Ravenclaw thought it would help Snape to have that brought into the open.

"Then open the drawer anyway. Mr. Malfoy may be in need of more help than I can give him, and those whose names are on the notes should have them. With any luck, my physical custody should be in Switzerland, at least temporarily. I very much doubt I would be safe in England. Arthur Weasley should be told that he is to worry only about those he has already promised to worry about. Their welfare comes before mine."

"What if you end up missing, and we don't know what has happened to you?" Albus would want to wait and see, of course, and attempt a rescue if possible.

"Wait three months before doing anything drastic. I am not likely to be alive, or care to be, if I am gone that long. If I am captured, tell Albus to assume everything I know is at risk and to take suitable precautions. Moody will tell him to do so anyway. I am likely to be used as bait for a trap. Do not attempt a rescue unless _he_ has been destroyed, and I am certain everyone will know if that is the truth or not. Tell Mr. Potter…tell Mr. Potter that he exceeded expectations last night. He will not believe it while I am alive, and I dare not make him believe it until this war is over." The Potions Master closed his eyes for a moment and breathed heavily. Spots of color appeared on his thin face. "That is all I can think of for now, Filius. Thank you."

Dobby came over and patted the weary man on the hand. "Master Severus rest now, yes? Eat nice dinner, sleep? When wake up again, Winky rested, fuss at you some more."

Snape's lips turned up a bit. "Of course."

Flitwick quickly spelled the stone to stop recording. There were those who wouldn't believe the dour Slytherin was capable of such sentiment, or could inspire it in others.

Malachite came in the door. "I think it is time you leave, professor," she said. "My patient is more tired now than when he started, and I do not thank you for it."

The Ravenclaw reminded himself not to volunteer any information. _Let her investigate me herself, and she will believe what she finds. Save the fake letters for when she starts asking questions._ He bowed to her. "I think you will find him easier in mind for our talk, madam," he said quietly.

"I want to see him stronger in body," she snapped. Then she turned towards Snape. "It is decided you may have one half dose of Blood Replenishing Potion since you have not had any detoxicant since your last dose on Friday. And yes, I do know about the lung congestion possibility, but I still know how to make a mustard plaster for that."

She showed the vial in her hand. "Once this has been working for an hour, I will have you propped up. By then we shall know if my healing is holding you together."

Flitwick bowed quickly and turned. Snape really should take a few weeks to heal in a more natural way, but he could understood why the younger wizard didn't feel as if he had the time. He touched the stone in his pocket. Besides, he had things to do himself.

"Do not go away just yet, professor. Wait in my office, and I shall speak to you there."

He did as he was told. Knowing Malachite, she would certainly hunt him down later. She arrived a few moment later. "This will not be long, students will surely come soon with stomachaches because of classes tomorrow, or so I have been told. What do you think?"

"I think his mind is more at ease because he has told me what he wants done," Filius said. "In fact, I should sit with him while the potion is working in case you are busy and he begins bleeding again. Dobby is certainly capable of detecting it, but he can't do much about it. I can cast a healing charm that will hold at least for a short time. My students are generally well-behaved, and if I can send a message to the prefects of my house that I am detained for an hour or so, can manage for that long. His color is a little better than it was anyway."

"I fear that was because his lungs may be affected already from lying about in the wet, as I am told he did last night."

"Wasn't the Blood Replenishing Potion too much of a risk, then?"

"He almost faded away earlier this afternoon," she said. "I am having him drink more to increase the volume, but he is still very weak. I wish I could give him a full dose, but I dare not strain his vessels too much. I think I shall have you sit with him some more. He did seem livelier with you to speak with. If nothing else, you can read to him."

"I believe Dobby can read as well," Flitwick said, who had been surprised to learn this about the elf.

"Good, I shall ask him to do so. But I will be glad when this Winky is rested. Your professor needs comfort of the heart as well as of the mind, and she is good for that. Now, eat this, to keep up your own strength." A meal appeared on the desk.

The Charms Professor was not surprised to receive an interrogation along with his dinner. He kept to his legend as strictly as possible, and was glad that the majority of his memories of the Grindelwald War were still hidden away, and his created substitute vivid enough to pass muster, or so he hoped. He waxed lyrical about the beauty of the Sydney Opera house at dawn, having been careful to actually visit the place while establishing his past presence there in both Muggle and Wizarding records.

"And just a few years ago, I visited the States," he said, with apparent ease in her presence. "Cousin Itt is still as vain as ever. I think he's dyeing his hair the Muggle way, as I couldn't detect any charms or glamours on it, but I know it can't be that color after this long."

She huffed with laughter. "Your family sounds far-flung."

Ah. Should this be his cue? No. Let her push the issue. He merely nodded, without adding excessive detail. She would come back with more information, and then he would speak of the European branch, including the one who 'died' in the war. Naturally, those mementoes would be at his house, and not here at Hogwarts. It would be suspicious to have too much evidence of their connection at hand.

"Well, I hear them coming now," she said after he'd finished eating. "Do what you can for the professor."

"He has been a colleague for well over a decade, and was a student here before then," he said gently. "I have learned the folly of ignoring another's needs."

As he entered the private room again, he smiled at hearing Snape arguing with Dobby about waiting till he could sit up properly to eat and drink. "He'll digest it better if you can wait," Flitwick said. "Madam Pomfrey told him to sit up right for at least an hour after he's eaten anyway, so it will sit better."

"So, how much information did she winkle out of you?" Severus asked.

"Quite a bit," he said. _Most of it quite inaccurate, of course, but that's not my problem, is it?_ "Moody should have sat in and taken notes. Her methods are much less brutal, yet effective in their own right."

"According to her, I should be called the Hippogriff."

Flitwick nearly swallowed his teeth. "She does have a talent," he observed.

"Hmm."

"The potion ought to be working now. Allow me to check to make sure you aren't leaking. I also want to check your lungs for congestion." He was aware of those large, dark eyes quietly surveying him as he chanted the diagnostic spells. "So far, whatever she did is holding. Breathe deeply, please." He listened with enhanced senses. "Not bad. In about a half hour you should sit up a little further to let your lungs drain, though. No increase in body temperature, but someone should check that again in two hours. You really do need to eat something, though."

The Potions Master nodded. He still looked tired, but not so exhausted as before. "I do hope she was amused by your anecdotes of Australia."

"She seemed to be."

"Oddly enough, one of the older Rosiers doesn't remember anyone like you there until _after_ Grindelwald was defeated."

"Pity." Never explain, never complain.

Snape smiled. Flitwick felt like a potions ingredient about to be sliced into the proper shapes underneath that gaze. He kept silent. The less said, the better.

Then the Slytherin sighed, and closed his eyes. "I am so _beastly_ tired of being hurt, ill, or laid up again."

"Well, since Poppy isn't here, I suppose it's up to me to stop you from whining." Filius finished the spells. He'd reinforced the magical coating around the crushed blood vessels in the area with the most damage. "You should be examined by a specialist once the inflammation is healed," he added. "It'd be a bugger to have to give up _that_ sport for the duration."

Snape's eyes flew open. "Trust a Ravenclaw to hit upon the most salient point," he said. "You ought to meet Magister Lowenstein. He's obsessed with sex, too."

"You mean there are men who aren't?"

The Potions Master laughed. "I haven't met any, I have to admit. Sweet Merlin, I never thought of that possibility. Thank you so much for adding to my nightmares."

"You're welcome," Flitwick said. After that, they chatted about students they both characterized as excessively stupid, the effect of some charms on potions, and vice versa, and what abomination the Ministry planned on committing next. Snape's idea of letting the Dementors have both the Death Eaters _and_ most members of the Ministry had a great deal to recommend it, and they amused themselves totting up lists and who should have priority. Flitwick argued that Madam Umbridge ought to go ahead of Pettigrew, if only because of 'Ladies first', and Severus finally agreed, but only if Lucius Malfoy had a bagful of his own Galleons melted and poured down his throat first. Filius pointed out what a waste of gold that was, though admittedly it could easily be recovered not long afterwards.

Finally, Dobby insisted that Master Severus should eat and drink. Flitwick did one final scan. "You should definitely sit up for several hours if you can," he said. "I'm beginning to hear some congestion in the lungs. I recommend a hot compress on your chest to keep the airways open, and hot fluids at regular intervals through the night."

The Potions Master morosely agreed. He was beginning to tire again, too. However, Filius was aware of the surreptitious glances towards the bed-jug and decided he should leave, at least for a short time.

"I need to return to Ravenclaw Tower for now," he said, "but Dobby knows where I'll be and can fetch me at need. Have a pleasant evening, Severus."

Snape rolled his eyes. Flitwick, pleased to see that much spirit, departed feeling better than when he had arrived. _I have things to do,_ he thought, as his fingers touched the stone still in his pocket. _Places to go, people to see…and a Dark Mark to banish. I think I will have plenty to do._


	68. Chapter 68: Fever Dreams II

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, and Technomad. Read their stories, too.

Chapter 68: Fever Dreams Part II

Malachite

_I wish I had given him only a quarter dose of the potion,_ she thought, as she listened to Professor Snape's lungs and detected a fever beginning to burn inside him. _That Flitwick was right to worry._ She chided herself for being so distracted by the short wizard's resemblance to the Manticore she had once known.

She must find a way to drain or dry up the fluids beginning to accumulate inside her patient's lungs, because she dare not let him start coughing. The muscular spasms that accompanied the activity would tear him apart. It had been too little time for him to heal properly, even with the reinforcement that the Charms Professor had added. Perhaps some thyme tea would help delay his need to cough till something else could be done.

The young wizard sat nearly bolt upright now, and breathed open-mouthed, obviously as aware of the problem as she was. If he fell asleep, though, he would require more help to keep his airways clear.

And tonight she had a full complement of students who had only just discovered how badly they felt, if only about their classes. Malachite knew she had been taken in by some of them, but was too worried about her main patient to sort through them the way she ought to.

It was going to be a long night. Klaus had dropped by to look in on things, but he was receiving instruction on how to teach the next day. It was important that anyone in that class be as well-rested as possible, if only to prevent accidents.

_I have taken on too much this time,_ she grimly recognized. She was lucky that Winky was finally awake and able to help. Snape had brightened immediately, though now his eyes were beginning to show fear again. However, she had not been joking about the mustard plaster. Her experienced fingers had had no trouble in making one up and placing it on the man's scarred chest. Fortunately, she was no stranger to old wounds, or new ones, for that matter. It was clear by his manner that he was afraid she would be repelled by his appearance.

The Headmaster came into the infirmary. "I hope you, at least, are feeling well," she said.

"I thought I would like to sit with Professor Snape for an hour or two," he said. "You need to lie down for a bit and then eat something." He caught at her shaking hands. "I didn't know this would be such a strain on you."

"It has been a long time since Dusseldorf," she said in a quiet voice, as she escaped his grasp and walked towards the office. "But some things never quite leave. I need to send for my house elf, Gerry. He knows what to do to help me. Your professor is going to have a bad night, I fear. The Blood Replenishing potion is working, but his lungs are congested and he must not cough. He has a plaster now, which is helping, but I fear the only thing that will cure it is more fever than he already has."

"Ah, yes, we called it the Pyretic Process. Few healers learn it any more, and those who still know it are closer to my age than yours. It was used during the Great Plague to keep victims from drowning in their own fluids, and required a patient that was strong already."

"He is better than he was that way, because of the potion," she said. "But the healer, too, must be strong, and that he does not have. I was told by our old friend Tourmaline that there is a woman, one who is married, who was sitting with this Madam Pomfrey. Or is there someone at your hospital who can be trusted?"

Albus blinked, and waited till the door closed behind them before he said anything more. "Mrs. Weasley may not know some of the older spells, but I suspect she is a quick learner. With one husband and seven children, she undoubtedly knows a few things I don't, as far as that goes. Is there some way Professor Snape can rest more before this procedure is tried, though? We all need a good night's sleep, including you."

She could not argue with that. Her other charges also needed attention. "How does Madam Pomfrey manage in a situation like this?"

Her old friend grimaced. "Professor Snape usually assists, if only by brewing better potions than are normally available even at St. Mungo's," he said. "His own health is normally sturdier during the school year, as he is generally more active in the summer."

"Ah." She knew better than to ask what her friend really knew. Her patient's file had been quite descriptive. "How do I contact this woman, then?"

"I will do so once you have rested and eaten," Albus said stubbornly.

Malachite nodded. Things seemed badly organized here, but it would not be the first time she'd had to cope with that. From what she remembered, Alabastor always depended on as few people as possible, if only for security's sake. Sometimes this was good, but it tended to be hard on those around him. "I need to use the Floo to contact Gerry. Then I shall go for a short walk, eat and lie down for an hour or so. You are to fetch me if something goes wrong. You have learned you cannot do it all yourself."

The Headmaster nodded. They both went into the private room to check on the patient. Professor Snape was sitting up, now. His breathing sounded better than it had been—maybe the tea had helped. Winky piped up after the examination, "Master eat better, is tired now."

"I shall lower the bed a little bit," Malachite said. "If you wish to sleep, then do so. I shall be eating and resting on my own account, while your friend sits with you." She put a heating spell on the plaster.

Snape barely reacted, and his eyes were half closed. Malachite left. She used the Floo, and her own elf came through into the school. Her head hurt as she felt the wards close in after his entry. He fussed over her, as always. Then he went off to her temporary quarters to make the place more suitable, though she certainly had seen nothing wrong with the small rooms in back of the office.

She did need to clear her head, though. Most of the students here tonight were trying very hard to demonstrate how desperately ill they were, and would not care to give the game away by showing too much energy. She thought it safe enough to leave them for a short, brisk walk. Large muscle activity often eased the problems with the rest of her.

She stopped only a few paces outside the door to the infirmary. A small group of students waited and looked nervous. As Malachite walked closer, she noticed they all wore the small patch showing a serpent. Ah! No wonder they seemed anxious. "You are from the house they call Slytherin, yes?" she asked. They nodded. One girl had been crying.

"Your professor is tired, but is not dying," she said bluntly. "He will be ill for some days, yet should return to his duties soon enough. His house elf is with him now." That brightened their faces.

"May we visit him? We won't take long and we'll be quiet," said the blonde girl with red-rimmed eyes.

"I am sorry, but the Headmaster is with him now," she said. The children did not seem comforted, and she wondered how much they knew of what Albus believed was hidden. "If you like, though, any of you who wish may help me with some other tasks. The less time I must spend with those, or with other students who are not badly hurt or sick, the more I may spend helping him." Several stepped forward, including the young woman who had spoken first.

Too many would be less helpful than too few, and would cause a disturbance. She chose the young woman who had first spoken, and two very large ones—a girl who was nearly as tall as the professor, and the hefty young man standing next to her. If she had any moving to do without magic, she would not mind having those two bear most of the burden. Then she thought of something. "None of the students who have come here tonight are from your house," she said. "Is everyone there so healthy?"

"We didn't want to bother you, ma'am," said the very tall girl. "And nobody's really sick anyway, just the usual 'I hate Charms and my stomach hurts'".

"Yeah, after all these years of working the system himself, Drake's pretty good at spotting them," joked the young man.

"It is not safe to make that decision yourself or allow another student to do so," she lectured them. "I am quite capable of sending children off with a sweetmeat and a pat on the back. Bring them here and I shall see them, though quickly. And I wish to talk to this Drake and tell him that he should either stop pretending to be a Healer, or do the work to become one." It could be the student had some talent. Hypochondriacs often took much trouble to study whatever they believed themselves ill with. The only cure she had found for such people was to put them to work.

The blonde girl turned pink. "I'll go fetch them," she said, and walked off.

"Now, you two come, and the rest of you go to your rooms. Your professor shall be well again, though he does not feel like it now." She went back into the infirmary, feeling much better herself. If half the tales were true, it would be well for any in this school to see those of a despised category making themselves helpful to others.

A few widened eyes among her patients as the two others came in with her made her wonder if this had been a good idea. Then the evening trays for the students who were to stay here tonight finally arrived. Miss Bulstrode and Mr. Crabbe made themselves useful passing them out. Not long after, the blond young man who had returned Professor Snape's wand arrived with a small number of younger students. "I shall have you and your friends sit here and keep all in order while I see these in the office," she said.

The other patients, who had begun to chat a bit, instantly fell silent at this announcement. The blond young man said in a small voice, "We'd better wait outside."

"And why is that?" she asked.

"We were enforcers for the Toad last year," said the larger boy, and grinned unpleasantly.

"Ah. Perhaps you are right," she said, knowing there was more here than she wished to deal with. "But I want to speak with you before you go," she said to the blond one. They left, and the rest of the students were clearly less fearful.

Malachite looked a warning at her patients, and then wand-scanned the other children in her office. Mr. Malfoy, whose name she now remembered, had been quite correct about them. One scruffy lad had an old bite, but it was healing nicely and she told the boy how important it was to keep such wounds clean, even after they had closed over.

"Could you give Professor Snape this? I mean, when he wants something sweet?" the boy said, handing over a grubby _thing_. It might have been a lemon drop, but only in the last century, she was certain. "I shall check it over, of course," she said. _And probably incinerate it as medical waste,_ she thought.

The student nodded vigorously. "That's right, you don't know who I am, or anything. I might have bought it from the twins. But I'd never play a joke like that on the professor!"

She would like to know who these twins were. This had not been the first mention of them in conjunction with questionable substances. "Of course, I am sure of that," she said. "Yet I am charged with making sure he becomes well again, and thus he must eat and drink what is right for him. Thank you." Malachite sent him on his way along with the rest.

She went out the door for a moment, dismissed the other two, and brought Mr. Malfoy into her office as well. He did not look well himself, and so she waved her wand over him. "Ah. A _Cruciatus_, now fading," she said. "Are you allowed to tell me about it?"

"I wish I could," he said. "Is...is the professor all right?"

"Better than he was. You should not go to class tomorrow." The young man was recovering quite well, but should have another day of rest.

"It's better if I go, Madam Healer."

"It sounds as if you have some making up to do, perhaps?"

"I was a total prat last year. I can't do that this year." Mr. Malfoy's jaw was set.

"You are not as recovered as you think," she said. "You should go to bed early and not sit up, and do that again tomorrow. And you should let me worry about the sick ones. If you wish to sit in an office like this one and do it properly, then come sometime tomorrow when it is quiet and we shall talk." She would have to read this one's file. Malachite suspected the boy had an extensive one, if the other one's comment about working the system held true.

So much for lying down! Gerry helped moved the big chair out so she could nap and keep an eye on her charges at the same time. It was astonishingly comfortable, and clearly designed to afford a mediwitch as much rest as possible.

Malachite did look at Mr. Malfoy's file while sitting and watching her charges drop off to sleep. Madam Pomfrey's comments were quite frank about the young man. _So, this Mr. Malfoy is our Hippogriff's godson,_ she thought. _And often has bad stomachs and minor injuries. He is more casual about the Cruciatus than he ought to be. No doubt his home could bear looking into._ She then began looking for suspicious bruises and the like at the beginning of school. _Ah, he is always in perfect condition, then. _Yet she still felt much was wrong. It could be that the family was wise enough to have him healed before he was sent off. How curious that only Professor Snape had insisted on a regular exam for all his students at the beginning of the year, till this one.

She rose again, gave another quick look at the patients, now all sleeping, and went to the door of the private room. Malachite knocked softly, received no answer, and found only the little house elf awake. Snape's breathing sounded slightly harsher, but not bad. Perhaps she had panicked too soon. He would do better with this rest before undergoing any further procedures. As for her old friend, it cheered her up to see she could still move quietly enough to gently shake Dumbledore by the shoulder.

He sat straight up. "Oh, Alabastor, the war has been over a long time for you, too," she said quietly. "I no longer hex the first person to wake me, either."

Winky quickly brought her finger up to her lips. She was quite protective, that one. Malachite nodded, and the two of them left the room. After closing the door, she said, "This place works well only for sick students when just one healer is here."

"I'm afraid you're right," Albus said. "Most teachers go to St. Mungo's when they're hurt, the way Minerva did last spring."

"Why is this out of the question for the professor, then?" She sighed. "Wait, he told me himself. Too many healers there see what these Death Eaters do, and treat him as one of them, and he cannot tell them differently, for he must seem as such to the others."

"Got it in one," Dumbledore said in a low voice. "And the time is coming when one mediwitch will be less than adequate, even with house elf assistants."

"That time is already here," she said. Malachite waved the Headmaster off to his own bed, and sat once more in the wide chair. Soon her own head dropped.

Molly Weasley

For once she went home to sleep in her own bed with Arthur beside her, and happily woke up with absolutely no emergencies besides helping her husband go to work on time. They chatted briefly as she fixed his lunch. She had been so sleepy last night from the broken hours at Poppy's side, she'd gone to bed straightaway after coming home.

"I talked to Harry yesterday, dear," he said. "He wants to be our son, though not our son-in-law. He shook like a leaf when I hugged him. You'd think no one ever had ever done it before."

"Well, Ginny won't like the first part," Molly said, as she wrapped a sandwich in waxed paper and touched it with a Preserving Charm. Arthur sometimes forgot to eat, especially if he was in too many meetings, and dried bread did no one any good. "As for the second, I could have told you that already. Did you remember to drop off the sitting schedule for Poppy?"

"Yes. Oh, and the Headmaster said little Hermione could come along with Harry, Ron and Ginny this Saturday. I told him you wanted to stop by to see the professor, but Albus said he was doing all right, and would be scowling at everyone inside of a week."

Molly pursed her lips. "Remember what we told each other at the hearing, love."

"Yes, I do. It couldn't do any harm if you pop in this morning, I shouldn't think. Most of the students should be out of there before noon anyway, and back to their rooms. Besides, you know how Poppy is. She doesn't think anyone is competent enough to replace her, and she'll sleep better tonight if you can tell her the new one knows a case of homesickness from dragon pox."

"I'll stop by Hogwarts first," she said, trying to set her schedule in her mind. "I'll check on the professor and find out if anyone can sit up at the hospital tonight. Then I'll go to St. Mungo's and let Poppy know how Snape is, and what the new mediwitch is like. If I can, I'll go by the safe house and check the larder. At least Remus used to help keep track of things, but now nobody does. I'd like to be home again tonight if I can."

"Well, love, I'd like it too. It's no fun coming home to an empty house. But we'd all hate to see anything happen to Poppy, too, so do what needs to be done." He gave her a quick kiss, grabbed his lunch, and left.

Molly set the dishes to washing and did some cleaning. Arthur _did_ try to be neat, but it was hopeless. After a brisk hour, the Burrow was much better. She took the Floo to Hogsmeade, Apparated as close to the school as the wards would let her, and trudged to the gates. They opened for her right off, and soon she was at the infirmary. Fortunately she'd picked a time during classes, and nobody saw her. She slipped inside and introduced herself. After a bit of talk, it was clear the woman was ready to drop.

She asked to see the professor, and Frau Grussweiss seemed reluctant to let her do so. Then Molly realized the problem. "Well, you don't know me, but I really am Molly Weasley and I'd hate to bother the Headmaster. You must be stretched with both Poppy and Professor Snape down. If you like, you can hold your wand on me while we go in and see him, and he can tell you himself if I'm safe to be around." You'd think the woman was Moody in a skirt.

The old mediwitch sighed. "I should stop seeing phantoms when there are none," she said.

"Keep right on, I bet a lot of people are still alive because you do," Molly said, who had learned that patience with Mad-Eye went a lot further than bluster.

The two of them went inside, accompanied by a snooty house elf who clearly didn't trust anyone but himself to take care of his mistress. Snape was asleep, and snoring loud enough to wake the dead. He sounded congested, though. "A hot posset or two to make him cough everything up ought to help," she said. All men looked faintly ridiculous while they slept. Snape was no exception, though the dark stubble on his face and chin made her wonder what he'd look like with a beard.

"Ah," Madam Grussweiss said. "That is a problem. He was struck with a _Crucio_ in a bad spot for any man, and nearly bled to death inside. He is healing well, considering he may have almost no potions, but coughing would be bad, very bad. He will have a new mustard plaster soon, and I can change the air to help him breathe, but we must find another way to dry up his lungs." She kept her voice low while her house elf and little Winky glared at each other.

Molly chewed her lip. "Sounds like what happens when a Blood Replenishing potion goes bad." She waved her wand for an Imperturbable so they could talk.

"I fear you are right. He was so weak before it, I am afraid, but he has no time to heal the way he ought to."

That part was right, unfortunately. You-Know-Who might call him anyway. She knew how much the Order needed the information he brought back from those meetings. "What did you have in mind for a cure?" she asked, hoping the old woman knew another method than the one she was thinking about.

"Your Headmaster calls it the Pyretic Process," the mediwitch said. "In our tongue we call it the Fever Dance. This professor is already a bit sick, perhaps from lying in the wet before he was found, so fanning the flames should not be hard."

"Let's go to the office and plan this," Molly said. "You'll need my help, and we should set a few things up ahead of time."

"I did not mean to impose, Madam Weasley," the older woman said, and looked embarrassed.

"You can call me Molly," she said, as they left the room and went to the office. "We'd both feel better if you had a note from the Headmaster saying I was who I was and on the right side. It sounds to me like you know more than any outsider has a right to, so I want to make sure of you, too, right? So I'll write a note, send it off to his office, and we'll see what happens there. Tea? I know where the things are."

"Yes, please," Frau Grussweiss said.

After both of them had a cuppa and a nice chat, Fawkes came by himself with the note and fussed a bit over each one of them. The writing was brief. _The two of you may trust each other, as I trust you both. Albus Dumbledore._ The phoenix said more than words could.

Once the bird was gone, the mediwitch broke out into a relieved smile. "There. Now we can speak without having to watch one another."

Molly felt better herself. Given some of the people the Headmaster had already hired, she wanted to make sure the children and Snape were in the best hands. "Right. I do know the spell. Nanny Ogg taught it to me the last summer I lived in Lancre. One time I had all seven children down with the wheezes, and then Arthur started coughing too. Well, it would be too hard with all of them down, so I did him first, and then the two youngest."

"Why not the rest?"

"Er…well, Ron and Ginny were too young to be bothered by it, and Arthur, well, I don't mind him feeling that way either. But all the rest of them are boys, and they were old enough, I don't want them ever thinking of me that way." Her cheeks flamed.

The older woman shook her head. "You are not the first woman to be affected or affect others like that, though I have not met many. Perhaps it would be better if we could somehow use this phoenix in the spell. I do not have the strength any longer."

Molly sighed. "It'd probably work better if I managed it. Besides, it's just one. I have to admit I was knackered for a day or so after doing three of them."

The mediwitch raised her eyebrows. "You are a strong witch indeed. The few times I have done the spell, I was worn out. The professor is not a threat to any woman's virtue with his injuries, and if you are affected, then go home and give your husband a nice surprise."

They both laughed. Molly remembered how she'd lured Arthur up to the bedroom after meeting Professor Snape in Fortescue's. It wouldn't be the first time she'd managed with her darling's help. "All right. He should be cleaned up and eat something first, and then use the jug or pan or whatever. If you don't mind, it would help if you could put him into a magical sleep after that. He'll be embarrassed to death as it is, but if he can blame anything he ends up feeling on a dream, then we'll manage better after it's over." She had had to cast the spell on Moody once when there hadn't been time to send to Hogwarts for any potions, and it had taken months before he'd acted normally around her. Mad-Eye and Sirius had almost come to blows when her cousin had said something nasty to her during that time. Now she and the old Auror were back to their usual bickering, and that was the way they liked it.

Frau Grussweiss nodded. "Since you must work with him after, this makes sense. Men, well, and women, too, have foolish dreams. This hippogriff of ours has more sense than to think his can be real. Oh, and is there someone at this school he has more affection for than others? His elf is helpful, but she is up all night. At one point, he will need someone to guide him back to this world when his mind wanders too far away because of the fever."

That made sense. "Young Mr. Malfoy is his godson," Molly said. "None of mine had that problem, but I can see what you're saying. You can send Winky to call the boy out of class when we need him. Once the professor has eaten and has gone back to sleep, I'll start the spell. It'll take a few hours for him to heat up enough. We should have plenty of water in there to pour down him afterwards."

"And a big tray for him to eat once it is over as well, though it will have to be soft food yet," the mediwitch said. "I am afraid for my handiwork if he goes into convulsions, though."

"In that case we should wrap bandages around him, so even if he starts shivering nothing inside should tear apart." She drummed her fingers on the desk. "If he starts choking, I know what do to about it, but the bandages should help with that, too."

"What technique do you like?"

"Well, it's a little old-fashioned, but it works," Molly said. "And while the fever is building up, you can lie down for a bit while I sit out and manage anything that comes through the door."

"I am not so old."

"No, but you are that tired. Most of the students know me already. With seven here, they've heard my Howlers, if nothing else. I'll need your help in the later parts anyway."

With that, the older woman agreed. They left the office. The mediwitch sent her own elf off for a tray, and then entered the private room to give the orders needed to Winky. _How does Poppy manage everything by herself?_ Molly wondered. _One big Quidditch accident and they'll be stacking them up on the lawn._ This place could be more crowded than St. Mungo's sooner than anybody liked. _We need someone from the Order here,_ she thought,_ someone to take part of the load, and not just for the professor, either. Harry, Ron, and Hermione know a lot more than they ought to at their age, and could talk out of turn if they're hurt or sick. Others on the staff are probably in on a few secrets that I don't know about. Grimmald Place isn't fit for sick people, not really, though we could probably keep a few of them there if we had to. And what if the Headmaster is really sick? For part of last summer he didn't sound good, and the rumors that Arthur heard at the Ministry said he was on his last legs. Whatever it was, he's over it now, but he's still looking a lot older than he used to. I have my own house and Grimmauld Place to run right now, so it can't be me, but Poppy needs an assistant who's in on things. Snape probably was her back-up in case of emergency. Who knows how many of his Slytherins he doses himself? But that won't work much longer. _

Severus Snape

Malachite explained the procedure to him as he ate with Winky's assistance. "Now, do not be surprised at anything you see in this fever," she said. "We shall to try to keep you from being too afraid if you see anything unpleasant."

He smiled sardonically. "I have memories for that." It was amazing how even foreigners in the medical profession used _we_ when clearly by themselves.

"I am sure you do. Yet try to remember if you are caught in one, that you are safe here at Hogwarts, and that you will probably have to grade papers once you are well. I know, that is no inducement to become well again, but surely there are worse things."

Snape barked a laugh. "You haven't read them, or you wouldn't say that."

"Then concentrate on a favorite student if that helps when you are frightened," Malachite said. "If it is truly bad, we shall call in someone you do not fear to help guide you back to us."

"Not Mr. Longbottom," he said. "I am in constant terror whenever he's around a cauldron."

"We shall not be so cruel," she said with a smile. "Now I shall send you into sleep again. You should only be bored and harass us when the spell begins to work, and we have other things to do while you sit in the oven and bake."

He nodded. Severus had learned to take whatever comfort he was offered. He felt the congestion in his chest and had already forced himself not to cough a couple of times. As the old woman chanted, he willingly allowed himself to fall back into slumber.

At first, there were no dreams that he could remember. Then the visions began to appear in his brain. They were pleasant, mostly, since many of his bad memories were associated with cold, especially those of his childhood.

Except one. It had been hot that summer, the hottest he could remember it, when his father had come home and discovered his mother with a 'friend'. That argument had been horrible. He'd known better than to try to interfere, and sat up in his attic killing flies. If only he could have used a spell to keep from hearing, too. It had been hot up there, so terribly, terribly hot, and opening a window hadn't helped at all.

Then he remembered Mother screaming…

And then it was dark again, and he was in the crawlspace curled up in pain. It was still hot, he knew that somewhere inside, but he was shivering with cold anyway, and everything hurt the way it had back then from Father's hexes. He didn't know where his wand was, he only knew he had to hide. Severus was dimly aware of time passing, as the pain waxed and waned like the phases of the moon.

Then he was standing in front of the Whomping Willow. It had been hot then, too, despite the lateness of the hour. Though he remembered it had been cooler in the tunnel, it was stuffy and he couldn't breathe underground, he was choking—

And then he was in the nightmare where Potter had hexed him with a Scourgify, and he was hanging upside down, choking, choking—

A fist thumped him on the back. A wad of gunk fell out of his mouth and into a basin. For a moment, he looked into Winky's wide, concerned eyes. Upside down. "Master, it's just Winky, don't be scared," the elf said.

Suddenly, he was back on the bed and looking up into Molly Weasley's face. He smiled. He should have told her all this the last time he'd seen her. "Oh, my love, I knew you would help me," he said. He remembered what Malachite had told him about the fever and was happy to have this particular dream. "I saw you last summer when I thought I was dying, when there was so much light and you stepped out of it to hold me. I have loved you for so long."

The sweet face looked concerned. "Don't worry, I know you're married to another," Severus continued. "I won't ever ask anything. Just let me look at you sometimes, and think what it would be like to kiss you, or hold you. You have the most wonderful smell, did you know that? It's buttermilk and vanilla, and sometimes there's cinnamon, too." He knew he was babbling, but it didn't really matter. Sybil had told him Molly hadn't been there last summer, but he had seen her there anyway. It was so good just to say how he really felt, it didn't matter that it was an illusion.

"I want you so much," he said. What a relief it was to tell the truth! "I want to have your hair wrapped around me. I want to kiss you all over and find out if you taste as wonderful as you smell. I want you in my arms, I want to feel your flesh around me. I want to feel your weight on me, or your softness underneath. I want to lick that soft, red nest and feel you shake under my tongue. I want to ram myself home and make you squeal." His loins ached.

She turned away, her cheeks flaming. He'd said too much. "It's all right. Just…just smile for me, please? Oh, you're so beautiful when you do that! No wonder he loves you so much. He's so lucky, sometimes I'm jealous, but I promise, love, I promise I'll never do anything. It would break your heart to lose him. I couldn't hurt you like that."

He saw a couple of tears run down her cheeks. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I won't…I won't ever talk like this again, I promise. I'll even watch over Pot—I mean, Harry, for your sake. He's not really that bad. I wish it hadn't taken me so long to see that he was just a boy." He reached up to wipe her tears away, but she backed off. Then she leaned forward and wiped his face with her hand. He swallowed. "If you don't believe me, just ask Moody after I'm gone. I told him how I felt about you." He knew he wasn't going to tell her about the Polyjuice whore—even in the middle of a dream, he still had _some_ sense.

Then Molly sighed and kissed him on the forehead. "The worst is over now, dear. I think so, anyway. Don't be afraid to tell us what's happening, though, so we can help you."

"Whatever you say." As long as he could look at her like this, nothing else mattered. But then she faded away, and he was back in the nightmares again. It was strange to be told to talk about them. Most of the time, the other boys in his dormitory room kept telling him to shut it and let them go back to sleep.

The worst part was when he was in that horrible tunnel again, with the hot breath of the werewolf on his face…

Then he was back in the infirmary again, with Draco sobbing into his chest. "Don't be silly, boy," he said feebly, patting his godson on the back. "Lucius will get over it, and things will be all right again. Yes, I know that cane hurts, but I'll put some salve on the worst of it, or just give you the tube, if you're too old to have me rub it on. Dobby won't mind helping, he knows what his master's like."

Malachite stared. Wait a minute, what was she doing here? Oh, yes, he was in the infirmary, and not at the Manor…he thought. He wished he could see Molly again, but fully understood that was a gift of the fever.

Draco stood up. "We're at Hogwarts, sir, and I'm not hurt. It's Monday afternoon, and you've been sick. But the mediwitch says your lungs are clear now. You're supposed to rest some more, and then you can eat and drink."

Snape smelled his own stench of sweat and probably a few other things. He realized linen bands were wrapped around him, which was probably a good thing, but he suspected both they and the sheets should be changed. "I want to clean up a bit first," he said. He was immensely relieved that Molly Weasley had appeared only in his dreams, and that only Malachite had heard his nonsense.

"Of course." The boy looked less worried now. "I'll go back to class now."

Severus watched, just drifting, as the mediwitch quickly handed Draco a pass to return. He didn't go back into his nightmares, though, and he was glad of that. He was whisked away to the bathroom and dunked into a warm tub as the sheets were replaced and the bands put into the laundry. His bruises were starting to change color, a good sign, even though his torso was made up of varying shades of green and purple. He was astonished to find he was actually _hungry_. Thirsty, of course, he had expected that. But it had been a long time since he really had any appetite. Once he was back in bed, it felt so good to be clean and dry again, instead of drowning in his own bodily fluids. He was more tired than he thought, though. Winky had to help him eat and drink.

He stared at the little potion vials. "Which ones are these?"

Malachite smiled. "Oh, these are the ones that you are supposed to have. No detoxicant for a week, but the sedative, the appetite enhancers, and the mood lifters. I have looked up the doses and schedules in your file, and you shall have only the appetite enhancer for now, the sedative at night, and the mood lifter in the morning."

He vaguely remembered something about what Poppy had put in her file about the mood enhancer, but couldn't recall the details just now. Wait. "Madam Pomfrey had me down as taking more mood enhancer than I actually do," he said. "This way I have an easier time explaining actions that some might call erratic."

"Well, what she has written down is only the standard dose. If you are taking less, that is not good for you, especially with Allard's poisons to counteract. Yet perhaps I should adjust for body weight, since you are so thin." She momentarily levitated him. "Hmm. Maybe a little less, then, but not by much. If you take this on a full stomach, well, full for you, anyway, you should not see much difference. I agree with Madam Pomfrey, she told Allard you should have a week with only the other potions without the detoxicant. This is a good time to start that, as anything the horrible stuff does to your bowels will not be good for your injuries. The sedative will slow your digestion, but your diet will be soft and fluid enough to make its way despite that. For the next couple of days, as much bed rest as possible. If you do well tonight, you should be in your own quarters in the morning. I will tell you all this again, as the spell and your medications may not let you keep any memory from today or tonight."

He nodded. Given what he'd said to his vision of Molly, it was just as well. Snape drank the appetite enhancer, knowing he could ask Winky for a fried pie in the middle of the night—and probably not get it, with his current restrictions. "Tell Winky what I can eat and what I can't," he said. "If I wake up in the middle of the night with a yearning for steak and kidneys, she would try to find some for me."

Malachite laughed. "I am sure you would, wouldn't you?" she said to the tiny elf. Winky vigorously nodded. "Well, he cannot have them. He must eat soft things like pudding and soup for now, and drink much water. He may have some tea, but only a cup at a time and not the whole pot. Tomorrow we shall try thin oatmeal, though with much sugar and a little fruit. By the end of the week, we shall see what he can eat and not eat, though he should be whole by then."

Snape wasn't surprised at how she and Poppy talked to others about a patient as if they weren't there. It was probably part of the curriculum for healers.

She continued. "Next evening, and each night from then on, he should have a glass of ale with his dinner. That will aid digestion as well. I shall have a small cask brought in."

Winky nodded. Severus knew the elf wouldn't forget. Well, he had enjoyed the stuff the times he'd been in Switzerland. No doubt every healer in the country considered it a sovereign remedy, the way tea was considered here. He thought it rather like drinking bread, but it did help everything else sit more easily on his stomach. Why he'd never thought to buy some for himself, or ask to have it from the kitchens he didn't know.

He let his eyelids drift down. It was clear _his_ participation wasn't needed at this point. It felt good to breathe deep, he had to admit…

Draco Malfoy

When he walked into Potions that day, he was surprised to see a new teacher, and not Madam Tranh. The fellow introduced himself as Klaus Michael Lowenstein, Potions Master, and he was a little bit taller than his godfather, but had the same kind of craggy features.

He heard the Weasel talking to Potter, though the two were over on the other side of the room. "Hey, mate, do you reckon there's a farm where they grow them like that?"

_Good question,_ Draco thought. Lowenstein—wait, that was the name of the man the professor had the bet about the Wolfsbane with. He'd better pay attention in this class, even more than he usually did. The new teacher even had the same accent as the strange mediwitch did. Maybe the whole family was mad over Potions. Many Wizarding lines had specialties, and anyone who didn't follow along was pretty much on his own—the Zabinis and finance, for instance. His family specialized in land and politics. The Manor in Wiltshire was a working farm as well as for a display of wealth and power. _If we all survive this mess, maybe I'll hire Longbottom to take over the greenhouses…_ He grimaced. He had been glad to hear the old woman's reassurance that his godfather was going to be all right, but he had no illusions about the ultimate outcome. _I have to find a way to save him, or at least make sure he's taken care of if anything happens. If I have to lick MacMillan's shoes to do it, or even Potter's, I will._

Then Winky appeared in the class, though not in her 'equipment', with a note in her hand. She pulled on Lowenstein's robe to let him know she was there, and handed him the pieces of paper. The classroom went absolutely quiet.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are requested to go to the infirmary," said the sonorous voice.

Draco took a ragged breath. "Yes, sir," he said and left the room without looking back. Winky disappeared, or he would have asked her some questions along the way.

He wished he had his broom, or dared to run in the halls on his way. It seemed to take forever to walk to the large doors that marked the sanctuary. The wards were empty, but he knew where the private room was by now. Draco stepped through quietly, just in case it still made a difference.

Mrs. Weasley, of all people, patted him on the shoulder. "He's not dead, dear, just a little bit lost in the fever. You need to help bring him back."

"But he wasn't sick like this yesterday."

"His lungs were filling up, and we decided it would be best to burn it out before he was forced to start coughing."

"Oh." That made sense.

Professor Snape's eyes were open, but he wasn't seeing anything _here_, that was for certain. "Lupin…no, no, NO!" he screamed, and cringed back into the pillows. He threw up his hands and began beating at the air.

Draco caught at them, but his godfather was too strong and broke away. "Professor, you have to wake up," he said loudly. "It's safe here, it's not even full moon for a couple of weeks yet. You're in the infirmary. Professor Lupin is teaching class now anyway. I'm going to help you make the potion the way I did last month. You don't ever have to go into the Shrieking Shack again. Maybe it's time the thing was torn down." Suddenly, all the vague rumors he'd heard about the Head of Slytherin and his antipathy towards werewolves made sense. If his godfather had actually survived an attack, of course he'd hate wolves. _And of course he'd be angry when I went out by myself trying to catch the Trio at something. He didn't want that happening to me._ He'd been upset at first when Father had told him he'd have to have Vincent and Greg with him all the time, but now he realized it was for the best.

"All you wanted to do was to protect me," he said to himself while the Potions Master continued to cry out. _I have to do something to make him realize it's me here,_ Draco thought. _For one last time I'll be a child, but it will be the last time._ He allowed his anguish of knowing his godfather's likely future to overwhelm him. The young Slytherin bowed down and laid his head against Snape's chest and burst into tears.

After a few moments, he felt the long arms embrace him, and one hot hand pat him on the back. Draco was embarrassed when his godfather came up with a memory of a time when Father had been angry with him, but at least the older man knew it was him.

Then Snape came all the way back into the present with just one reminder. When the older wizard said he wanted to clean up, Draco knew everything was all right now. He'd heard his father tease the Potions Master about his hair, how intractable it was to any kind of treatment, and how potions work ended up ruining the skin and hair no matter how regularly one bathed.

Draco was glad to take the pass and go to the next class. Everything was going to be all right, at least for now. He knew later would come, but with any luck it wouldn't be today.

Molly Weasley

She slipped out of the private room and into the office for a moment to catch her breath. She was lucky the Malfoy boy hadn't come in at just the wrong moment! Molly fought the surging tide of feeling within. She'd heard men took cold showers or baths at such moments, but she had tried them in the past and they never worked for her. What she really needed was a few private moments in her own bedroom, or preferably, a few moments with Arthur with his office door locked, but she wasn't going to have either one right now. _If I can wait it out, I know I'll calm down. An hour from now and I'll be right as rain._ Maybe if she said that to herself often enough it would come true. Or maybe she'd take a quick trip back to the Burrow before she went to visit Poppy. Snape's words had struck at her heart, and a bit lower down as well. _I suppose I ought to be offended, but I never was when boys said things like that to me when I was younger, either. Or when Arthur says them. The only reason I hexed Corny was because I knew his wife deserved better than that. _An inner voice told her that Snape wasn't married nor likely to be any time soon, and that what Arthur didn't know wouldn't hurt him. She shook her head firmly. _I promised to be true, and so I have, all these years. We'll have an early supper and maybe go to bed even before that. Nobody in the house but us, and the ghoul knows better than to let off a single howl in the middle of _that._ I have to look forward to tonight, that's all, and I can bear this more easily. There. It's not so bad now. It will keep, at least till I can leave here._ She wished she could go right now, but she did want to hear what the old woman had to say about Snape's condition, or Poppy would never forgive her.

_Now there's a woman who knows when she's out of luck, and handles it better than I do,_ Molly thought. It was clear as window-glass to her now that the mediwitch had it bad for the Potions Master, and knew it was hopeless. _But maybe it's not,_ she thought. _If they keep it quiet, not even the Headmaster will raise a fuss. All those late nights patching him up, who's to know what could go on in that private room? _It shouldn't bother her thinking of the professor with someone else. It wasn't fair to him—she had a wonderful husband who kept her satisfied, and here she was grudging him any comfort.

Then she laughed. _I've been a fool! It wasn't me he was talking to, it was another red-haired woman who's long gone. Everyone knows he drooled over Lily before she died, and never forgave James Potter for carrying her off. I remember the way he looked at the wedding. I think Lucius Malfoy must have dragged him there just to rub it in. _A wave of relief rushed through her. Well, she might still have to stop by the Burrow on her way to St. Mungo's, but at least she didn't have to take things seriously.

Malachite stepped in. "Are you all right, Molly?" she said in that funny accent of hers.

"Oh, yes," she said. "I didn't take anything he said personal, either. You see, there was a girl named Lily he thought well of a long time ago, and never got over, I think. He just saw my red hair and went off on it."

"Ah," the older woman said as she sat down. "But I asked about you."

"Er, well, nothing a bounce on the bed with Arthur won't cure," she said. It was taking a damned long time for the aftereffects of the spell to wear off. Of course, the last time she'd used it, Arthur had shown her how much better he'd felt right away, too. She concentrated on that memory, and tried not to wonder how Snape would show up, given the battered length of him she'd seen. Some other lucky woman would have that treat.

"It has been a long time since I took a man," Frau Grussweiss said. "And I was never as impatient for it as some. Yet you have my sympathy. Perhaps you wish to use the small bathroom in back to put cold water on your face. Gerry and I will be busy out in the ward making preparations for sick ones who will come tonight."

Molly desperately wanted that solace, but shook her head. "I'll be all right," she said. "I'll go swap dirty stories with Madam Hooch, if she isn't busy today, and that will keep me till tonight."

The mediwitch smiled. "You have done well today, ah, Molly. The professor's lungs are clear now and I think I shall move him to his quarters tonight after he sleeps. Winky tells me there is a floating chaise lounge Madam Pomfrey has used before to move him, which will be better than levitating him, I think. He will do better in his own bed."

_Oh, I wish she hadn't said that,_ Molly thought. Thinking of beds was not a good idea right now. "I think I will use your loo for a few minutes," she said brightly. "All the tea I've drunk today has caught up to me." She dashed in there, used the facilities, and then decided a quick shower might be a good idea anyway. Her robes were soaked with sweat of her own, but a Cleansing Spell would work better if she was out of them.

Molly's eyes widened when she realized Poppy had one of those newfangled showers with a head that could be moved around. She was unable to resist the temptation to see how well it worked for other purposes. She let the Potions Master's voice echo in her head, and shook like a leaf when she came to the part where he'd said 'ram myself home'. It wasn't fair for any man to have a voice like that, even when roughened by illness. She panted for breath afterwards, and then turned the temperature down just a little.

It wasn't long before she was clean, dressed and much, much calmer. She wasn't used to things going that quickly unless Arthur was with her, but today had been a special case because of the spell, obviously. She still thought she'd surprise her lad once he was home tonight.

She said good-bye for now to Frau Grussweiss and her elf, and then walked down to the staff room. A cup of strong tea and a bit of gossip would be just what she needed before visiting Madam Pomfrey.

Molly almost didn't recognize the woman in the room, and thought her a new teacher, before she realized this was what Sybil Trelawney looked like without shawls and incense, and her hair properly done. Her glasses were still huge, but she probably needed them like that. She was glad to see Sybil drinking only tea, considering the rumors she'd heard.

She nodded politely, and served herself a cup. Then she gasped. "Who made this? And how long ago?"

The other woman smiled. "I have no idea as to either one. I think someone just pours in new water and throws in more tea as time goes by. For all I know, this pot could have been started on Halloween, if not before."

"I think you're right," Molly said. She had never been close to the Divinations teacher. She wanted to pick up gossip about Professor Snape, but didn't know how. She drank her cup and tried to figure out a way to bring up the subject.

Minerva walked in. "Glad to see you, Mrs. Weasley. I understand you helped Professor Snape today. How is he?"

"Much better. His lungs are all clear now, and the new mediwitch says he may be able to move to his own rooms tonight."

"Good. I was worried about him. When Mr. Malfoy didn't show up in class on time, I was told he was called out of Potions. I—I thought something quite bad had happened. I must admit, the note he gave me when he did show up relieved my anxiety quite a bit. I found an excuse to let class out early, though."

"What was wrong?" Sybil asked.

"He was given some Blood Replenishing potion, I think, and it went to his lungs like it does some of the time," Molly said. "But no one could do the usual, since coughing would have torn him up again." She remembered then, that Trelawney wasn't in the Order, but oh, well, the woman really was a seer part of the time.

Trelawney visibly winced. Well, she didn't have to stay for the conversation, either. It might do the woman good to deal with actual reality for once.

"Well, he needed it," Minerva said. "He nearly died Sunday morning. And I just sat there, doing the damn crossword puzzle with him."

"You don't have the training," Molly said. "It might not be a bad idea for everyone here to have some, though."

Sybil nodded. "You used a fever spell, didn't you? I've heard of that one—it's said to bring on visions, but I've never quite dared to try it on myself."

"Oh, he had visions all right," Molly said, but hesitated to say more. Then she plunged ahead. "Said he'd seen me in the light last summer, that was probably when you did the Kettle of Ceridwen spell, and all that. Thought I was Lily Evans, from what he said, and said he'd look after Harry for her sake."

"But that's not right," Sybil said. "He told me that he saw you, you know, in the part where everything was light around him. Albus said Severus had seen Lily much earlier, around midnight the night before. A day or so later, I told Snape that you hadn't been there, and let him look at my memory of the rite so he could see what nice things everyone had said to him. But I'm sure you're right, and it was Lily he was talking about."

Molly went still. She went over what she remembered of Snape's words as carefully as she could. No, he hadn't used any names. As far as she could tell, everything he'd said could apply to her as well as to Harry's mother. _It had to be the spell_, she told herself. _That's it. He couldn't possibly mean me. _She made some vague excuses and left for St. Mungo's.

She had a nice chat with Poppy, updated her on how Professor Snape was, though she left out the almost dying bit, and told her that this Frau Grussweiss did know her work. "But she's too old to do it full time, she's ragged out with both the students and the professor."

Poppy grimaced. "It was like that last year, too. He was hurt more than he let on."

"I wish I could be your assistant. You need one."

"I know. You have other responsibilities. I hate to ask you, but if you could come in on weekends every once in a while, it would help. That seems to be my busiest time between Quidditch, and er, other things."

Molly nodded. "That's a busy time other places, too, though I could do more during the week and ah, Arthur, can fend for himself a bit on the weekend." She hoped Poppy understood she meant the safe house by other places and the various Order members by the way she'd said 'Arthur'.

The mediwitch nodded. "I should be back in just a couple of days. I really think I could return sooner on a light schedule…"

"But as soon as you did, there'd be a fight in the Great Hall and bodies all over the place," Molly observed.

"True. Perhaps I ought to rest while I can. I just hope someone makes sure Severus doesn't try to go back to teaching too soon."

"Oh, he will, but if he does too much Winky will hit him with a Stunner and put him back to bed. It's hard to say who runs thing there. She used a Floo to contact me once!"

Poppy laughed. "I wouldn't put it past her. Now, what do you think about this article in the Prophet?"

Molly was distracted, and she wanted to be. Sybil had given her a lot to think about.

Which didn't stop her from greeting Arthur eagerly that night and giving _him_ something to think about. Not that he seemed to mind, especially since she was wearing the Aristoc Harmony stockings, with a seam that ran all the way up her legs. After all, even the brightest man needed a _little_ guidance from time to time.


	69. Chapter 69: Road to Recovery

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, and Technomad. Read their stories, too. This chapter is a little longer than some of the others, just thought I ought to warn you. Any errors remaining are my own.

Chapter 69: Road to Recovery

Severus Snape

Severus woke up in his own bed and briefly wondered if the whole thing had been only a terrible dream. It was morning, or so he thought. It was hard to tell what time of day it was in his bedroom, unless the door was open to let sunlight in. One of the windows in his parlor was enchanted to show the view from the Astronomy Tower, though he often let the curtains stay closed on that one.

Winky came up to him. "You awake, Master?" she asked in a soft voice.

"My eyes are open," he said. His voice was hoarse, though, and his throat was dry.

"Your eyes open lots of time yesterday, but you not really awake."

"I had strange dreams," he said. "In fact, in one of them I was making jokes with Moody and he was feeding me. It was in the infirmary, though, and not in Azkaban."

"Oh, no, Master, that one real."

"He must have been another impostor, then." Snape wondered how much of what he'd dreamed was true. He shifted a little and felt soreness in his lower torso. A full bladder didn't help. Didn't he have some kind of girdle on earlier? He didn't _think_ anyone had turned him upside down and clouted him on the back to make him spit properly, but even that wasn't as strange as his vague memory of seeing Molly Weasley and telling her what he'd like to do with her lush body.

"Oh, no, Master, I remembers Mad-Eye from when I takes care of him in box," Winky burbled on. "I brings him food and water, cleans, turn him different sides so he's not sore from lying in one place too much…"

That was certainly more than he wanted to know. Of course Barty wouldn't think of doing anything like that himself. Brewing Polyjuice around the clock took up quite a bit of time, never mind the usual round of duties expected of him as 'Moody'. He tried to think back. "And…and did I really hurt Madam Pomfrey?" He suddenly recalled Potter screaming at him and waving his wand, but later the boy had tried to clean him off, and then had removed a hex. For some reason, Lupin was mixed in all of that, and he wasn't sure why.

"Yes, Master, but you not mean to. Bad spell on you, you tells me. New Mistress Nurse says you lose blood from being hurt and have to rest a lot. She give you potion. But you has hard time breathing after that, pretty lady does spell to make you hot all over, make stuff in chest go away."

Snape felt his face go hot. "Did the pretty lady have red hair?"

"Oh, yes, she _nice_! She is liking it when you say things to her, even though she a little sad, too. She smells like stuff they put on apple pie in kitchen sometimes. Then Master Shiny-Head is come in and talks to you when you is scared of Master Wolf again. Everything better, you and new Mistress Nurse talk, you sleep a lot after. Winky find green thing that you lie on outside last summer, help bring you down here." The elf paused. "Why they not give you potions before, Master?"

"I must take the ones from Switzerland because all the other ones here I have to brew make me sick. Many other potions for healing don't work well with those." He felt better than he ought to under the circumstances. All his ribs seemed firmly connected and no longer hurt the way they had even after the Malachite had used the Osteo Malagum. On the other hand, his face went hot knowing he'd said far too much to Molly Weasley. "What day is this?"

"Tuesday morning, Master. You still to rest in bed, but go to lav and back if not hurt too much. Master Headmaster leaves note with charm to help, says you must do it before leaving bed." Then Winky wiped her eyes. "Master, don't call Dobby if you need help in loo. Winky doesn't mind. They think Winky doesn't know what men look like, but they forget I watch Master Mad-Eye for so long, care for Barty before that."

"I suppose by now there aren't any mysteries left with me, either," he grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. "All right, I'll call for you if I need help." He looked at the note and was glad to notice his wand right on the nightstand. He used the charm and felt a supportive tightness around his midsection again. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and sat for a moment. He was surprised he wasn't lightheaded. Severus vaguely remembered being congested and the fever used to combat that, but the Blood Replenishing potion had probably been a good idea after all.

Winky handed him a cane. "Please be careful, Master. Have breakfast ready when you come back."

He winced as it hurt to pee, but no blood showed up. His body was still painted in shades of green and purple, and probably would be like that for a few days yet, but he was in much better condition than he'd expected. There was a chair in the bathroom, probably for whoever was caring for him.

He carefully sat down on it. Fortunately, he was in one of his usual nightshirts instead of those ridiculous patient gowns. The Weightless spell he'd used on himself at Grimmauld Place had some disadvantages. Snape took his wand and levitated the chair with him in it. He practiced moving it up in front of the mirror so he could wash and shave properly. Once that was done, he opened the door magically and cautiously maneuvered himself out. He bumped against the doorway once, but not very hard. It wasn't anywhere up to Flitwick's standard, but it worked.

Winky squealed. "Oh, you thinks of everything! You move around that way so well. Does magic tire you out?"

"Not as much as walking would," he said, and let the chair float down to the floor in front of the bed. "How is Potions class going?"

"_Two_ new teachers! Nice lady here not long ago for smaller ones, and tall man who talks like new Mistress Nurse for older students. They talks to you only if Headmaster say till you better." Then she hung her head. "I tells tall man to watch out for Mr. Cauldron-Go-Boom."

"Thank you," he said. Snape didn't think Allard Lowenstein could be spared from the clinic, but no doubt he had relatives. Perhaps the older brother who had pioneered the potions regime was here, and wouldn't mind comparing notes. At least Albus hadn't tried to teach.

"Please, Master, back to bed and eat nice breakfast?"

Snape grudgingly obeyed. Just this short trip had been hard work, and he really was hungry for something besides soup. He decided to leave the girdle charm on. If he wanted to digest something more substantial than coddled eggs and blancmange, he might need it.

As he ate, he tried to decide what he had dreamed and what he had truly seen. Severus felt most of the nightmares had been illusions, given he was unlikely to have left the infirmary. Unfortunately, he was quite certain what Bella had done to him had been real. He was terribly afraid his memory of Draco telling him about Madam Lestrange had also really happened, and meant precisely what he thought it did.

It was odd Moody had been here, though Winky had been clear on that. The old bastard would be happier if his family hadn't been killed by Grindelwald, or if he'd remarried, no doubt. Severus smiled to himself as he recalled the harsh voice saying, "Open wide, here comes the broom…"

As he chewed, he thought of Draco. It had been a long time since the boy had wept in his arms. That part might have been a dream. He shied away from thinking about Molly Weasley. The less he pried at that part of the fever, the better. If he really had said the things he thought he did, it was best they both pretended it had never happened.

"Winky," he said, "I need to talk to Mr. Malfoy when he's done with classes for today. He was in the infirmary, wasn't he?"

"Yes, Master," the elf said solemnly. "You have bad dream, but he wants to help. He likes it when you let him cry. You is so kind, Master."

"Well, not always. Mr. Longbottom doesn't think so, and neither do any of the Gryffindors. Speaking of which, did Mr. Cauldron-Go-Boom come by?" He remembered his promise to the bumbling student. _I can remember things, I can speak, I can understand what people say,_ he thought to himself. _I should enjoy it while it lasts._

"Yes, Master, last night, but you too sick. He wants to practice, but I say, not until you is better."

"Well, by tonight I should feel strong enough to work on a little grading in the office, if I'm careful, and you can help him in the laboratory next door. If the new teacher is agreeable, I can show him the filing system." It was logical enough for anyone to understand it, but if the man was not familiar with British equivalents to European terms, a little guidance might be helpful. Besides, if this wizard was the Magister's older brother, they could always trade stories on the glory of being a guinea pig.

He finished eating, drank his potion, and allowed Winky to remove a couple of the pillows. He had to let himself heal, though he grudged so much wasted time. Snape let his eyes close again.

_I am going to die._ Even if Flitwick was wrong about the timing, he still had a very short time to do all he wished. If the Charms Professor was right, he had almost none at all. _I have to make sure I'm never trapped in that wordless hell again,_ he thought. _Even if I'm bound to the Dark Lord after death, I can use my mind against _his_ Mark the way the dagger pierced both of us. But I'll be no use at all if I live on without thought._

He fought off the despair that threatened to engulf him. He didn't want to die, either. _I have to remember it's something that happens to everyone, even Dumbledore…eventually._ Severus knew many who had died at a much younger age than he was now. That idiot Potter might never see twenty, let alone thirty-six. Cedric Diggory and Gregory Goyle were already gone. Black, who had seemed vital and unstoppable, even while imprisoned in Grimmauld Place, had perished as well. James and Lily Potter had died when they weren't much older than their son was now. Evan Rosier had been tortured to death by the Ministry when only a few years further along than his niece and nephew were this year. Snape breathed deeply to clear his mind. Emotions would only stand in the way of what must be done.

He made a mental list. That often helped. Draco needed to know about the Muggle money and papers in the locked drawer in his desk. Flitwick wouldn't meddle, but perhaps it was best if Draco had what he needed in his hands now. Moody didn't need to know _everything,_ after all. The man in Knockturn Alley where he'd had his papers made was still in business, and it shouldn't cost too much for his godson to purchase his own set, the sooner the better.

Severus ticked off more items. Did he have time to take the sixth-year class through a complete batch of Wolfsbane in their Friday classes in the next few weeks? Would it be worth the trouble, or just a waste of ingredients? A few of the seventh-year students, such as Miss Chang, probably ought to participate. His timetable for the year was in tatters anyway, and it was more important to teach the students to brew the potion than to win the bet.

No doubt he'd be called upon to make the stuff for Avery, too, should the Death Eater remain at large. Snape knew he should be off the hook for the next full moon, though, as the brew was poisonous to anyone who _wasn't_ a werewolf. The Dark Lord would likely want to make sure Avery was actually going to change first. Severus idly wondered if the fellow would show up in disguise to Lupin's counseling group that met at St. Mungo's.

He thought of other obligations. _I need to do something for Poppy when she returns from hospital,_ he thought. _And for Hagrid, too. I didn't mean to hurt either one._ He sighed, and gave into sleep. He had to be strong enough to walk before completing any of his plans.

Severus woke up to see Albus as his bedside, with a substantial lunch for them both. "Headmaster," he said, as soon as his eyes opened. "Thank you." It was becoming less difficult by the day to say those words.

"Winky tells you have a new way of moving around," the old wizard said, obviously trying to be cheerful.

"Yes," Snape said. "I sit in a chair and levitate it to where I need to go. It feels odd to have lost a whole day, though I do feel better."

Albus nodded. "A fever spell like that is hard on both the healer and the patient," he said. "Frau Grussweiss told me you may have er, feelings, for Mrs. Weasley because of it. Don't worry," he added. "I'm not angry about that. Molly is part-maenad and so it's understandable some spells work differently with her than with others. In fact, Moody had an infection burnt out that way last year when there wasn't time to owl you for any potions, and he had the same problem for a week or so after. I, er, assisted him to see things more clearly when he found himself behaving badly around Arthur."

Severus knew himself on shaky ground here. "Headmaster, I can say with utter truth that my feelings today towards her are the same as they were at the beginning of school." _Yes. The same helpless longing, the desire to have that wonderful skin next to mine, and so on._

Fortunately his words rang true—as well they should, since they were. Dumbledore blinked and said, "I won't worry, then. If you do find yourself struggling, though, there is a spell that erases many compulsions, especially those born of such enchantment."

"Bewitchment, I think you mean," Severus said. "But if you wish to do the charm to negate anything like that, go ahead and do so. Any feelings which aren't real should be gone after that." He didn't think his would be affected, but if they were indeed induced by artificial means, that would mean he was vulnerable to that kind of manipulation from other sources as well. The war was still more important.

The ancient wizard brightened. "Close your eyes a moment."

Snape did so. He let himself think of Molly as she had appeared in his hazy memory of the day before. The test ought to be fair, after all. He listened to the Headmaster's chanting. The picture of her he had in his head appeared less glamorous and more like her normal self.

When Albus finished the spell, Snape remembered the tiny wrinkles around her eyes, the double chin threatening to go for a triple, and a few hairs on her upper lip.

None of them mattered to him a bit. He opened his eyes and suppressed a smile, delighted that he still loved her anyway. Of course he would have to remember she was a happily married woman, and not to him, but he'd been through that before. Just knowing that he cared for her, and not because of anything she'd done yesterday made him richer. In fact, hanging upside and being thumped on the back wasn't a bit romantic. But somehow, it was still love. This was easier than when he'd wanted Lily so much. Even a tiny morsel of hope had been enough to torture him then, and despising James Potter hadn't helped. This time, he knew from the beginning that she would never be his, while he had only respect for Arthur Weasley—far more now, in fact, than he'd ever had.

The Headmaster smiled. "There. How do you feel now?"

"Precisely the same as I did before I was injured," Severus said. He dare not show how happy he was about it.

Dumbledore waved his wand again, and then nodded. "I see. Now, I've been talking with the Magister, and he wants to know when you think you'll start the detoxicant again. He's working on healing and pain potions that will work better with the stuff. He's not used to any of his patients being quite so, ah, _active._ Master Lowenstein, the Magister's older brother, is teaching the older classes. The two of you should talk before he leaves. I'm sure you both have some good stories to trade about the process. But I would rather you rested for the next couple of days and didn't worry about anything before then."

Snape nodded. It was much simpler to agree, and then arrange matters the way he wished rather than argue. _I wished I had realized that much earlier,_ he thought ruefully. "A week from Saturday, I'll have to start the next batch of Wolfsbane. However, this time I will take Miss Granger as well as Mr. Malfoy through the entire procedure. This will be just as well if Avery turns out to be a werewolf and I need to begin making it for him. There is the possibility, of course, that the Dark Lord will _prefer_ having an active werewolf in his employ, but one never knows."

"Oh, dear. It seems you become more ill each time."

"Which is why I will be delighted to hand the job over to those students eager to do so once I feel they're competent," he said. "Making it _is_ tricky, but certainly not impossible. Draco's batch went into the potion that Lupin used along with his pack, and he had the idea about the Bubblehead Charm to reduce contamination of the brewer. I suspect Miss Granger will emerge from the process and begin an essay worthy of Potions Monthly, or even the Standard Archive. No doubt I will have to explain why half of her ideas could have a fatal outcome in either the brewer or the recipient, but I am looking forward to it. Perhaps this potion will never be reduced to Madam Tranh's automated process, but there is a possibility that parts of it can be. In fact—" he had an idea. "Perhaps I shall encourage her to consult with Miss Lovegood, and come back with no fewer than fifty ideas about the potion. One never knows." No doubt the increased dose of the mood enhancer from this morning had taken hold to make him this optimistic, but the Potions Master certainly had no objection to that for once.

Dumbledore smiled, and years dropped from his face. "Surely you can stop worrying about any immediate after-effects of the Ghost Dagger now," he said. "I should have cut down your workload years ago, and allowed you more time to just _think_."

"I'm certainly not going to argue with you about that," Snape said. "Is—how is Madam Pomfrey?"

"Much better. She should be home tomorrow night, but won't go back to duty till the next evening. Frau Grussweiss will be down here in an hour or so to look you over. I think she'll be pleasantly surprised by how fast you heal once you're through a crisis."

That was one thing he'd always been able to count on. "True. I'd just like to stop having them. I know, I know," he said ruefully.

Albus pressed his lips together, and then spoke. "However, you won't go back to teaching till you can convince Poppy you're well enough. She can see through you by now."

Snape remembered how many times he'd disregarded the woman, and kept his face still. He doubted he'd be able to pull that trick again. 'I'm surprised I'm not still up in the infirmary."

"Winky convinced your keeper that you'd sleep better in your own bed. I wish there was some way for you to enjoy some sun, though."

"Not at this time of year." Suddenly, he longed for bright weather again. It hadn't been so bad when he'd sat on those benches when forced to go out for fresh air. _I should have let myself do it more often, no matter how many branches were broken. Besides, most of them turned out to be from Peeves anyway, or so the Baron told me._

The strained look on the Headmaster's face let Severus know the old man was thinking the same thing he was—that he might never see the summer sun again. "I could send you to Australia for Christmas," Dumbledore said. "Or to Tahiti, perhaps. I am certain the Potions Guild has some sort of official gathering in the winter in a nice place."

Snape received brochures all the time, and knew they did. "I'd like that," he said, knowing he'd never be able to go. If he lived that long, he would have other obligations that would keep him here, or send him to the clinic in Switzerland. "I hated winters in Knockturn Alley," he added. "It was never warm enough, even living on an upper floor. It was always too hot in summer, but I had nowhere else to go till the Malfoys took me in. Speaking of which, how much does Narcissa know about what happened Saturday night?"

"She's sent another fruit basket. We put it over here, but you probably didn't notice it this morning. There's a note in that no one has opened yet." Albus gestured over towards the high chest of drawers in one corner. "I don't think Mr. Malfoy has said anything to her, and I told her you were exhausted from the hearing. I'm certain she suspects much more. I doubt her sister has bragged too much this time, because I have not heard any violent explosions."

Snape nodded. He began eating, though with little appetite. Anxiety was replaced by numbness, which he supposed was an improvement. "If you could bring what she sent over here, I would be much obliged."

The Headmaster wafted the basket over to the bedside stand. Severus plucked the envelope from the pointed embrace of the pineapple, then opened it. Narcissa was one of the few people he trusted not to hex his mail.

_Severus:_

_I am sorry you are so ill. I am certain Fudge's idiotic decision to hold the hearing when he did contributed to your current bout of sickness, and I have told him so already. I have, of course, dismissed any silly rumors in the air. My sister is prone to exaggeration._

_I do hope you recover soon. Perhaps those Swiss have it all wrong, and their regimen is actually making you sick instead of otherwise. Or perhaps you need to undergo treatment in residence and be allowed to have sufficient rest. It's obvious your attempt to maintain a normal workload under these conditions isn't working. I know some rather nice spas that would be happy to have your business should you need a bit of a pick-me-up. Sometimes it's good just to go away, isn't it?_

_Your fee has been transferred to your account at Gringotts. Do feel free to spend it on restoring your health. I would suggest a sea voyage, except I know your digestion would be badly affected. Surely the Headmaster would understand if you require treatment elsewhere. I'm glad you have gone to the clinic when you've needed to, though. I know about that little bet you have about the Wolfsbane Potion, but really, can't that wait a bit?_

_You have friends who want you to regain your strength. We have seen how much you have endured this year. Do let me know if you would like my advice._

_Narcissa Malfoy_

It appeared to be a polite note, but to Snape it shrieked a warning. Narcissa wanted him out of England for his own safety, and was more than willing to help him find a suitable hiding place. She clearly didn't understand that the Dark Lord could summon him from the other side of the world. Granted, Karkaroff might have lived longer had he stayed in Durmstrang. Their wards were quite strong as well. However, Snape knew what it was like to be a prisoner of Hogwarts, and had no desire to face _that_ fate. Perhaps it was just as well he didn't really have a choice. If given one, he would prefer to die fighting, rather than trapped the way Igor had been.

He sighed, and folded the paper. "She wishes me well and thinks I'd be safer somewhere else. I'm sure she's right. Unfortunately, I've made my choice already. Running would not help."

"I wish it would," Albus said, looking older than ever.

Severus noticed a small package tucked in between the cantaloupe and the persimmon. He opened it as well, along with the small card attached to it. _Happy Birthday to the bravest man I know—Narcissa_, was the inscription, and the gilt box held a small key glued between two pieces of thin rice-paper. _Undoubtedly a Portkey,_ he thought, _but to where?_ Yet he could easily imagine circumstances that would motivate him to use it without knowing his destination.

"I should be careful with that, if I were you," the Headmaster said.

"I shall." Snape put the key and the card back into the box, and the box back into the basket. "Nobody will disturb it there for now." He picked up at his lunch and suppressed childish thoughts about his birthday. Given how sullen he'd been about attempted celebrations in the past, no doubt they thought they were doing him a favor by letting it pass this year. In fact, Albus and the others might have scheduled something, only to have it interrupted.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, "you don't have to pretend everything is all right. You shouldn't have to choke back everything you feel just to please me, or to make me think all is well just so I'll leave you alone."

He set his fork down, a morsel of food still on it. "I remember how I cursed you to your face last summer just before I was summoned," the Potions Master said softly. "You've done everything you can to help me since then. Albus, I know you hate my tantrums. _I_ hate my tantrums. It's stupid to throw a fit over something so trivial. My real birthday present is on that table in the corner anyway." He hated the quaver in his voice. "Considering how many times I've received gifts with such bad grace, I'm amazed anyone wants to give me anything."

"Late on Saturday night, you gave me something I've wanted for years." The old wizard bowed his head. "When I came into the infirmary, Harry told me about the hexes on you, and how he couldn't hear any words in your thoughts when he'd done _Legilimens._ You were so frightened I could almost smell it, but the moment you saw me, you smiled and let me stroke your hair. I…I couldn't believe you still trusted me. I won't try it now, or anything like it. But it meant a lot to me to see how you really feel."

Snape remembered more of that night now. He'd been panicked by Lupin's presence and uncertain about Potter's, even though the two of them had helped him. Dumbledore's appearance, though, had meant safety…and love. There. He could actually think the word without it meaning a trap to convince him to do things. "Thank you," he said in a whisper, letting his hair fall in front of his face in that dreadful old habit. "I'm…I'm not used to hearing that kind of thing for free, if that makes any sense." He was lucky Mrs. Weasley hadn't been angry with him yesterday, either, for saying things no proper married woman ought to hear from someone not her husband.

"I'm afraid it does," Albus said. "And it's still not free. You keep paying, and paying, till someday there won't be anything left."

Severus took a deep breath. "It's too late to quit the game now. I can't abandon Draco and the others, even if I felt like telling the Order where to put it. Ha-Mr. Potter will need all the help he can gather if his mission is to succeed." Then he swallowed, and said what he really thought. "I wish I could have a party like Lupin did. If they can pretend to not hate me for one night, I'll pretend, too." Now he really felt childish.

The Headmaster nodded. "We were trying to arrange something for this weekend, but other things ended up in the way. I'll speak to Mrs. Weasley, if she has any spare time between her other duties. After all, you haven't really had much chance to celebrate your birthday—or much of anything, really. Do you think you can endure two parties without too much strain?" The ancient wizard smiled to take the sting out of his remark.

"I'll force myself somehow," he said, surprised to be taken seriously. He ate a few more bites of the tasty stew and then had to stop. "I'll have the rest later this afternoon," he said. "It is good. I just don't have room for any more right now." The potatoes and other vegetables were quite soft, and the broth tasted of the meat he probably wasn't allowed yet. Perhaps he would order more special items from the kitchen once he was well again. It would be nice to enjoy food while he could.

Dumbledore put a quick charm over the remainder and put the cover back on the bowl. "I hope the appetite enhancer works soon. That reminds me, you should take it now."

Snape nodded and drank the vial. "I have to say, I don't mind having a week without the detoxicant. I probably should have had it on Saturday, but as things turned out, it was just as well. It's…it's difficult sometimes."

"And you probably have become habituated to some extent to the ones for the side-effects," Albus said. "Not that there is anything wrong with that under the circumstances. Remember what I said. If you need help, I truly mean to give it. I have seen how you've changed, Severus, and it's clear the potions _are_ helping. Don't give them up out of any sense of obligation."

"If I live long enough to finish the regime, I'll be needed on night patrol again. At that time I should probably begin tapering off the sedative, at least." He liked to think there could _be_ an afterwards, even if it was a short one.

"We'll look at that when the time comes. Mr. Potter and his friends are wandering much less often this year. The Ministry Raid taught them that it isn't a game any more. Minerva has increased the safeguards on the dormitory this year to nearly the level you have on your students. I know, I know, that should have been done decades ago." The Headmaster rose. "I want you to rest now. I'm glad you aren't trying to grade or anything like that."

"I may try a little tonight, depending on how I feel." He knew what the old wizard would think of him trying to supervise Longbottom's brewing, even though he would be in the other room, and decided it wasn't worth arguing over.

"I hope you don't. I know it needs to be done, and neither Madam Tranh or Master Lowenstein can really track the progress of your students the way you do. Please wait a few days, though. I'll ask for some volunteers for the lower form essays. Miss Granger is biting her fingernails with boredom from her truncated schedule this year, while the usual Ravenclaws are eager for extra points. Please listen to Frau Grussweiss. She'll be down in an hour or so to look you over. And Severus…" He looked down at the Potions Master. "Don't feel you have to pretend _all_ the time. You're our friend, scowl and all."

For a moment, Snape almost believed him. Then he sighed, and said a polite farewell. It was hard to change after so many years of thinking he was tolerated only for his expertise in potions and his willingness to risk his life for the Order. It had never made sense when Albus tried to convince him that others did care for him. _I've done my best to drive them away over the years,_ he thought, _yet everyone here left a token to save my life. I remember how the others, how Lucius used my need for companionship to use me. I sometimes wondered if that was true here as well._

_And last year I thought no one cared at all, except Poppy or Molly Weasley._ He knew he had changed, though, whether from botched memory work, the Swiss potions, or simply coming close to death too many times. Had everyone here changed as well, or only his perception of them? Maybe it didn't matter. _It's quite possible I don't need to put every relationship under a magnifying glass, and simply accept the way things are._

The Order was a different story, of course. Only Molly gave a brass farthing for him at Grimmauld Place, and she mothered everyone. He was glad of it now. Yet the house itself had felt different to him the few times he'd gone there. Of course, Sirius Black's absence lifted one shadow all by itself. He snorted to himself in the quiet bedroom. He ought to have shown his maturity and managed the man. Without him, though, the others were less likely to find fault, or at least had the decency to keep their opinions to themselves.

That didn't matter. Not any more. He'd endure even Black for Molly's sake. Any crumbs that dropped from her table would be enough for him. _I ought to be more embarrassed that I said so much yesterday, but it doesn't bother me that much right now. Of course, I'll pretend I don't remember for her sake. She deserves that much, and so much more. _He closed his eyes and warmed his heart with the thought of everything she deserved. _It's a delusion, but I rather like it._

Self-control was the important thing. It was his anger and bitterness that drove others away. It had only been when he'd been strong enough to hide them that others showed how much they cared.

_That's why I have to go back on the potions regime as soon as I can. Lowenstein is probably right about the effects of all the mistakes I've inhaled. Every time I puke more black glop out of me means less poison inside of me._

He opened his eyes after hearing someone's gentle cough. Snape realized his wards must be down, and Winky acting as door-keeper, since Dumbledore had arrived without his noticing it as well.

Malachite stood there. "Please sit," he said. The Malfoys had trained him in manners, and sometimes he cared to remember the lessons.

"Ah. You look better," she said as she stiffly lowered herself to the chair. She took her wand out and held it over him. "You are better, too. Your Winky, she tells me how you cleverly come back from the bathroom this morning. I think it is time you walk a little, but with the girdle spell on."

Snape sat up, carefully stood, and took a couple of steps. The woman hovered nearby, obviously worried he might fall, though he had a good grip on one of the handholds between his bed and the lavatory. He'd done this before, and knew when to let go of the back of the chair and reach for a shelf at just the right height a couple of steps along.

"You have been injured before, to know how to find these supports," she observed.

"Some," he said. He reached the bathroom and quickly closed the door before she could enter with him. He lost enough of his privacy when he was sick or hurt.

Again, his urine was clear. He must have been on a liquid diet till this morning, since his bowels felt empty. Snape was glad of the Headmaster's charm. He sat and rested for a couple of minutes before walking back. Ever since the Dark Lord's return he'd regained his expertise at managing pain and physical debility.

Severus stood up and tottered back, though he left the products of his endeavor in the lavatory so Malachite could examine them if she wished. She ducked into the lavatory as soon as he left it to do so, flushed the toilet, and then emerged. The mediwitch smiled at him as if encouraging a wayward toddler to behave as he lay back down on the bed. "That is much better than I expected," she said. "You should not strain, but take a potion if you become blocked up. Your diet should not cause trouble, but one never knows, especially since the sedative may calm your insides down too much. You heal more quickly than others, even without help from potions. From all accounts, this is a good thing. But the mind does not always follow along as quickly. Too many injuries, even if healed well, leave shadows behind."

"Poppycock," he said, and scowled. He'd wanted to use that phrase every time Madam Pomfrey mentioned that theory herself.

The old woman raised one eyebrow, then seated herself. "I have seen it, Herr Professor. During the Grindelwald war there were those hurt more often than was good for them. Their bodies were restored over and over again, but their hearts became numb. Some of them hid themselves in their minds if they could not do so any other way."

"But things weren't so bad till a couple of years ago," he blurted out.

"I have read your file," she said in a gentle voice. "Even before this new war truly began you have been hurt badly too often. How many injuries are not in the files, Madam Pomfrey does not know, but she writes she believes there are many. She is concerned you have not healed properly from those. In fact, she is still concerned about the head knock you received a few years ago. She was glad you showed so much ill-temper that she had to sit you down in her office."

"Where I promptly threw up on her desk," he said, still humiliated by that memory.

"A common side-effect of concussion," Malachite said. "For which you took a potion, and you felt better afterwards. You should have gone to hospital and seen a specialist, but you refused."

"That damned werewolf was still at the school," he said bitterly. "What was I supposed to do, leave the students defenseless? I never slept a moment till Lupin was away from the grounds. I was _glad_ to notify the students what sort of teacher they had! Albus finally saw the light and made sure he left, but of course he managed it so I received the blame for the Trio losing a professor who nearly ate them!" Severus was surprised at the outburst. He thought he had already dealt with the issue.

"Yes. And he is here again this year, and you become ill every time you make the potion for him. You collapse in fear when you do not make the potion, so perhaps this is better, but not much. You have only a minor blow to the head from a couple of days ago, yet I fear you have never quite recovered from all the rest. Each one makes things worse, and it is not just this old hex that could leave you in dire straits."

"There isn't much I can do about it," he said. "Poppy has been working with me so I'm not so afraid of the wolf, and it is better than it was." He told her his dream of seeing everyone at Hogwarts as a furry creature, including Winky as a big-eyed pup. "And when I had a vision like that at Malfoy Manor and suddenly saw Madam Umbridge that way, I simply couldn't take it seriously any more." Snape hated the way he shook, though.

"Go under the covers, now," she said. As he did so, she tucked him in and kept talking. "The Headmaster did you no favors by keeping you here, no matter what your Ministry does. You should have gone away from England, perhaps, once the first part of this war was over. I suspect you have too many bad memories of this place, and it cannot help. I think he feared you would not come back when needed. He is a good man, but he does not think what harm he causes to those he uses, or if he does, believes a few lemon drops can cure it."

Severus opened his mouth to protect, but couldn't find the words. "It is too late now."

"Only if you think it so. You may still be the sacrifice, but you may ask a great deal of him, and he will be glad to give it to you. Find something you want more than anything else. He shall not be able to deny it to you."

"She's married to someone else and would never leave him," he said, astonished at his own bluntness.

"Ah. When I learned the woman was part-maenad this morning I was no longer surprised to learn her spells are so effective," Malachite said. "I am surprised, though, that Albus does not warn you about this."

The Potions Master smirked. "He erased what the fever spell caused, but there isn't much he can do about what was there beforehand." He stopped smiling. "Actually, there is. I just hope he doesn't want to." He'd said far too much.

"Ah. Then love her anyway, with all your heart," Malachite said with a sad smile. "There is too little of it in this world. Love was what defeated Grindelwald, in the end. Perhaps it shall help destroy this new monster as well. Enjoy the warmth of the fire while it lasts, even if the hearth is borrowed. I am able to keep secrets, too. Do not fear Albus will hear of this from me."

He turned his face away, embarrassed at revealing so much. "Thank you," he said stiffly.

"Now you shall rest. You may walk around this room and to the bathroom and back, but keep the girdle spell on when you do. When you go to sleep tonight, leave the charm off. Your insides are stronger than they were, and must grow stronger yet. Also, drink a great deal of water. Your kidneys were in the line of fire and must heal. Water will help that. I cannot say what to do about your most injured part except to let it rest. You will not feel like doing much in that way for a couple of weeks, and the first time or two will probably hurt. The witch who struck you there must have been quite angry."

"_That_ memory is blurred," he said, and was rather grateful for it.

Malachite nodded. "Let us hope it stays so. When you feel desire once more, there will be pain most likely as well. I am sorry my nephew has found so few potions to help you that work with his regime. He has finally realized that people on it will sometimes become injured or ill. You have been helpful to him that way, as he must now find out how to make his potions work for everyone with poison in the blood, not just those who can stay in his clinic a long time. I will remind him about this. I hope you and Klaus have time to speak while he is here. He attempted to continue his research during the time he was an experiment, and that was when Allard decided to keep his program in residence. Yet that shall not work, for many cannot afford to leave their work for months, or have families to consider."

"I know some who wouldn't dare, since the Ministry would probably want to find out what they'd been brewing," Snape said. 'I'm sure your nephew's tests have told him more about what I've been up to than I would like to know, too."

The old woman smiled. "You are probably right. Allard has not said anything to me, and does those tests himself, as Johann talks too much to his friends. I shall go now. Rest for today, and do little tomorrow. I shall allow some walking outside your room then. But take your chair with you, and levitate when you are tired. Your elf is very pleased you thought of that, and now my Gerry is urging it on me. If you live as long as I have, you may have problems with your bones."

_Well, that's one problem I don't have to worry about,_ he thought wryly. "I'm glad to see I'm not the only one under the thumb of an elf," Severus said. "We have a student here who's worried about their rights in the Magical world. I wish someone would arrange for her to be owned by one for a while."

Malachite laughed, then turned sober. "She would be more at ease if she learned more of their history. It seems like coincidence that bad masters and mistresses end up in trouble, but sometimes I wonder if ancient magic is involved. But I am talking too much." She stood up and patted him on the cheek. "I hope to see the day you become entirely well."

"I do, too," he said, forcing himself not to flinch at the touch.

The older witch left. His first impulse was to struggle over to his lie-back chair in the parlor and pretend to grade while actually dozing in the front of the fireplace. His second one was to close his eyes and consider how many of the older students he could bribe or threaten into doing it instead. He drifted in and out of sleep for most of the afternoon with visions of handing out detentions that would result in piles of graded essays.

Snape finally awoke fully when it was nearly dinnertime. Winky dogged his steps as he walked a little in his bedroom. The elf finally agreed he could wear actual robes, as opposed to a nightshirt for his evening meal. Once his tray arrived, she even allowed him to eat sitting up in the parlor by himself while she went over to the Potions classroom and laid things out for Mr. Longbottom. She had objected and said the boy might not show up, but he knew better. Only the Gryffindor's incredible stubbornness had kept him in the class when anyone else would have fled years ago.

Severus was glad he was dressed and sitting in the chair when Draco came in.

His godson's face lit up, and he sat on the couch. "Professor! You look a lot better."

"I feel better." He searched the boy's face and found a shadow beneath the forced good cheer. "How are you?"

"Fine."

"Is Miss Parkinson angry with you?" He knew what the Death Eaters considered entertainment had ruined many relationships less hardy than the Lestrange marriage.

Draco made a wry face. "Won't speak to me. I tried talking to her on Sunday just…just after I'd seen you. She didn't want to say much. Still doesn't. And I've seen her talking to Avery, Ted Nott, and Macnair since then. She was going to sit with Crabbe this morning at breakfast, but one look from Bulstrode and she decided not to. I…oh, Merlin, I hope she hasn't figured it out, but she might have."

"Figured out about what, Draco? What precisely did you say to her on Sunday?"

"Probably too much. I was stupid and decided that a bottle Father sent me was just the cure for the shakes."

"Who gave you a _Crucio_? How bad was it?" It worried him to know so little.

"It was _him_, after I'd Apparated back to see if I could help the others. I was commended for my loyalty, and zapped for stupidity all at the same time. It was bad, but I know it could have been worse." Draco held out his hands. They were steady. "See? No permanent harm."

"You should have said something. Some of the potion I use—well, used to use for it—is in the infirmary." Snape didn't like knowing the boy had endured the curse enough to know it could be worse. "How many times have you had it?" He'd never been able to convince Lucius that caning was idiotic; it was a Malfoy tradition, and Lucius had a few scars of his own. But no one should hex his own child with an Unforgivable.

"Three, I think," his godson said. "Father was drunk and didn't mean to do it that hard, at least that's what he said later, but I'd really screwed up then, too. I've…I've never had it as bad as you have." He bit his lip and turned his face away. "I hope I never do."

"I hope so, too," Severus said in a calm voice. "The next time this happens you need to let me know." He remembered the boy weeping on his chest, now. "You visited the infirmary when they did the fever spell, I think."

Draco flushed pink. "I was trying to stop the nightmare you were in, sir. I didn't mean to act like a baby. I didn't know you still remembered one of the times when Father caned me and I couldn't behave the way…the way a Malfoy ought to."

_One of those times, you were ten years old,_ Snape thought. _At least I could howl all I wanted to when it was my turn. In fact, my beatings at home were worse when I tried to keep silent. But learning how to do so was good training for Slytherin, where only my pride allowed me any standing at all after the Marauders had so much sport with me._ "You have exceeded _my_ expectations, Draco, and your father should be proud of you as well. I only fear he will be happy about the wrong things. Have you spoken with the Headmaster yet about the events of this weekend?"

"He called me into his office on Sunday afternoon. Moody was there. The old bas—um, the Auror didn't even yell at me. He said I could Floo him and find out more about the spy business."

"You should take advantage of the opportunity. I will, of course, teach you all I know, but he's stayed alive during times even worse than this." If Draco formed any kind of bond with Mad-Eye, he was far more likely to survive the Order's victory intact. "I know you don't have pleasant memories of him, but it really was Barty Crouch Jr. who turned you into a ferret."

"You weren't happy the year you thought Moody was a teacher here, either."

"No. I wasn't. We deal well enough together these days." Snape would rather not relive his captivity on Azkaban. No wonder he'd had nightmares about it yesterday. He forced a brief smile. "You will learn a great deal from him I can't teach you, though."

"Father said he was your interrogator there, and that it wasn't fair to you to have him there teaching. He was upset about it, and said for me not to make trouble, because it would probably bounce back on you." His godson shook his head. "I wish I'd listened."

For a moment, it came back to him. Dementors sucking the life from him, wondering if the memory of Dumbledore agreeing to help him was real, and Moody's quiet voice and black bag full of…things. Pain and potions and agonized answers to patiently repeated questions. The guard's laughter when he'd been told a Dementor was waiting for him at last. His hands…they'd hurt so much, even while they were healing.

But of course when he'd objected to working with Mad-Eye, _he_ had been the one in the wrong. He still had a hard time forgiving Albus for that.

"Professor?"

"Ah. Lost in thought a moment," he said. Today he had to face reality and help Draco survive. The oath the boy had taken with Phoenix Breath would make it difficult for Moody, or any member of the Order, to do _that_ to his godson.

"I'm sorry, godfather, I shouldn't have said anything."

"I'll manage. If you'll help me up, there's something I need to show you." He took the boy's arm as he stood. They walked together over to his office.

Snape sat down and opened the locked drawer, and showed Draco how to do so as well. He scooped up the packets of letters and showed what was hidden beneath. He failed to mention that the packets would give any but the recipient a nasty shock. "I have Muggle papers as well as money that isn't in my vault, or on anyone's books. You need to obtain a set yourself."

"The whole family has them," Draco said. "Father took care of that years ago. They're in one of the lockboxes in the Manor."

"You need a set your father doesn't know about," Severus said. "If I don't survive, the money in here is yours, along with the passbook to another account in Switzerland."

The boy turned pale, and looked at the packets again. "I hope I never have to touch it."

"I hope so, too, but I feel better knowing you can draw on it."

"I remember what you told me Sunday morning, godfather. I won't let you end up on Knockturn Alley, if, if my aunt hexes you like that again and no one can fix it."

"Sit down," Snape said.

Draco obeyed, and then bowed his head. "I thought it was some side effect of it yesterday, till they told me why they used a fever spell," he said. "I think I understand why you stopped holding me when I grew older, now. Back then, I thought I'd done something wrong."

Snape remembered when he'd stopped any physical contact with the boy. "It was never you," he said absently, as he laid back in his leather chair. "Never. I was worried about _me—_" He'd never felt any sort of attraction for Draco, but the possibility had bothered him.

His godson laughed. "I'd rather do it with you than Aunt Bella again, I can tell you that!"

"Well, you don't have to worry about that. After her hex it'll be quite some time before I manage any sort of social life again."

Draco walked over and embraced him too quickly for Snape to dodge it. The hug felt like affection and warmth, with no overtones of anything else. Severus reached out and briefly returned it. It felt safe.

The boy sat down on a chair by the desk in the office and looked as happy as he had when he'd caught the Snitch late Saturday afternoon. "I won't ask to be a child any more, godfather. I know you're accused of favoritism with me as it is."

"Thank you. There are those who would put their own twist on things, too. I savor the tiny sliver of good reputation I still have left."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"I must do so always. Ten years ago, a girl accused me of taking advantage. I was able to fight it, but only because I was known for being careful, and because someone else was in the hall while I kept the door open. There are some lines I will not cross."

Draco looked sober. "Will _they_ ever use that against you?"

Poppy had asked the same question. "Then I will die. Inner Circle or not, I will die." That decision had always been simple, and one thing he had been pleased to let the Dark Lord find in his mind. Snape always had the feeling You-Know-You had always been happy about that, though he had always been intelligent enough not to wonder why where Riddle could hear.

The boy bit his lip. "I remember, that first meeting my aunt killed a child. I wish I had backed out then. Vince and Greg, and probably Pansy, might have followed me. Some of the other students would have stayed, though."

"I know." Then Snape heard someone talking to Winky. "I hate to say this, but you had better go back to the common room, or your dorm. If that's Longbottom, you'd feel obliged to sneer at him, he'd cloud up, and I'm just too tired for that tonight."

"I've pulled back on that a lot this year," Draco said. He stood. "But you're right, it's a temptation I find hard to resist. Take care of yourself, godfather, and don't let him blow anything up tonight." He held out his hand to shake.

Severus took it, glad of this small human contact. After all these years of wanting only to crawl into a hole and pull it in after him, it felt odd to crave the touch of others. Only a few nights ago, he'd cringed from Poppy, and he knew she was safe.

He sat back down and rested, and then lit more lamps in the room with a wave of his wand. Soon after he heard a knock on the door. "Come in," he said. Half of Slytherin would come by to see him once they knew he was out of bed. And why not? They deserved reassurance, too.

Neville Longbottom walked in. He was clearly trying hard to look confident, but the sweat on his forehead gave him away. Snape was tempted to whisper "Boo!" and find out how high the Gryffindor would jump, but decided it would just interfere with the lesson tonight.

"Mr. Longbottom," the Potions Master said. "I am pleased you consider this important enough to keep trying. I was told you attempted to see me last night."

"Yes, sir," the student said. "Winky told me you were still too sick. She said that you should have gone back to the clinic when some of your potions didn't work right. I heard about the hearing for Harry, too. That probably didn't help."

"No. It did not," Snape said. "Have you begun work on your own set of tiles yet?"

"They're just pieces of paper so far," the boy said. "I made up some symbols for things we do that aren't on the old ones."

"Good." Snape noticed the dazed look in Longbottom's eyes, and wondered which one of them was hallucinating this civil encounter. "I want you to work on some first year potions with those tiles tonight, but only the ones on the list." He'd counted up the ones that the boy had been able to brew successfully and without dire consequences from that year. No doubt there was a pattern, but he hadn't been able to find one yet. "I believe it will be easier to learn how to manage the tiles properly if you use them at first to lay out the procedure for a potion you have done before. Winky has set up the main table in the laboratory next door where you will work. She will help and watch. She is intensely curious, so do try to answer her questions. I will be here for the next two hours, trying to wade through these papers." He thought of something, and summoned Dobby. The elf appeared immediately. "For tonight, Dobby will also watch. He knows how to intervene if an emergency occurs."

The elf grimaced when hearing this assignment. "Dobby keeps Master Severus from blowing up Malfoy Manor long ago."

Longbottom looked astonished.

"Yes, I am certain you will be amused to hear you are not the only one capable of causing trouble. Winky will help, Dobby will observe, and with any luck I won't have to leave this room. Do we understand one another?"

"Yes, sir!" Longbottom exited the room hastily, Dobby in his wake. If something _did_ happen, Dobby could contain the situation and give him time to deal with it properly. He had to remember he was disabled for now, and take precautions for the safety of others. He disliked taking Dobby away from his free time or his duties, but keeping a student alive was more important. Besides, Winky could help Dobby tomorrow while he slept.

Snape pulled out his pen and summoned a huge pot of red ink. He really shouldn't attempt much speed tonight, though some of the essays were from several weeks back. He also Accio'd his chart of detentions. Anyone whose handwriting he couldn't read would be assigned to doing lines in the faint hope the exercise would improve their legibility. Those making fatal mistakes in their essays would be assigned to cleaning up the errors of others in the evenings. Of course, theoretically he wasn't supposed to assign detentions simply for poor writing, but some of his apparent arbitrariness in class came from knowing the names of students who desperately needed such remedial work. Slytherins, of course, were simply put on the List in the common room without the need for such ruses. He'd have to update that fairly soon; his Snakes had been slacking, no doubt, without that spur.

As he began reading the essays, he despaired of ever knocking sense into the little dunderheads. Miss Marcher's proposals at least had the virtue of being original, though he was certain any practical demonstration would be exciting for her and everyone around her. However, that was still an improvement over mindless copying of a neighbor, or prattling half-remembered sections of the textbook. _That reminds me,_ he thought. _I was going to write a better one. _For a moment, he just sat with head bowed, overwhelmed by all the tasks before him.

He looked up to notice a looming figure in front of his desk. "My aunt tells me you have no sense about resting when you are ill, and I see she is right," the man said.

Snape observed the wizard. He was tall, with craggy features only slightly resembling those of his brother, and with no beard. Well, no brewer worth his salt or harboring a wish to remain among the living grew one. "Master Lowenstein, I presume?" he said.

The new teacher inclined his head and gestured towards the lab. "Already a student is in difficulty?"

"Has been since the first year he came here and began racing towards the All-Hogwarts Cauldron Melting Record," Snape said dryly. "That is Mr. Longbottom in there."

"And you do not put wards all around him to avoid his explosions?"

The Potions Master winced at the hint of censure. "A house elf who has been trained in emergency procedures is overseeing him. If Dobby can manage my little experiments, he should have no trouble tonight. Winky is there to assist as necessary. Mr. Longbottom is attempting to learn tiles, but only with first year potions. None of them should be particularly lethal even if mishandled." He really should be in there, but he knew the boy would make _more_ mistakes in his presence. "Since he made an O on his Potions O.W.L. last year, it is clear he can brew adequately out of my direct supervision."

"I had not thought of using elves in such a way," Lowenstein said, looking thoughtful. "My brother, of course, has them for most routine tasks, but rarely do they take responsibility of this kind."

"I do not believe their capabilities have been tested to their limits," Snape said. He leaned back in his chair and rested. "I would be happy if Dobby can teach Winky much of what he knows. He was the elf of a friend of mine when I was younger, and I was allowed some space for experimentation in a warded area. Not all of it went well. Dobby showed he could contain some reactions long enough for me to correct matters. I learned some effective charms that manage the same thing, but I would like Winky to learn some of Dobby's. Please be seated, Master Lowenstein. I'm certain you've had a much longer day than I have."

The other Potions Master did so. "My aunt wishes me to tell you how much better you will feel when my brother's treatment is over. My brother wishes me to tell you some of his mistakes. I tried to work while being dosed, and it became impossible. This is why Allard opened the clinic. I do not understand why you are not resting."

"I shall rest better knowing Mr. Longbottom is not quite as deadly as he could be. Also, all these essays feel like a physical weight sometime." He waved at the tottering stacks. "You and Madam Tranh would need a translation spell to read all this, and yes, I do know you both speak and read English. However, these papers are written in a language all their own which only slightly resembles that used by adults." _I want to leave a clean slate behind for whoever comes after me,_ he thought.

"Ah, yet another who thinks himself irreplaceable," Lowenstein said.

"I know better." The silence hung for a moment. Snape broke it again. "Well, what other sorts of problems with the treatment may I expect? I am already acquainted with the terrifying effect the detoxicant has on my digestive system, throwing up black glop at threshold, and discovering we must make do without most potions when I'm hurt. Oh, yes, and the glory and wonder of what brewing Wolfsbane does to me on this regime. Are there any more surprises lying in wait I should know about?"

The other teacher shrugged. "You have listed most of them. However, I have noticed that the mood-lifter reacts nicely with a decoction of chamomile and has an effect I did not expect, but liked immensely. That may not work for you that way, but one never knows."

This was one reason why he missed Potions conventions. Swapping recipes and side-effects after the actual seminars were over formed the most interesting part of any gathering for him. Of course, one had to take such gossip with a grain of salt, because some of the people had indulged in their own brews for a little too long, but all knowledge was helpful in some respect.

He nodded. "In a couple of years, the Weasley twins will probably start going to various conferences. Be extremely careful what you eat or drink then."

"I always am. They are not the only ones with an interesting sense of humor. It…it would be helpful to my brother if you could come to one next summer and be Exhibit A for him."

"If I can, I will," Snape said. "I'll even behave in a civilized manner to impress everyone with the efficacy of the treatment, too."

Lowenstein laughed harshly. "Then you are ahead of me. I had many things to say when I stood up next to Allard, and few of them were kind. However, I am better than I was. I do not blame you for having a rest week. I should have two of them if I were you, especially since you are not in bed the way my great-aunt says you should be."

"I am quite comfortable here," Severus said. "I have worn the chair to fit me by now, and it will lean back a bit more, though if I do I will certainly fall asleep. That is not always wise when Mr. Longbottom is anywhere near a cauldron."

"I have seen his file, and the way the other students watch him," the other wizard said. "I had an apprentice once like that, and I sent her to an Herbologist. For some reason, such like that tend to be good with plants. I don't know why that is."

Snape nodded. "He'll probably end up as an apprentice to Professor Sprout. She's the sort of person who talks to plants, and then stops to listen. I don't dare, as mine would only argue with me."

"Ha! I suppose they would."

"Are you having trouble finding ingredients or anything else? Winky won't mind helping if I ask her to, and if I promise not to wander off any time she leaves my rooms," he said.

"The files are easy. You have a good system. I am still trying to decide how you organize the supply cabinet until late this afternoon, and then I realize that you are keeping things apart from each other for good reason. They are more awkward to find, but safer in the small space you are given for all you must have. The very tall young lady seems to be able to gather items quickly despite that, however, though she lets a shorter boy reach for lower shelves while she directs him."

_That worked out better than I thought,_ Snape mused. _Mr. Potter is respectful of either her gender or her Beater Club. Perhaps the boy is learning after all._ "Some ingredients do not play well with others," he said. The Potions Master listened for a moment, and was pleased to hear only soft murmurs. So far no screams, explosions, or the dreaded "Oops" had caught his ear.

"Well, I shall leave you," Lowenstein said. "I will not carry tales to my aunt, but I suggest you should be in bed in about a half an hour, as she may come down to tuck you in fairly soon. The procedure my brother has devised is better than it was, and I am more healthy for it. You will be, too."

"I've seen results already," Severus admitted. "I am thinking more clearly and losing my temper less often. Around here, that counts for a lot."

"Yes, you must have been badly poisoned to notice a difference before things are halfway over. My brother already has a card signed by some students thanking him for his efforts to help you. Once it is done, you should expect to be tested once a year, and perhaps undergo a modified version of this a few years from now. I am more careful because, to be honest, once is enough."

"A student of mine wanted to use the Bubblehead Charm when I took him through a batch of the Wolfsbane with me. Now, there are stages where that is dangerous, but I have to admit, it helped during the final brewing overall. I will take him and another student through the next batch, starting in a week or so, and I expect even more suggestions then."

"I think you are insane to take my brother's bet," Lowenstein said, "yet I look forward to seeing the results. I wish to put a claim on a few of the children you teach here already for my lab, and my brother will probably want the rest for the Institut. No wonder your country is still so eminent in the craft."

"You flatter me, sir," Snape said, who actually didn't mind the compliment a bit. "We'll see who hasn't blown themselves up by the end of the year first, or signed contracts with the Weasleys twins."

The other wizard stood, nodded, and left. "Remember, in half an hour," he warned as he left the office.

Soon the clock chimed that two hours had passed. He realized that he was exhausted just sitting up so long. _I need to regain my endurance, but it won't be tonight,_ Snape thought. He sat on the student chair and levitated it to the lab with him in it. Mr. Longbottom was washing up and looking pleased with himself. A couple of filled vials showed that potions had been made, and judging by their color, might even be usable.

He really had been taking a risk by allowing the brewing to go on without his supervision, even with Dobby to help. _But the boy showed he could manage without mine, anyway, during his O.W.L. It's my own fault my presence causes him so much trouble. Miss Granger would be nearly as bad, since she's in the habit of fixing anything he does without even thinking about it by now. The Headmaster would likely be better, but he has many other things on his plate._ "How did it go this evening?"

Dobby nodded, and disappeared. Snape was glad the elf had been here.

"Just fine, professor," the boy said, waving his wand to clean up the rest of a small spill on the floor. "I had to mark things on my papers as I went so I'd remember for sure that I did them, but it doesn't take much time to fix up more of them."

Winky piped up. "I say I can tell him what he did, Master, but he say he needs to do this by himself."

"Quite right," the Potions Master said. "Mr. Longbottom, doesn't your Rememberall glow red whenever you forget something?"

"Yes, sir, but it never tells what I've forgotten!" The boy chewed his lip. "Not much help there." He looked down at his squares of paper. "And these move around in any kind of breeze. I need the tiles, but I can't mark them when I'm done with whatever I did."

Snape knew what needed to be done, but kept silent. It was best if the student thought of something himself, rather than being spoon-fed. Finally, he coughed and said, "I wonder what sort of charm the Rememberall uses to glow?"

"But this would have to be more like a clock."

"Are you in NEWT Charms this year?"

"Er…no, sir."

"I suspect Professor Flitwick would be happy to offer any advice, unless Miss Granger has a solution in hand. I am also told that both of the Patil girls are doing well in that class, as well as Miss Edgecombe. In fact, I believe the girl often helps Professor Binns on Sunday afternoons, and may welcome an interruption." It would do her a world of good to meet with a male so blatantly harmless. "I don't think she'd be angry with you about last year."

Then Snape had another idea. "Perhaps adding a sound as well as a light or change in color might be helpful. I have a book that chimes under certain circumstances to alert the reader to pay more attention."

Longbottom's eyes widened. "I could make any potion in the world if I had the right tiles set up!"

"Yes, though one does have to pay attention and do the right thing." Written directions offered the same information. However, that was obviously a lost cause here. "Technique is also important, as well as paying attention to proper preparation of the ingredients."

"But I'm all right with most of that. I just do the wrong thing because I forget."

The boy was certainly right about _that_, but for once Snape refrained from saying so. "At this point, Mr. Longbottom, I welcome any method that helps you brew in the correct order, at the correct time, and with the correct ingredients, and that includes the Dark Arts. Come back here Thursday night and show me what you have found out by then."

"Thank you, sir! And…and I hope you're feeling better soon. I, um, tonight wasn't so bad." The Gryffindor looked as astonished saying the words as the Potions Master felt hearing them.

"I agree, Mr. Longbottom," he said. He wasn't used to a session of brewing with the boy that didn't end in disaster. It was nice to find out it didn't have to be that way.

The young man gathered up his paper tiles, his Potions book, and his cleaned-out brewing gear. After he left, Snape inspected the finished products. He would check them, of course, but their colors were clear, not muddy, which was definitely progress. He was certain, of course, that future evenings would not be so peaceful, but it was a welcome change from the usual pillars of smoke and melted cauldrons that so often heralded Mr. Longbottom's attempts at Potions.

He levitated the chair back to his quarters and let Winky help him into bed, just in time to look more or less innocent when Malachite came by to check on him. Severus ate a small piece of poppy-seed cake, drank his sedative, and quickly faded. How he hated being an invalid! _Tomorrow I will begin some light exercise, just as the mediwitch ordered…_

Klaus Lowenstein

"I shall not ask you if he was sitting up or grading or something else when you talked with him," his great-aunt said as they sat together in the infirmary. "I do not need to. Your guilty face just now is answer enough for me."

Klaus always felt like a child around the woman, but decided to distract her. "Oh? So, is Gerry fussing over you less than usual?"

She made a face. "You are becoming good at finding my weak points," she said. "The Headmaster gave me a guided tour of some of the potions in the cabinet I did not recognize. The professor has developed a new one to aid recovery from the Cruciatus, for instance, that I have not seen before. It works better than what I usually take when I am overtired."

"It is a shame he does not publish more." How many other secret treasures lay unknown to the rest of the world in this school? Klaus had been astounded to find out a sixth year student had been taken through the Wolfsbane Potion, and with enough apparent success that the boy or girl had suggested a Bubblehead Charm. Only purists went without these days, but it was clear that Professor Snape had been taught in a much older tradition than most and thought the use of the charm new.

"Ah. This Ministry of theirs attaches his income outside his salary, or so I was told when I inquired as well," his aunt said. "This horrible war! The Wizarding World here did well to survive in its current form after Grindelwald, but it shall not after this one, no matter who wins. It took that evil one to force most of European wizardry into our current confederation."

"So far the English have resisted joining us."

"I doubt they will have much choice once this is over. This Riddle, as dreadful as he is, is only a result of his culture. The Slytherins were afraid of me, and did not allow their younger ones to see me until I insisted. Some of the others are afraid of them. If this cancer is not resolved, I see disintegration, and the magical users here forced into the American model, or worse."

"I didn't think anything was worse than those madmen overseas." Only the cities of New Orleans and Boston were organized as he understood such things, while the rest of the magical population in the States circulated in merry anarchy.

"Oh, yes. Some of the ghosts I have spoken to here remember a man called Judge Jeffreys, and how hard they must work to hide Hogwarts from him and those like him. The population here is dropping, not increasing, even with full integration of the Muggleborn. I should not like to see Britain's magical government dissolve the way it did in Japan for several decades. True, they have seen no mushroom clouds here, and no Emperor to abdicate, but it will not take much to shove them over the precipice. The Headmaster has done much to hold this society together, but things are too dependent on him now, and he cannot live forever. He is becoming aware of how much of the problem he caused himself, yet he cannot see beyond the war on his hands. Professor Snape has brought some of his situation on himself, yet his own loyalty to what he think is good may doom him yet. The children I have helped for the past couple of days may all die here or in their homes from this war, and it is too hard for me!" She turned her face away.

He bowed his head. All his life he had been the solitary one in a family of noisy, sociable Lowensteins. His great-aunt had often been the only one who understood his need for quiet and wanted to encourage his ambitions. He had been born just as the war started, and his memories of that time were filled with hasty moves and tumult as the adults in his life did things he didn't understand. Allard and his sisters had been born afterwards, and had never known a moment's insecurity. "Most brewers," he said, "most brewers are competent and steady, and end up with a body of work to be proud of by the end of their lives, if they publish at all. And then comes a meteor across the sky. If the light lingers, we call him Flamel or even Dumbledore, though it is clear his brewing days are long over. Professor Snape—he is such a meteor. Only one like that can poison himself so early in his life, for one thing! How long will his light last, Tante?"

She shook her head, and her mouth trembled. "I cannot tell you all that I do or know. Have regard for his health, but talk with him all you may while you are here, and take notes. Learn the names of the students he thinks most highly of, for you will hear them again in later years. Enjoy the smear of light against the sky while it lasts."

Klaus nodded. He knew good advice when he saw it.


	70. Chapter 70: The Room of Requirement

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, and coalboy. Read their stories, too.

Chapter 70: The Room of Requirement

Severus Snape

He slept long and well, and managed all of his breakfast for once. Snape swallowed his latest potion, and wished the prospect of light exercise sounded more interesting than going back to sleep. He compromised by walking a little bit without the girdle charm inside his room, and then lying back down again.

A few hours later, he ate a mid-morning snack and made it all the way out to his parlor before he decided dozing before the fire on his couch was the best he'd do for right now. _After lunch,_ Severus swore to himself. _After lunch I'll dress and tour the hallways a bit. Perhaps I did too much last night, though it was interesting to talk to Master Lowenstein._

When he awoke to eat again, he noticed a small table set up in the room with cards and packages. Winky was pleased to explain. "Students bring them to me, Master, say to give to you. None of them bad."

Snape picked up his wand and checked them out himself. Only one little box had the distinct aura of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes on it, and that was easily disarmed. The rest were precisely what they appeared to be. He was silly to let such small things move him, yet he was still pleased some of the students appreciated him. He was truly surprised by the anonymous ones. Granted, the person who had left the packet from the twins' shop probably had good reason to remain unknown, but the others were innocuous enough. He nibbled on one of the cockroach clusters and was happy to discover he still liked them. He didn't really have an appetite to ruin.

Malachite visited him after he'd eaten what he could of his mid-day meal. "Yes, you are coming along nicely," she said, once she'd waved a wand over him. "Do not sit up tonight. If you wish to speak to my great-nephew, send your house elf to ask. I am beginning to see why the mediwitch here writes of wishing to use a Body Bind on you. Continue as you have today so far. The castle will yet stand without you holding it up."

Severus nodded in agreement. _I should feel more ambitious, but somehow I have forgotten how today._ "I think I'll let it," he said. "You look like you could use your own advice."

She made a face. "You are probably right. Your Madam Pomfrey is returning tonight, but is to rest, only. You are likely to see her tomorrow instead of me. One hopes you obey her better, but I doubt it. I will leave her many notes. Klaus may come by to talk, but only if you are already awake. Winky, do you hear this?"

The elf nodded vigorously. "Good. If I must be under the thumb of an elf, I do not have to be alone," she said. "Your students will probably come to see you. Do not spend more than two hours listening to their troubles, and try to be lying down if possible. If you sit up, they will think you are all better, and you are not. By next week, you may teach again, but only if you behave yourself during this one. I am sure I am talking to the wall, but it makes me feel better to say this. You will do as you like anyway."

He laughed. "I will miss you," Snape said. "Next time when I go to the clinic, I will bring some doses for you and imagine your protests as Magister Lowenstein makes you drink them. Since you probably ignore _his_ advice, you are ill equipped to fuss over my little tendencies in that direction." How far he had come since the beginning of summer, to be able to talk like this without fear or anger to someone he had not even known then?

Malachite snorted. "You hit too near the target. I see it is a good thing I am going home soon, as I cannot have respect from those who should listen to me."

"I'm certain the Headmaster will sympathize with you," he replied. "He has an entire school full of people who don't listen to him, either. And that's just the staff."

This time she laughed. "I am sure I would go mad. I have told him that he is, often enough. Do not bother standing up, Winky can show me the door. Sleep more this afternoon, and then eat well tonight. I am beginning to see you are more a person for afternoons and evenings. It is said that those who eat in the evenings are most likely to gain weight, so I will arrange for more snacks after supper for you." Malachite left, with a smile on her face.

He dozed for another hour, but then awoke feeling slightly more energetic. None of the books on his shelves appealed to him, and the parlor was dreadfully quiet. Severus recognized this stage of healing. He was just well enough to be bored and restless, and he certainly didn't want to grade. _I want to be amused,_ he thought. _A pity I don't have a wireless down here. At the very least I could have fun sneering at whoever is being interviewed._ _Besides, if I lie around all afternoon I'll have trouble sleeping tonight, even with the sedative. If I don't do anything, I'll just snap and snarl at Winky the way I have Poppy before, and she deserves better than that._

In the elf's absence, he was free to dress without any harassment, and found he didn't want to wear his teaching robes. He chose a more casual green and brown combination, whose major virtue was that of being warm and comfortable. _Just think of the students flooding the infirmary vowing they've seen me wearing something besides black,_ he thought with a smirk. _Malachite or Poppy will dose them into a coma knowing the children are clearly delusional._

He wanted to leave Winky a note so she wouldn't worry to find him gone, but remembered she didn't read. Snape quickly clapped his hands and summoned her.

She immediately appeared, though she rubbed her eyes. "What do you need, Master?"

"I am going to practice levitating myself through the halls on the chair," he said. "There really isn't room for me in these small rooms without bumping into things." The fact that he would also walk for part of the way didn't need to be mentioned. "I want you to rest when I'm gone, and I am sorry if I woke you up."

"Master should rest," she said with a yawn. "I's not tired."

"I have all day so far, and I will when I return," he said. "I'll need your help then, especially if students want to come by to talk. You can tell them to go away when I'm too tired to see any more of them."

The elf nodded. He transfigured a footstool by the fireplace into a small bed. "I'll lock the wards when I leave," he said. "You'll be able to hear me summon you anyway, and you may as well sleep somewhere warm."

She fussed, but more like a small child or a cranky Potions Master in need of a nap than someone who was truly wide awake. She obeyed, muttering to herself. _So this is what it feels like to channel the Headmaster,_ he thought as he exited his rooms. _I'll be handing out lemon drops, or something equally saccharine, if I don't watch myself._

At first he did levitate the chair to move down the hallway and to the staircase. It worked well and gave him better back support than a broom would have, but it was more of an effort. Perhaps there might be a market for a specially designed broom for invalids, since flying carpets were still under an import ban. The chaise longue he'd used last summer and Monday night was likely on its last legs, given its apparent age.

Then he walked for a short while, the chair following along behind. Even that brief effort tired him, and he was glad to sit. A few students, obviously skipping class for some reason or other, scurried away from him as quickly as they could. Children did not deal well with change, he suspected, and just seeing him in something other than black probably would cause emotional trauma to many of them. That cheered him up.

Snape realized that he was near the entrance to the Room of Requirement. He paced back and forth in front of Barmy Barney three times. _What is it I want?_ he asked himself. _Well, I'm bored and want amusement. It needs to be something as different as possible from grading papers. It can't be anything to do with potions, unfortunately, as I am exposed to too much brewing as it is. Aside from that, provide what you can, Room_.

He wished he had known of the place while he was a student, or he would have used it to hide from the Marauders. Somehow, whenever he was out of Slytherin territory, they always found him no matter how careful he was. Snape had learned only a couple of years ago about the Marauder's Map. _I wish I knew where it went,_ he thought. _Someone could have used it to help find Miss Edgecombe when she went missing._ The door revealed itself.

Severus opened it. The room was spread with tables and a few comfortable chairs. Crafts and games of every kind were set out, from Gobstones to chess to Candyland. He felt childish looking that one over, but did anyway. Yes, there was the board full of brightly colored squares and pictures of lemon drops, Ice Mice, cockroach clusters, Blood Lollies and Droobles' Gum, in several different flavors. _I wonder if the new version will have Canary Creams or Skiving Snacks on them? _The neat thing about the game was that at the end, the candy actually appeared and the winner was allowed to choose one piece to eat. But you always needed more than one player, so he was out of luck this time.

He'd have to remind Draco about the Games Night the boy had thought up for when the autumn Quidditch season was over. _I should order a copy of the Candyland game for Winky and her friends,_ Snape thought. _And of course the two of us will have to play a couple times for her to become used to the rules. Good excuse as any, I suppose._ Snape surveyed the other tables, walking slowly and carefully to each one.

One held textile crafts. He ran his hand along one soft skein of yarn, which was purple with little gold specks. Anything made out of it would likely glow in the dark, though it felt soft enough for a baby's blanket. There was even a set of teaching knitting needles there, which went through a perpetual demonstration of different stitches. Anyone holding them would feel his hands being automatically guided through the stitches, till he was ready enough to manage them on his own. Though mostly women such as Molly Weasley did knitting for their homes, some like Hagrid enjoyed crafting items for their own use, even though the half-giant's creations generally smelled like dog. Snape suspected the groundskeeper of using combings from Fang and any other furred beast for his work. Minerva sometimes brought out a long, thin pair of needles and went to work on knitted lace if the staff meetings went too long, while Miss Granger's little hats and socks for the elves were infamous by now.

The musical section was well stocked. Not only was there a piano, but other instruments were set out for use along with it. Snape picked up the music ball and spun it. A tinkling waltz emerged, to which he allowed himself to twirl a few times. He'd spent long hours at Madam Sarah's Hall of Dance and Deportment, or as its victims called it, Madam Sarah's Hall of Doom and Despair. He'd been forcibly sponsored for lessons there by Lucius' mother. After his clumsiness had ruined a few expensive objects, he couldn't blame her. Madam Sarah's determination to discover his inner grace had been exciting for all of them, especially the remedial body movement sessions. _The Dark Lord had little to teach me about pain-assisted learning after _those, he remembered. _It is obvious the Tonks family decided to let their daughter off the hook._ However, the shared fear and terror did help to form a bond between him and the other Slytherins blessed enough to survive the place. _No wonder so few of us balked at taking the Dark Mark…_

Draco had been lucky—Narcissa had remembered her own lessons there well enough to make sure her son was trained long before the issue of his attendance could possibly arise. Of course the boy went to the dance lessons—no wealthy pureblood scion was allowed to escape from _those_—but from what Snape had been told, Draco had passed the deportment test at a high enough level to avoid any further instruction. Severus amused himself thinking of how much fun it would be to sponsor a few of his favorite Gryffindors there. '_After all, Albus, I was only thinking of their future position in society. One cannot really be accepted by some families, even those who have chosen our side, without the proper training.'_ Miss Granger would grimly buckle down and mechanically achieve proficiency _somehow_. Mr. Potter would throw a fit, though once he realized Madam Sarah was no worse than the Dursleys, would also manage to pass. Mr. Weasley…ah. Snape contemplated the devastation once the twins found out precisely what their younger brother might have to deal with and attempted a rescue. If Miss Weasley were also a participant, and showed the same sort of grace she did on a broom, she would have to fend off a spate of proposals and other offers. Her mother would end up hexing half the boys and forcing the rest to work in the garden to prove their sincerity.

His mouth tightened. _If the Dark Lord doesn't remember what he was told about the diary and take the girl for himself. I would not be doing her a favor by reminding anyone of her existence._

Snape sat down for a couple of moments in one of the softer chairs, and wished he'd had more time, or hadn't wasted the years he'd been given. _The Malfoys' piano teacher swore he could make a master of me if I would only practice half an hour a day. He thought well of my hands, but I thought they would serve me better other ways. I should have listened to him. My potions expertise has brought me nothing but a sodden liver and a bloodstream full of poison._

He stood. _I have a little time now. I should use it to enjoy myself, as the room obviously went to a great deal of trouble to bring me what I asked for. _Severus went over to a table filled with little paint pots, paper, and even drawings already made that only needed coloring. Oddly enough, these were far more complex than those designed for children. He opened the lids and sniffed—no, these were the new Barely There line that had almost no scent at all. He shuffled through the sheets and found a small one, about four inches on each side. The drawing was attractive, or would be once properly colored—from what he recalled, it seemed to be a Trump of the Empress from one of Sybil's sets of cards.

Snape smiled, and knew exactly what shade to tint the woman's hair. He found a lap-desk so he could work on the small poster while sitting in the soft chair he'd found, and set the colors he wanted on the wide arm. The lines were fairly light, though with care he was able to stay within them. For a little while he was both happy and busy.

It took him, he estimated, around half an hour to finish it. Severus took out his wand and pronounced it finished—it was the sort that let you vanish mistakes and start over, but he hadn't had to do it once. A light film appeared on the paper, and sank in—now no more changes could be made. He put it in his pocket, and stood up.

Just as he left the room and closed the door behind him, he realized something odd. None of the games had any instructions with them, though most people knew them well enough. No sheet music lay ready on the piano.

In fact, everything in the room had been ready for use without words.

_Is this my future?_

Snape sat down on his chair outside the Room, his head bowed for a few moments. Then he stood up and trudged firmly down the hallway, ignoring the moisture in his eyes. He spotted the door of another, different classroom, and reviewed schedules in his mind. _Perhaps Firenze won't mind company for a bit,_ he thought. He didn't want to be alone just now, but he didn't want to talk much, either.

He knocked first, and was told to enter. Both he and his chair looked incongruous in this replica of the Forbidden Forest, but the centaur quietly welcomed him. "Why is it summer in here?" he asked, basking in the filtered sunlight. _I wanted this, and here it is now. I shouldn't quibble over the means._

"I do not know. Perhaps it is a day borrowed from next year, and I will have a day of withered leaves for no reason then. It does not matter. Sit and rest."

Perhaps Firenze was right. Severus sat down, his back against a tree, and let his eyelids drift downwards. Centaurs had a different sense of time, and it could not hurt to adopt it for once.

Albus Dumbledore

The Headmaster was a little worried. Winky had clearly been asleep when he'd gone down to visit Severus in his rooms, and the Potions Master wasn't in any of the hallways where the portraits could see. Harry still had the Marauder's Map, but was in class. He understood why Snape had fled. Some people needed privacy the way others needed air, and the poor man had had little of it for weeks.

Yet his friend might overestimate his strength and end up in a situation that would increase the time he would need to recover from all he'd endured lately. _Or fall prey to a student who has been waiting for his revenge,_ came an errant thought. Albus did not think anyone here would behave so, but he had been wrong before. _Given my record of forgiving those who have hurt him, it is possible someone might rely on that to attack while Severus is least able to defend himself. _After all, the Trio had received no punishment for cracking the Potions Master's skull, and by now they would have heard plenty from Sirius Black through Harry about other pranks. He was able to find out that those three were in class; but there were others. If one of the Slytherins had discovered Snape's true allegiance, there was a possibility of action from that quarter as well.

He felt he was over-reacting, and then remembered that Miss Edgecombe probably would have died without Snape raising the alarm for her. The Headmaster quickly sent messages to each teacher asking if he or she had seen the Potions Master.

Albus was pleased to receive one back from the Divinations teacher. _He is resting in the sun. You should join him. Firenze._ He quickly cancelled the messages to the others, glad his anxiety had proven false.

In fact, the centaur was correct. If the room was enjoying unexpected good weather, it would certainly do no harm to bask in the light himself. Dumbledore walked to the Divinations room, hoping he would miss the end of the last class.

He hung back and watched as the final students of the day left, looking more quiet than usual. In Sybil's classes they had departed full of gossip and giggling over what the teacher had predicted _this_ time. Here they were still, and the look in their eyes deeper than usual for many of them.

Albus stepped in and noticed the chair from Snape's quarters tucked away by a tree. However, a bright garden had sprung up in one corner.

Firenze nodded. "It was needful to keep prying eyes away," he said. "The room understood."

The plants and flowers seemed familiar, as did the small pool at its heart. "It's a replica of the one I have outside my office down a set of stairs from my window," Dumbledore said. Snape lay sleeping in a bower of roses. He looked different in the brown and green robes. He didn't look happy, though, as if his dreams brought him no peace. "I gave him permission to rest in it whenever he wished, though I fear he never took advantage of it."

"It is rare to have all summer in a day, Headmaster."

"Yes, and I would be a fool to walk away from it myself," Albus said. He sat down.

"I cannot think why he is in such despair," Firenze said. "He was badly hurt a few days ago, but he has been wounded before and not suffered so much."

"He is at the end of his endurance. Something else happened that frightens him more than death." He explained the curse the Potions Master had been attacked with. "He fears he will never be cured of it if he is hexed again that way."

The centaur looked distressed. He backed away, silently. Dumbledore let the peace of this garden comfort him.

He realized he was asleep when he saw the Bride before him, and in the Garden at the heart of Hogwarts. Her glory almost outshone the flowers around them. "Rest, Headmaster," she said. "Things look dark indeed, but brighter days are coming."

"Perhaps for the rest of us." He was standing here. Albus looked around, and saw Snape sleeping here, too, though in his dream the younger wizard's robes were black. "Is there any hope for Severus?"

"If he has the courage to face what is to come. He has little faith in anything."

"Rightly so. We have failed him." Dumbledore bowed his head.

"Not all," she said. "Her own burden is great, but her heart is greater. You have already tried to meddle with both of them, and you must not. He trusts you enough that he would let you uproot his soul, but you did that once already. Even I would not forgive you if you tried it once again. He will die by his own hand before Christmas if you destroy the little warmth left in his heart."

"Severus and Molly," he said, his heart sinking. Albus remembered the tea leaves that spoke of unrequited love over a month ago, and Snape's clear eyes yesterday morning when he had assured the Headmaster that he felt only what he had before the fever spell. _I knew he loved. I thought before yesterday it might be Narcissa holding him in a silken noose. Yet this could be worse._

"They are both grown and know their own minds. If your children had lived, they surely would have strayed from the path you laid out for them, too. This is not your business, Albus."

"It could cause trouble in the Order," he objected. "Arthur Weasley deserves better."

She smiled sadly at him. "Nothing has happened. It is likely nothing ever will. Only a few have seen it. Are you truly so selfish about whom he loves?"

Dumbledore hadn't thought so, but Molly had said something along the same lines when he'd spoken to her at Grimmauld Place. He remembered how Snape had looked at him late Saturday night. He bowed his head. "I suppose I am."

"Do you think he would risk his life time after time for anything but love? He cares for you so deeply he truly cannot find the words for it, even after all you have done to him. The more he loves others, the more he will have for you. It's not a subtraction, Albus, but a multiplication. He still trusts you enough that you could stop it. Yet if you do, you will lose the Order's trust in you as well as his. Some already know and have not spoken to you because they fear your reaction and wish to protect him. Think of the implications."

He did, and didn't like them. "What else are they not telling me because I have shown myself an idiot where Severus is concerned?" He understood that trap, and already feared he had sprung it on himself here at Hogwarts. Fudge was surrounded by those who dared not tell him the truth, and thus made stupid mistakes. One of the reasons Albus pried whenever he could, was because he knew it could easily be true of him. Everyone had seen what happened to Severus, the only one who argued with him about his favoritism towards Gryffindors. It should have been a warning to him when Flitwick had abandoned Marietta Edgecombe, one of his own House, rather than upset him. _He undoubtedly thought even I was better than Umbridge, and acted logically. I should be surprised he told me what he really thought after I performed the Imperius curse on Severus this summer. _He knew several members of the staff occasionally met in rooms with no portraits now, and couldn't blame them. _When a tyrant begins, it is the most vulnerable who suffer first, because few will stand up for them. That is why Umbridge attacked Sybil, and then Hagrid. She was moving on to Snape by the time I returned._

He sighed. "I always wished he would love Harry the way I do." Yet much of what he'd done for the boy had been at the Potion Master's expense, and every instance rubbed the Slytherin wizard's nose in the fact that someone else was loved better than he was.

The Bride smiled faintly. "How could he? He probably wishes you could love Draco the way he does."

"I ought to be happy he is able to love anyone."

"But you're not. It is not enough for you to be first, you must be the only."

The accusation hurt, but Albus saw the truth in it. He looked down at the black-clad figure sleeping among the roses.

The Bride took him into her arms and kissed him. "He is not the only one in need of human love," she said. "You have seen me more this year than you have in the past five. If you spent more time with the Scotswoman, you wouldn't need me quite so much. She misses you, you know. Both of you are busy, but you must make time for earthly loves as well. Even the devotion of a house elf would ease your heart, the way Winky has for Severus."

"I have outlived several already." His long years had taken people from him, some of whom should never have died so early.

"And you will outlive more before it is over. Do not spend all your years in grieving, Albus. Give them to those who are living. Let yourself love. I know you feared giving your heart to the Boy Who Lived because then you would have trouble sending him to die. Well, it has happened, and your attempt to distance yourself did not work. He still has his task, and your love for him will only make him stronger. As for Severus, he needs more than you can give him. Your banquet is for many others as well, and denying him the right to seek another table will only starve you both. He will return," she said softly, stepping back, yet still holding his hands. "Sons grow and leave, come back, and then leave again. Such is the way of human life. Yet they are still your sons and daughters. Remember Minerva when she was young, and how she brightened your life even then."

"But I'm Headmaster of the whole school—"

"It is far too late to pretend you must not show favoritism, Albus. No one has believed you on that subject for years." She sighed. "Love is more important now, for without it you will wither the lives of others and not merely your own." The Bride kissed him. "Now wake, and feel rested. You are still needed in the mortal world."

He blinked, and rubbed his eyes. His back was stiff from sitting against a tree. The garden that was a replica of his own was gone, though Snape slept on in a pile of bracken. Dumbledore rose to a standing position.

Firenze stood looking at them. Then he cantered off a few paces and looked discontent. "I miss the stars," the centaur said.

"You may have them back," Albus said. "Bane is gone, you know, lured by gold to pace the confines of a rocky isle. You could gallop all the way through the Forest tonight and no harm done. You've known this for almost a month, and still you have not left the castle."

"You are wise, old human," Firenze said with a grave face. "Perhaps I shall heed your words. It has been too long."

The Headmaster looked on the Potions Master, and was reluctant to wake him. "I have much to do," he said regretfully.

"He will dislike being woken by you less than he would others."

Albus coughed gently first. The subtle noise didn't work, so he tapped the toe of one of the sleeping man's slippers with his own foot. Snape jerked awake and curled up to protect himself. Instead of annoying him, the reflex only made the Headmaster sad. No doubt the ingrained response had saved his friend's life on occasion.

The Potions Master opened his eyes, and blinked. Dumbledore held out an arm to help him stand.

"What happened to the garden?" Severus asked.

"I don't know, but I'm glad you saw it," Albus said. "You had better go back to your rooms and rest. You have exercised enough, I think." He knew Snape's usual response to feeling ill, which was to push himself as hard as possible to regain his strength.

"But I've done so _little_!" the younger wizard protested. "Firenze, my thanks for your hospitality."

"You were not a demanding guest," the centaur said. "I have an hour each morning when I do not have classes. I shall suffer no inconvenience if you seek outdoor air in here."

The Headmaster hadn't thought of that. It would be much easier for the Potions Master to meet the Ministry's health requirements that way.

Snape nodded. "I shall try to be a little more entertaining than today," he said, and then turned toward the door. He moved slowly, clearly still weak.

The chair floated off and followed him as he left the chamber. Albus bade farewell to Firenze, knowing better than to ask about the future.

As he strode back to his office, feeling much better for the nap, Dumbledore hoped he would remember what the Bride had told him, especially if it seemed that Molly Weasley returned any of the Potions Master's feelings. _I loved Minerva when I thought she would leave this place and marry someone else. Instead, she never has. Perhaps she feels her love for me is hopeless, too._ Yet he would feel a fool for marrying this late in life, if indeed she would have him at this date.

He sat down behind his desk. Was it a monument or a prison? Or both? Albus shuffled through a few papers. _I'm glad Madam Pomfrey will return tonight. It was almost more trouble to keep her resting than it was for Severus. I wish Malachite could stay longer._ Yet even he could see her health was beginning to suffer from the strain of the task. _How long will Poppy's health bear up? It seems as if all of us are failing._ He knew it was his fault for spreading the work among too few. He found it difficult to trust anyone he wasn't certain about, despite what people said about those he hired to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.

It was time to bring in fresh blood. This war had gone on too long.

Severus Snape

He let Winky cosset him, and didn't argue at having his supper in bed, though he stayed in his day-robes. As he drifted, he remembered his dream in the garden. The plants and flowers had seemed brighter, somehow, while several animals roamed inside it.

One of them had been the Serpent of Slytherin, though the snake looked paler than he'd been last summer. It had twined around him this afternoon the way that Nagini had done several times.

DO NOT GIVE UP TOO EASILY, the Serpent hissed to him. YOU MUST CONTINUE TO LIVE AND SERVE TILL THE LAST.

Snape remembered struggling against the coils. "I will not be a burden to my friends or a toy for my enemies," he'd said. "I just haven't decided how to make sure of that."

ENDURE. YOU MUST ENDURE.

"How?" he shouted. "My body is worn out. Oh, yes, I'll heal, but only to be hurt again. With any luck they'll just kill me. But if they take my mind and leave me alive…" He'd face an afterlife bound to the Dark Lord with greater ease, since he doubted Riddle would keep him for very long after what he planned to do. "I can't find any way out," he said. In a soft voice he added, "Help me."

Severus saw a face he dreaded. Standing before him was the woman he'd killed the night he'd risen to the Inner Circle.

"Now you know how I felt," she said, though she didn't scold, not really. "Yet where there is life there is hope. You must stay in the game till the very end. That is the penance I ask of you for my death."

He slumped, finally submitting to the embrace of the huge snake. His sacrifice had the right to ask whatever she wanted. Severus hung his head in despair.

When he awoke, it was all he could do to pretend to be civil. He had forced himself to walk all the way back, though he knew he shouldn't, and then had collapsed on the bed.

"Master do too much," Winky clucked at him, and looked disapprovingly at how much still remained on his plate when she came to collect it. For a moment, her face looked like Malachite's or Poppy's.

"I haven't done nearly enough." The weight of his promise in the dream lay on him like stone, but he forced himself to a sitting position anyway. Snape shuffled to his private laboratory, where his locked cabinet was. He sat in a chair, and stared at it. _I shouldn't,_ he thought. _I really do have too much to do._ _I suppose I could always make up a vial, tell Winky it's special medicine, and have her promise to give it to me if I take the Ghost Dagger again and they can't find a way to remove it. I would be only a burden to the Order then._

He realized that Winky would blame herself for killing him, though. He would have whatever happened to her on his soul then. Severus stared at the cabinet again.

He became aware the elf was standing right beside him. "Master," she said, "Winky here when you puts the knife in your arm. You were like Barty after the Kiss. Winky stays, Master, no matter what. I finds him after the Kiss, but they take me away…" Her face screwed up. "I talks to Master Headmaster, say I stays with you or run away. Don't leave, Master Potions Master. Please please please…" She leaned into his shoulder and cried on it.

"Don't worry, Winky," he said, one arm around her. "If the Dark Lord kills me, you need to help the Headmaster cry, the way I said before. If I'm hit with the Ghost Dagger and they can't fix it, I won't be here either."

"You _there_ that night, Master, even when can't talk. Not like Barty. Barty was gone, gone," she said with a hiccup in her voice. "But you still there. Winky always helps. Last summer, Master Headmaster says you hiding inside and he has to find you. He hurts you so bad, Master Short-Stuff says mean things to him. Winky not leave, Master, never never never. If you can't talk, Winky will watch. If someone hurts you, I hurts them right back!"

Snape bowed his head. "I promise, little one." He closed his eyes, overwhelmed again.

"Master sits somewhere else, please? Have papers, ink, pens in big chair in parlor. Or sleep on couch by fire, stay warm? Take bath, go to bed?" The elf gazed at him solemnly with those big eyes of her. "Winky brings ice cream…"

He snorted, and sat upright. "I'll look at those essays, then. I should visit Madam Pomfrey, too, now that she's back."

"Yes, Mistress Nurse good to Winky, too." She practically tugged at his hand to lead him back to the other room once he stood up.

Perhaps enough of the essays would be so utterly incompetent he could take refuge in a refreshing bout of fury instead of whinging, or so he hoped. Snape sat down to a couple of quills and fresh pot of red ink, along with a pile of papers to grade. If his strength held out, he ought to find something in his guest cabinet and take it up to Poppy once he couldn't stand reading any longer. He owed her that much for bouncing her skull against the wall. Bella had been clever to make it impossible for him to warn anybody about the danger. Other healers needed to know how to watch for the spell.

No doubt more victims of the Ghost Dagger would turn up as well. St. Mungo's should have enough resident ghosts to remove the ectoplasmic blade, though.

Snape didn't want to think of how many might be beyond help. He scanned his bookshelves from his seat. Was there any cure for the curse beyond removing its essence? Were there any residual effects? He hadn't seen any in himself as yet, and neither had Frau Grusweiss, but it was early days yet. If the magical knife was buried too deep for removal, was there another cure? Lestrange had spoken of putting it on Muggles, but had also said something about having it put on herself, with the Dark Lord taking it off. Had he been able to summon a ghost, or dissolved the hex in some other way?

Why wasn't the curse used much any more? Had something been discovered that guarded against it since then? _I'll have to ask Filius about that, or Lupin. Perhaps even the Headmaster knows more about it, and merely used the simplest way to resolve matters by summoning the Bloody Baron. In fact, I should ask _him_ about it too._

The Potions Master made notes on a piece of foolscap stored in the bin beneath, so he wouldn't forget, or someone else could investigate if he were unable to. Once that was done, he concentrated on the droolings of his dunderheads with a clearer mind.

As he expected, the quality of their thinking had not improved with the aging the essays had received on his desk. He gloried in demolishing their pathetic theories and lack of supporting arguments, and soon called for more red ink.

Winky brought him ice cream, which he absentmindedly devoured, then bent back to the long-neglected task. He finally stopped looking at those from the lower years, too depressed by half by their incompetence, and skipped ahead to the more advanced classes. He shuffled those of Miss Granger, Draco, and Miss Patil to the back once he reached the sixth year class. After a moment's thought, he added those of Mr. Zabini and Miss Lovegood. Zabini was sometimes more thoughtful than his godson, and was more willing to show it this year, while Miss Lovegood occasionally had gems buried among her nonsense.

Snape was pleasantly surprised by the essays of Potter, Longbottom and Weasley. Mr. Longbottom had long been superior in writing ability to brewing, but that wasn't saying much. However, this year he was making sense, and his handwriting was easy to read. Mr. Weasley had also changed. Though his scribblings were still tangled, they were clearer and one had a fighting chance of understanding the actual words. The boy was even using his own phrasing, instead of echoing the text or Miss Granger. He would, of course, be assigned to more lines at the next opportunity, but it seemed his summer lessons had actually stayed with him.

Then he picked up Mr. Potter's efforts. He had known for a long time the boy had been working beneath his ability in this and other classes, and had been annoyed no end by it. He wasn't the only teacher who felt that way, but some of the others were inclined to allow things to slide in view of various injuries, outside events, and, of course, his fated destiny. _Can't they see they're doing the boy no favors? What he learns in our classes may be what keeps him alive! Granted, it's hard to see how a history of the goblin wars could be useful, but the fact is, nobody really knows what knowledge may end up making the difference. Yes, he has Miss Granger, but she may not even be there at any final battle, and he will have to use what is in his own head. If he wins, the Wizarding World will gladly allow him carte blanche for the next few years. Yet heroes are forgotten swiftly here, and soon enough he would have to make his own way. He is not the sort to enjoy idleness for long, even if his finances and fame allow it. _

Fortunately, a few others agreed with him. Umbridge had distracted them all, but Mr. Potter's behavior in classes other than Potions last year had not been exemplary, either. Despite the shower of points directed at the Gryffindor and his fellows in an attempt to make up for the High Inquisitor's incompetence and brutality, Minerva had not been as happy with the boy as she had appeared. _Once I had the sense to shut up and let her see things for herself, she didn't feel she had to defend him all the time._

He sighed, and bent to read the boy's papers. Harry Potter had changed for the better. _I could not imagine him reacting the way he did Saturday night in years past. Of course, I had to change. I finally saw him as himself, and not his father come back to torment me. It took me long enough. _It didn't hurt nearly as much to see Lily's green eyes in him; that much of his memory work had borne fruit. Snape read the essays and graded them. They weren't perfect by any means, but they did make sense, showed the boy was paying attention in class, and contained no additional comments the way many had last year. He closed his eyes for a moment. _Just a boy. He's only a boy._

Severus still remembered the comforting warmth of the wet rag on his face as Potter had tried to clean some of the blood and filth away. _I never expected that. He chanted the first spell, too. I think it must have been something to take the rebound hex away._ He knew he would have to speak to the boy eventually to thank him, and to find out how the reversing charm had worked.

He carefully tucked the finished essays back with the rest. Snape knew that he would have to face Mr. Potter again soon, not only in class, but in more Occlumency lessons. _I'll take a bucket of Calming Potion if I need to,_ he thought, _rather than throw another tantrum the way I did last year. _

The Potions Master then moved on to the other papers. Miss Patil was as clear and concise as ever. A pity she was more interested in Charms; she would easily qualify for honors if she were truly interested in Potions. He pursed his lips as he thought of someone else who had been like that. Only someone as skilled as Lily could have devised a charm strong enough to protect someone against an Avada Kedavra. Snape set the essay down and pushed his grief away. So far he'd heard nothing from Flitwick about a charm against the Dark Mark, and its greater intensity since last summer would keep him from ever seeing Potter's mother again, even as a departed spirit. He distracted himself by reading Miss Lovegood's efforts. As ever, she drifted into speculations far from the assigned topic. He'd have to be stricter with her, but he was so intrigued by her bizarre notions he didn't have the heart to take as many points from her as he ought. From various discussions in the staff room, he knew he wasn't alone.

Once he finished the Ravenclaws and the two Hufflepuffs, he began reading the essays from the Slytherins in the class. Miss Bulstrode was not as dense as she looked by any means, and had a natural touch at brewing. Her reasoning could be more complete, but she certainly had an adequate grasp of matters. Mr. Zabini was nearing brilliance in some of his theories, though he would not see some of the material required to be more thorough till next year. _Perhaps I ought to have him clean the book closet and see if he has the presence of mind to acquire a spare seventh year text._ It was a pity that Miss Parkinson had not made an O last year; he had thought the young woman would have done so, judging by her earlier efforts.

He was pleased by Draco's written work. This year the boy wasn't drifting or depending on the family name to gain extra credit. His godson did have a brain, and Severus was pleased to see it in use. He felt obliged to be somewhat stricter with the Slytherins this year, though, even as he was being fairer to the Gryffindors. If nothing else, it would throw any observers off balance. It certainly had done as much to both the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall—in fact, Minerva had complained once, saying that now she had to watch for her own bias.

Unfortunately, the subject was not really Draco's passion. Snape wished he knew what was. _I'll have to sit down with him and find out what my godson really wants from life, beyond surviving the war. I can't let him be burdened with my care if I end up disabled. Perhaps I can make my own arrangements with the Swiss. _It was apparent the boy was eager to please those in authority, including him. _I don't want him to risk his life for that reason alone._

At last he came upon dessert. Granted, he should save that word for the seventh-years, with not a dunderhead among them this time. It was a delight to watch how Miss Granger surmounted each obstacle he placed in front of her. It was clear she had already managed access to the seventh year text and inhaled it; no doubt the twins had left one of theirs behind, judging only one of the books actually necessary in their business. Putting a limit on the number of feet she could write had been a brilliant stroke. She was now forced to consider _what_ she wrote, instead of murdering oak galls by the thousands to overpower any topic with sheer mass of words. She now indicated some side issues should be discussed at greater length, but he was spared having to wade through all of them. He suspected the inundation he'd receive should he indicate interest in any of those branches.

Some of them sounded interesting enough for him not to mind. He let a few drops of ink fall on some minor errors that would likely escape Madam Tranh's keen eye in her capacity as editor of Potions Monthly, but should not be in the paper. He charmed a copy of one essay for his own reference. That lunatic Wah Chang had made an idiotic assertion in last month's letter column, and deserved to be set down by a mere student. It _did_ make a difference what material the cauldron was made of, and its thickness as well, when brewing the Peace Draught and many others. He knew some made fun of Percy Weasley for being so insistent on proper standards, but frankly, every brewer who didn't want a solution all over the floor ought to be grateful someone was. Some makers skimped on materials to increase their profit margin, and while the market would undoubtedly resolve the situation, he didn't want to be the one lying in the Maximum Spell Damage Ward because of it. Young Weasley's efforts saved him the effort of measuring the cauldrons each year, at least for the new students.

Snape looked up and saw the clock had moved to Evening Rounds. Time was passing quickly, and he needed to do some things _now._ Winky summoned an owl for him, and the Potions Master sent his copy of Miss Granger's essay to the magazine with a note from him suggesting that the honorable Wah Chang stick to metal alloys, his actual area of expertise, and avoid items meant for human consumption. No doubt a cauldron made of the man's suggested materials would be stronger and more efficient to make, but anything brewed in the wretched thing could poison everyone who used it. He rather looked forward to leaving a spare copy of Potions Monthly open to the letter column, should the girl end being quoted in it.

He stood up and stretched.

"Master go to bed now?" Winky asked hopefully.

"No, Master needs to visit Mistress Nurse. I'm not supposed to teach till she says I can, remember?" He smirked, thinking that he might be tempted to prescribe for _her_. He opened the guest cabinet in the parlor and chose a small green bottle. Lucius Malfoy had given him the liqueur for his birthday several years ago. Snape had never been able to bring himself to open it, but given his friend's taste, the stuff ought to be enjoyable by others.

He blew off the dust, and then decided he'd better check it. Lucius had interesting notions as to what constituted a proper after-dinner drink. However, a quick wave of his wand revealed nothing but alcohol and various nontoxic flavorings. He closed the small bottle. Snape visited the lavatory to do what he could with his hair, put a standard black robe on over his other clothes, and set off for the infirmary. The chair followed along behind obediently.

As he left his quarters, students quietly greeted him. In fact, Miss Parkinson looked as if she was about to ask him something, and then thought better of it. _I will have to hold a House meeting soon. Everyone is anxious, and I can't blame them. Actually, I should also have an individual chat with each of the apprentices. Last weekend was hard on them as well. _

He was amazed at how much better he felt compared to this morning. The stairs were cooperative again, which he didn't expect. Soon he was at the door of the infirmary, though he was glad he had the girdle spell on and the chair with him. It was only fair to visit her now he was able to move around better—especially since she was still recovering from injuries he'd given her. He summoned up his courage and knocked.

There was no answer. If she was busy with a patient or trying to catch up on paperwork, though, she might not hear him. Malachite might have banished her to her own quarters as well, and the older woman's hearing was probably not all it could be. Snape bit his lip and told himself to grow up. He turned the knob and let himself in, then held the door for the chair. After all, he might need it on his return to his quarters. _And besides, I want to show off._

Only a few students were here tonight, and none of them looked badly hurt. He automatically checked to see which ones were Slytherins. "Mr. Andreas?" Snape asked. "Are you all right?" He went over to the scruffy boy, who sat on the edge of the bed kicking his heels. One foot was bare, and showed a nasty bite on the ankle.

"I sat next to a boy from Hufflepuff when he was trying to turn a hedgehog into a needle, and the hedgehog didn't like it, ran off his desk, and bit me on its way out. It doesn't really hurt that much, but my study group said I had to have it looked at. Mr. Malfoy said the same thing."

"Good," the Potions Master said, who bent down to take a look. The actual bite was fairly small, but the site was bruising up. A scratch close by was red and puffy. "Have you cleaned it out or put any kind of salve on it? Did Mr. Malfoy do anything to it?"

"Nah. He said I should learn my way here. It's just a little bite, sir. I've had worse from stray dogs on the Alley. Old Mr. Bartholomew knows how to take care of this stuff." The scrawny boy looked at him. "Are you any better, sir?"

"Yes. Now I need to convince Madam Pomfrey of it."

"What's that chair for? How do you charm it to follow you around?"

"In case I feel lazy, I can sit down on it or have it carry me about," Snape said. He stood up and felt a little dizzy. "Please follow the mediwitch's instructions, though. I'd like you to come by tomorrow and let me have another look at the bite, too. How did the transfiguration with your hedgehog go?"

"Not good, sir. Mine ran away with the other one."

"You should ask Professor McGonagall for extra practice. It doesn't really hurt them to be turned into a needle, as long as you turn them back. I must admit, I don't like the pincushion one myself, and I've never seen the point of it." He sighed. "However, some transfigurations are quite useful. I need more practice at the art myself."

"It's just so _hard_," the boy said.

"Yes, it is. It'll be worth it, though, when you become a famous wizard and your face is on a Chocolate Frog card."

"But I'm not good at _anything_ yet!"

"Few first year students are. What counts is pushing on anyway." What good advice. Perhaps he ought to listen to it himself. "Mr. Longbottom came in last night to practice Potions, and I'm sure you've heard about his problems already."

"He's in sixth year," Mr. Andreas said.

"Yes, and he's still trying to work on areas he has trouble in. I think we all ought to be amazed," Snape said. "Don't give up so early. Hagrid can always use a little extra help on weekends. Play with Fang for a bit first. Your only danger with him is being drowned in dog drool. Be careful, and ask for instructions when working with any of the others. That includes any moles you may find in pockets."

The boy screwed up his face as if already drinking a nasty potion. "We already have to dodge the feral dogs on the Alley, sir. Mr. Bartholomew led us around and showed us how."

"If you ask our groundskeeper nicely, he may show you a few tricks on how to deal with them. That should make you popular next summer." No doubt the boy would remain with the old fagin when school was out.

"Yes, sir." The boy didn't look happy, though.

Then Poppy came out with a bottle of salve and some linen. "I hate to think of what's going to happen to you in Care of Magical Creatures class," she muttered.

"I've already advised him to work with Hagrid before then," said the Potions Master. "By the time Mr. Andreas actually has the class, most of his problems should be over. _If_ he takes my advice, of course."

The mediwitch laughed. "I'll need to keep a bigger supply of this on hand, then." She went over to the boy, cleaned the bite and the scratch with a wave of her wand, covered the area with the balm, and wrapped the ankle. "Try to stay off your feet for the night once you return to your dorm room. Come see me tomorrow morning before class."

As Mr. Andreas left, Poppy turned and smiled at him. "Professor, what a pleasant surprise. Please come into my office." The other students breathed a sigh of relief, no doubt associating him with various unpleasant things, or the taste of their potions.

Snape didn't quite drag his feet as he followed her. She held the door open for him and the chair floating behind him. Once everyone was inside, she closed it. "I've already told my replacement to be more careful exactly how she recommends exercise to you," she said. "Please sit down."

He counterattacked. "I thought you were supposed to rest tonight, while she remained here."

"She was too exhausted to argue with both me and that little elf of hers telling her either to go home or to lie down," Poppy said as she seated herself. "I must admit, I would have been tired as well with everything going on around here."

Snape sat, though more slowly, then set the bottle of liqueur on the desk. "This is an apology for what happened Saturday night," he said.

"Oh, my dear, I never blamed you for that," she said. "Once I woke up in St. Mungo's with Albus hovering over me, I told him how hard you fought Hagrid, too. He told me what else was wrong, or so I thought. Fortunately, the file Frau Grussweiss left behind is somewhat more detailed, as he left out the internal bleeding, the fever spell, and so on. I suppose he didn't want me to worry. Of course, that won't stop me from accepting this."

She tested it with her own wand after opening it. Severus was pleased—she was finally learning to be more careful. "Mr. Potter and Professor Lupin removed the first curse, the one that caused any magic to rebound unless the user had the Dark Mark," he said. "You should speak with them and find out how they managed it. Some of the techniques may be usable by other Healers without it. I doubt this is the last time that spell will be used. Also, the Headmaster may not have told you what happened to young Mr. Malfoy. He's probably over the rather light _Crucio_ he received, but I doubt anyone has told you precisely how he distracted Mrs. Lestrange from cursing me into a pulp."

Madam Pomfrey blinked. "I hope he's not badly hurt from it."

"He is her apprentice, and she is his mistress." How best to put this? "That gives her the right to _amuse_ herself with him." Snape hoped the mediwitch understood. "He wasn't physically harmed by ah, keeping her happy, but I'm certain it will bother him."

She went white. Yes, she did understand. "Her own nephew!"

"That part did not seem to bother her, or so I have been told. I wasn't conscious for that part. The other apprentices saw everything, and Draco hinted at this when he spoke to me for a short while on Sunday morning. He is receiving good advice from Moody, or so I understand, and appears in reasonably good spirits yesterday evening. I worry he's putting on an act."

"A Slytherin? Putting on an act? I believe I shall faint," Poppy said. "I can't imagine where he learned _that_ from."

"He's far more advanced at managing to appear in good spirits," Snape said. "I never could. Malfoys are superior in that art, as in so many others."

She nodded. "I will certainly speak to him privately, then. He's received a couple of detentions this week. Minerva said he would have had more, but the staff is trying to make allowances. Since you have a note on his file to have most of them served here, I'll see him and catch him then. He likes being fussed over, and I'm going to try to see if he can extend that into doing the same for others. But you haven't distracted me as much as you think you have, Severus. Just stay there, and I'll check what I can. Oh, and take off the girdle charm Albus taught you."

Snape waved his wand and muttered, "_Finite incantatem_" at himself. He felt oddly insecure, though he had done some careful exercise without the charm.

Poppy closed her eyes as she concentrated on what she felt from her wand. She opened them, took a deep breath, and said, "What did she _do_?"

"A Cruciatus usually affects the whole body. However, it can be directed to a specific area by someone who has had a great deal of practice," he said, with no emotion in his voice. "I passed out, but there was bruising from torn vessels and they leaked. Minerva noticed I wasn't doing well Sunday morning, and went to the Headmaster. He was already speaking to Frau Grussweiss and arranging for her arrival. I don't remember much of Sunday afternoon once she began healing me. It was thought safe for me to have a half-dose of Blood Replenishing Potion, but I began having side effects in my lungs. Mrs. Weasley performed a fever spell of some sort on Monday, and I remember little after that till I awoke late Tuesday morning. The Headmaster showed me a girdle charm so I could move without harming myself. I sleep and walk a little without it, though. It is still somewhat painful to urinate, and I do not look forward to my first bowel movement." He paused a moment, then spoke again. "I am detecting the same number of errors in essays, so I don't think there are any residual effects from the second curse."

She grimaced. "No doubt you also had the usual quota of bruises, broken ribs and whatnot," Poppy said. "I'm glad Frau Grussweiss knows a lot of the old healing methods that don't depend on potions. You felt well enough this afternoon to leave your rooms, though I wish you hadn't. I suppose it's better in some ways than snarling at everyone who comes near your bed, but Winky really doesn't mind."

"But I do," he said. He pulled out the drawing he'd colored. "The Room of Requirement provided tables full of things for me to amuse myself with, and I actually took advantage of it." The image of Molly as the Empress pleased him.

Poppy examined the paper. "Nice job! I can see where you would enjoy some sort of handiwork. And it doesn't have much of a scent, either, so the paints shouldn't have bothered you very much, either." She laid the drawing down. "Er…Frau Grussweiss also had some notes about the fever spell, and Mrs. Weasley."

"Albus was before you," he said. "He visited me yesterday morning and made sure to dissipate the effects of that." Then he realized something. "Perhaps he should talk with her in case, um, in case it works both ways?" As much as he would love to have Molly care for him the way he wanted her to, he didn't want anything forced by magic.

"I suspect he already has," the mediwitch said. "Although I hope he's ready for her kind of Howler if he isn't careful about it. Here, this is yours." She gave back the colored drawing. "Better not let Sybil see it, or she'll have you do the entire card set."

He put it in his pocket. If the worst happened, he might end up doing just that. "I would like to begin teaching again as soon as possible," he said stiffly. "The students, especially the seventh years, are behind on their time-table. I would not care to see them do less than they can on their N.E.W.Ts next spring, or the fifth years on their O.W.L.s."

"If this were a normal year," she said, "I would put you on complete bed rest for the next week and shut my ears to the whinging I'd hear from you. I wouldn't let you go back to full duty for a month, either. The kind of injuries you've sustained take longer than you think to heal, even with the proper potions. I don't know how going back on the potions overload regime is going to affect them. You have to be able to move quickly in your classes to prevent disaster on a daily basis, and that's not going to help, either. Even with the girdle charm or that levitating chair, you will put a lot of stress on your groin. I honestly don't think you'll be able to do um, certain things without pain for next month or so. Really, you shouldn't try." Her face flushed pink. "I'm terrible about talking about this, but I'm sure you know what I mean."

"You had better inform Magister Lowenstein," he said. "You read his notes about my keeping that area functional during the process, and he isn't above using mild lust potions to induce the behavior he wants in me."

"The next expulsion phase shouldn't be for three weeks, though, since you are skipping this week and perhaps the next, depending on how well I think you're doing," she said. "I am worried that you will be making the Wolfsbane Potion again soon, and being exposed to the elements of it when you're teaching the sixth year class."

"I will have to make it in larger quantities, too, if one of the escaped prisoners from Azkaban turns because our beloved DADA professor couldn't resist biting a chunk out of his leg," Snape said mordantly.

Pomfrey nodded. "I'll add some prune juice and olive oil to your diet. That should help keep you from being bound up and make life a bit easier when you move to more solid food. I don't want to use the standard stool softeners unless I must."

He nodded. He didn't mind talking about such mundane matters. "Firenze has kindly offered me the use of his classroom when I require outdoor air. It was quite congenial today, as far I could tell before I fell asleep, anyway."

She brightened. "That will be better than the greenhouses when you're tired." Her smile faded. "How are you, really? Albus told me about the Ghost Dagger curse."

He began shaking, and tried to suppress it. "I think…I think the mood enhancers are a good idea," he said softly. "I don't know what I'm more afraid of—being killed and leaving those idiots of mine defenseless, or being left a babbling idiot myself. I had no words, Poppy! Not even in my mind! I had only pictures and sensation. What happens if they use the curse on me again and keep me for their toy? What if Albus can't find a way to remove it, or the effects are permanent anyway?" He breathed deeply, trying to regain self-control. Breaking down in tears would not only be embarrassing, but might ruin some of the healing he'd already done.

Poppy caught up his hands in hers. "I don't know," she said bluntly. "We won't abandon you just because you can't be useful to the Order any more. While you live, there's hope for a cure. I know you don't see it that way. I'm sure Minerva or Filius would agree with you. Oh, I wish Sybil had kept her mouth shut and Flitwick, too!"

"Don't you think I could guess how long I'm going to live anyway?" He extricated his hands and fumbled in a robe pocket. "I should give you these tonight. You're the only one who is likely to need anything from my potions cabinets." He laid his main key ring on the table. A combination of mechanical devices and charms kept his poisons safe from prying hands. "I don't…I don't think I'm that foolish tonight…but that could change. Winky tries to guard me, but she must sleep, too. The sedative doesn't work as well as it did in the beginning, and I might wake up enough to do something stupid. I'll see things more clearly in the morning, and will want them back then."

The mediwitch gravely nodded. "I appreciate this, Severus. If you really can't sleep, then I'd like it if you kept me company. It's been a long time since we played cards when one of us had a bad night, but I think I still remember the rules." She grimaced. "I want—I want to make sure I've recovered from that knock on the head."

He remembered her care of him after those wretched students had knocked him over in the Shack. "Of course, Poppy," Snape said, overwhelmed with guilt he'd done the same thing. "I didn't mean to hurt you! I tried to escape from Hagrid, too, but I couldn't."

"We won't let you go, Severus. Not ever." Madam Pomfrey put the key ring into her apron pocket. "Now I'll measure out some of your sedative and watch you drink it. I'll take another look at you tomorrow night. Mr. Longbottom will just have to wait for another potions lesson. If you behave yourself and rest, I might let you do some lecturing on Friday. If you don't, it will be Monday at the earliest, and possibly later than that." She fetched a larger bottle than he'd seen before, poured out a draft into a goblet, and set it in front of him.

He drank it in one go, though it tasted almost as bad as the detoxicant. It wasn't long before he realized he wasn't going anywhere, never mind back to his own quarters. He offered little resistance when she steered him to the private room, helped him into a gown, and to bed.

The potion hit him harder than usual, but this time he didn't mind. Of course it was weakness; he ought to face his circumstances with greater courage than he'd shown so far. But it was a relief to know that tonight he was safe, even from himself.

Author's further note: Two days ago, I found a Color Your Own Tarot at a Borders bookstore. Of course I bought it!


	71. Chapter 71: Party Preparations

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too. Welcome once more to the Hogwarts version of '24'…

Chapter 71: Party Planning.

Poppy Pomfrey

She made rounds on her charges for the night and then went to her office for a restorative cup of tea. It wouldn't do for the students to see her cry. _I'm just being silly,_ Poppy thought. _I probably should have rested the way I was supposed to. Severus will be safe here, and feel better in the morning for a decent night's sleep. Besides, I'm still stronger than Frau Grussweiss. Her elf has probably already put her to bed. _

The mediwitch pulled the potions cabinet keys out of her pocket and held them in her hand. _Who will have them next? That Swiss woman told me her nephew would be glad to go back to his own lab, rather than deal with teaching. Madam Tranh is a nice woman, but she's barely keeping up with only half a load. _She dropped the ring of keys on the desktop, and they made an ugly clanking sound.

After a moment, she picked them back up and put them away again. She recognized her own symptoms, and knew she ought to retire early tonight and talk to the Headmaster tomorrow. _I do need an assistant here, if only a house elf of my own. A couple of the older girls who are thinking about working at St. Mungo's have been a lot of help, but it's not the same as having someone with more experience on a permanent basis. _She sat down and read the notes her substitute had made in Snape's file. Things had gone better than she thought they would in her absence. Ah! So Molly had managed the fever spell when the Blood Replenishing Potion had gone to the Potion Master's lungs. That explained why the younger wizard had looked so fondly at his colored paper, no doubt. Oh, it wouldn't have been obvious to anyone who didn't know him, but his softened expression when he'd shown off his handiwork had said much to her. Granted, it didn't matter. Even if he really had feelings for the woman, he was far too honorable to meddle with someone married.

_Well, I always knew it was hopeless for me,_ she thought, and stood up. _Hubert was the last one who saw me as a woman. I wish it didn't hurt so much to miss him after all these years. _Most of the time she bustled through her work, cared for the children and staff in her charge, and was too tired most nights to do anything but sleep, let alone dream of true companionship. The one she'd had where she and a tall man had lived in a cottage near St. Mungo's had been over a month ago. _Some things just aren't going to happen, Poppy Pomfrey, and you may as well become used to it now!_

She opened the door and stepped out into the main ward. Some of the students were quietly reading by the light of their wands, while a few were sleeping already. Then someone else entered by the double doors.

At first she didn't recognize him, but then realized he resembled his brother, though taller and thinner. "Master Lowenstein?" Pomfrey asked. "May I help you?"

"I was told Professor Snape came up here," he said in that foreign accent he shared with the rest of his family.

"Yes, but he's in the private room." She hastened to add, "He isn't injured, at least not more than he was before, but he came up here to visit and I took the opportunity to persuade him to stay the night." That reminded her, she needed to summon Winky and let the elf know where her master was. The poor little thing would surely imagine the worst if she didn't know. "Let's go to my office for a moment." Of course this other Potions Master would want to know if he could go back home or not.

They sat down. "I don't know how much you know about his condition," she said, "but he is recovering, and will likely start teaching long before he really ought to."

Lowenstein glanced around. "Where is my great-aunt?"

"I told her she should either go home or lie down in one of the beds, and her elf agreed with me. The potion Snape has developed for her condition works well enough, but past a certain dosage it guarantees a horizontal position for a while even in stubborn witches like her."

"You do not look well yourself, madam."

"Yes, well, being around some people has apparently rubbed off," she muttered.

"If you would like to rest, I could sit with the students for an hour or so," he said. "I realize that not many know me, and that neither do you, but I have taken several courses and intervened successfully in some laboratory accidents."

Poppy examined his face. His had a great deal of character; she never did trust bland, smooth ones, like Lockhart's or the elder Malfoy's. She had her doubts about the son, but not as many as she used to. _Even Lucius was a tiny first year once,_ she thought with a sigh. But this man's cragginess gave her confidence that he would do what he said. "I think I should go for a short walk," she said. "That is likely to help me more than a nap. I also have an errand to run. Professor Snape probably won't wake till morning, but if you hear the wards break, please send for me at once. I will summon Winky, and she will be able to find me no matter where I am." There. That way the elf would not worry and could prove helpful at the same time.

Master Lowenstein nodded. "I shall regret leaving here, though of course I have much work at home. When do you think you will find yourself unable to restrain the professor from returning to class?"

"I daresay he'll want to try tomorrow, but I won't let him," she said. "Friday at the earliest, I think, though only if he just lectures and doesn't try to brew. I would really like to make him wait till Monday." She took a breath. "If…if circumstances are such that the position becomes open, you will certainly be asked to apply if you like. Albus told me during one of his visits that you were better in a classroom than anyone expected, and that you had a sure hand with the students."

"They are little different than some of the workers I must help my brother direct at times," he said with a sniff. "Oh, they are younger, but not so far behind some we have. Your professor has high standards, and very good files. I could have not done it without the guidance he left behind."

It warmed her heart to hear Severus praised like this. The grim reality was that the Potions Master knew he might be absent anywhere from a day or so to the rest of his life, and tried to leave his papers in good order. She stood up, and Master Lowenstein rose as well. Both left the office. Poppy summoned Winky, and the elf appeared with a small pop, instead of the usual loud crack most elves left behind.

"Is Master Potions Master all right?" squeaked the elf.

"Yes, he became tired and I put him to bed," the mediwitch said. She led Winky to the private room, while her guest hung back. She appreciated his discretion. Severus would be embarrassed enough in the morning without knowing he'd been observed by others.

Snape was asleep, but not very deeply. His face was lined and had little peace in it. She smoothed his hair, brushed a lock away from his cheek, and was surprised he twitched anyway. With the dose she'd given him, he should have been too relaxed to notice anything.

Winky wiped one eye. "He looks at bad cabinet, Mistress Nurse," she said quietly. "He looks and looks. I says he can have papers to read, write things on. He works too hard, but I's not knowing what else to do. Then he says he comes up here to see you, take nice bottle."

"You did the right thing, dear," Poppy said. "He gave me the keys for tonight, so you don't have to worry. Now, I need to talk to the Headmaster for a little while. Could you sit up here and help the new Potions Master watch the students? It won't be for long, and then you can stay here with your master or down in the dungeon."

The little green figure frowned. "Master sleep till tomorrow?"

"Yes, he should. I have set the wards to wake me if he doesn't."

"Then I's go back to dungeons after," Winky said. "Snakes worry about Master, ask me lots of questions. Master wants them safe, not so afraid."

Madam Pomfrey marveled at how an elf so young could reason things out so well. Older elves had no trouble managing their masters, save in some families, but she'd never seen one Winky's age grow up so fast. "That will be fine," she said. She closed the door to the private room behind her and stopped in the office for a moment for an envelope she wanted to show the Headmaster. She nodded to Master Lowenstein as she left the infirmary and went on her way. Seeing the Swiss wizard gave her a thought. If Winky needed to leave Hogwarts after Severus died, working for another Potions Master might help the poor thing adjust better than being with someone else. As much as she would love to keep Winky as a comfort for herself, it might not work out.

She stopped on to her way to the Headmaster's office and leaned against the wall. Yes, she was overdoing it her first night back from St. Mungo's. _I will have to rest when I return,_ she thought dully. _It wouldn't do to have to go back to hospital so soon. Young Mr. Malfoy has some detentions to work off. Perhaps I ought to call on him tomorrow and schedule him for an hour or two, along with those other girls. I should make up a schedule so I have someone in the infirmary with me more often._

After a few moment, she felt better and began walking on again. Poppy could almost _hear_ Snape pointing out how similar her behavior was to his, and smiled. _Hufflepuffs have their own kind of courage. Badgers are known for hanging on past all reason. We'll see how You-Know-Who likes _that.

Klaus Lowenstein

He had only met her, and already he felt protective of the short, grey-brown swallow of a woman. He thought in German, his favorite native tongue, as it was more precise. _I should really use French or Italian to consider someone like this Madam Pomfrey, but I have no sentiment, so I shall do as I like. _She really should not be out and about, though; he knew enough of medicine to realize that. _No doubt she has something to do she does not wish to discuss with a stranger, though perhaps a walk will do her good after being cooped up in bed for a few days._

Klaus glanced over at the students. The few that were still awake either ignored him or eyed him warily, as if he might bite. _Since I look somewhat like Professor Snape, they probably think I am like him._ He had heard a number of stories about the man sleeping in the private room and had no trouble believing any of them. Well, if the fear his predecessor had instilled kept the students from blowing themselves up, he had no problem with that.

The little elf who had helped him when she was not watching her Master now lay curled up at his feet. He rather hoped he would be spared her custody should Professor Snape finally perish from his many ordeals. He had long been told he should stick to matters of the mind only, and not bother with those of the heart. _I am possibly the least qualified person alive to cope with a grieving elf,_ he thought.

The students remained quiet, and at last all of them dropped off. Lowenstein found the soft chair conducive to sleep; it was certainly comfortable enough. He began dozing, then woke to find a warm, heavy lump in his lap. The elf was now sleeping there, one tiny hand clutching part of his robe. He patted her awkwardly, but as softly as he could.

Madam Pomfrey quietly entered the ward. "Thank you, Master Lowenstein. I am sorry I took longer than I thought."

He carefully detached the elf's fingers from his robe, and then lifted her up off his lap. "Where shall I put her?"

The mediwitch smiled. She still looked pale, but seemed in better heart. "Follow me." She led him towards the private room and opened the door. The professor was asleep, but he still looked unwell. Madam Pomfrey transfigured the side tray into a small pallet and had Lowenstein put the elf on it, though he wagered by morning the little creature would be on Snape's bed cuddling the sick man.

Then Madam Pomfrey gently leaned over and kissed the Potions Master on the brow.

"I am surprised your husband is not jealous," he said, and immediately wished to take back the words.

She looked up at him in consternation. "Forgive me," he said. "I am always saying something stupid like that." Seeing a man's picture in a gilt frame when he was in the office shouldn't have bothered him. It was none of his business.

The woman swallowed. "My husband has been gone for many years, Master Lowenstein."

He felt like more of a fool than ever. "I shall go, then." Klaus turned to leave.

"You are welcome to come up here and take tea sometimes," the mediwitch said. "In fact, when the professor wakes in the morning, he would enjoy some light conversation with his breakfast. If you have time, you could join us."

He blinked. Klaus was puzzled and pleased all at the same time. He was well known for his social gaffes, and had learned to avoid them by staying away from such situations. His family had arranged a marriage to him, but Claudia had not been happy, and he knew why. It had been best to release her, and let her find another. His instincts told him that he would only offend the witch more by accepting, but he could not help saying, "Yes, thank you."

"We are all tired," she said.

"I shall assist again while I am here if you like," he said. "The evenings are quiet for me, since few students feel brave enough to ask me questions outside of class." He was amazed at himself. Usually he knew when to withdraw from potential trouble.

She nodded. "I expect you here tomorrow morning."

When a request was put that way, he had been trained better than to refuse. He agreed, and went back to his guest room. He could not understand himself, or the mediwitch, either.

Albus Dumbledore

Albus Dumbledore enjoyed a rare moment of peace. He thought about young Mr. Malfoy, who had sent him a note through Dobby about an invitation to visit his father in Azkaban, and said in it that he had not yet told his godfather about it. Well, that could wait. In the brief audience they'd had in a private room away from this office, Draco had said, "He'll just worry if I tell him now, sir, you know that. Tomorrow night will be soon enough, since I won't go till Friday evening."

_I've been a fool to dismiss the boy all these years. I've been just as blind about him as Severus has been about Harry. And about time I realized it!_ The Headmaster started another lemon drop in his left cheek, and sipped his tea. The combination of flavors was just right.

He looked up with pleasure as Poppy walked in. "Please sit down. Are you sure you should be up and about? I don't want you pushing yourself too hard, either."

"I'll be fine," she said, though she looked a trifle pale. "Frau Grussweiss needed to return home, though. I examined Severus when he came up to apologize. He tried to distract me with his godson's problems, but I finally pinned him down. He's trying so hard, Albus. I almost wish he would throw a tantrum or two. He's certainly earned them."

"I know. I should enjoy the peace and quiet, but I can't. How is he recovering?"

"Slowly. He is doing too much to allow his injuries to knit, and the Ghost Dagger curse still frightens him. I can't say I blame him. Physically, he's weak and trying to pretend he isn't. There is some, er, damage that will take longer to heal than the rest and him such a young man, too. Given where that horrible woman cursed him, he's not likely to heal properly there for a month. There is also a possibility he won't…won't recover fully. Everything is still so inflamed I can't really tell, though." Her cheeks turned pink.

Dumbledore had said farewell to that part of his life decades ago, save when the Bride favored him with her joy. He had enough memory to recall how he would have taken this sort of news at Snape's age, though. He hated the part of himself that pointed out how difficult Severus would find it under those circumstances to cause any scandal around Molly Weasley. He had seen through his Potions Master's disclaimer the day before, but had done nothing, and was glad of it after his dream of the Bride warning against his further interference. "He must have found that extremely distressing," he said.

"I haven't told him that part yet," Poppy said. "He brought his keys for the night. I thought he was under enough strain already."

"He hasn't done that for quite a long time," the Headmaster said. He should have foreseen this development. Snape's emotions tended to slide downward at the least provocation under normal circumstances, though in the past he had taken it out in anger.

"At least he's ready to admit when he needs help," said the mediwitch. "We both remember a few times when we wished he _had._ In any case, I gave him a good dose of the sedative approved by the Swiss and put him to bed in the private room. Winky and Master Lowenstein are sitting there now, to watch the students and to let me know if Severus awakes in spite of the potion."

"What's in that envelope you brought?" he asked, wanting to talk about another subject while part of his mind considered what he'd been told about Snape.

"Yes, I thought you ought to see these." She opened the envelope and pulled out a number of brightly-colored cards. "I received quite a few of these at St. Mungo's, and some of the names struck me as interesting." Poppy handed him the cards.

He thought they looked ordinary enough, till he saw the names on the inscriptions. Rosier. Rookwood. Darlington. Wilkes. _Avery_, for Merlin's sake. The women of the families, of course, but still…and, on a large gilt one, Narcissa Malfoy. "I hope you were careful with these, Poppy."

"As soon as I saw the names I put them in the back row and made sure to prattle on about the other ones from Molly and Pomona and even Madam Umbridge. Only the staff could have had a glance at the er, special ones, and you know I sleep lightly after all these years on duty."

Dumbledore thought furiously. "Has Severus received any cards like this?"

"Winky told me that he's had some from students, and of course the basket from Mrs. Malfoy. I don't think anybody is quite _that_ brave yet. However, if my problems start any of them thinking hard about their allegiances, then I'll take more knocks if need be."

"I hope it won't be necessary." As much as he would like to milk the situation for maximum sympathy, he was still upset the mediwitch had been hurt at all. "I won't be unhappy if this stops any further use of the rebound curse, though."

"To be honest, neither will I, or anyone at St. Mungo's," she said. "However, I want to see young Mr. Malfoy receive more training in healing. In fact, I want to set up a rota of students to assist me from all of the four houses. I had to press poor Master Lowenstein into service tonight just to talk to you, and it's simply not fair to him."

"Why Mr. Malfoy, though?"

"If Severus is hurt again, he is likely to be close enough to help before any of us will. Also, if that hex _is_ used again, his spells will actually work. I think it would be a good idea if Professor Lupin showed the boy the spell he used to take off the rebound curse as well. Snape told me this summer who belonged to the new intake, so it will not come as a surprise to me what the boy has on his left arm. Also, it will do him good with the other students if they see him helping others or scrubbing bedpans. They'll be happy to see him brought low as far as they can tell, and it won't hurt him a bit to watch over others as well as himself. Frau Grussweiss has already told me that Mr. Malfoy is already practicing what healing spells he knows on the Slytherin first-years, or at least sorting through them to weed out the homesick ones. As long as Madam Lestrange doesn't know her apprentice is capable of helping Severus, then she won't think to forbid him to do it, or so I hope. Also, he is paying far less attention to any imaginary hurts or illnesses this year, as he is too worried about his godfather. I believe he may be more help to me than you think if he is able to assist with other patients as well."

The Headmaster hadn't thought of that, and nodded. "Miss Parkinson is certainly more capable than she looks, though it would not do to have her and Mr. Malfoy on the same shift. Miss Granger, of course, would likely be of great assistance, as would Miss Brown. I know Miss Bones is already helping you out, though I don't think her hours there ought to be increased. She would take on more, of course, but it might not be good for her. I'm afraid I don't know the Ravenclaws well enough, although I have heard many good things about Miss Padma Patil."

Poppy smiled at him. "I would also suggest Mr. Weasley, if he can spare the time from Quidditch. He learned a great deal from his mother over the summer. I fear his younger sister would become bored rather quickly. Mr. MacMillan is also involved in Quidditch, but will do much to be seen as a future Head Boy, or more once he leaves school. He is a pompous ass in training, but helping sick people will help slow that process down. Mr. Brightwood is surprisingly well-grounded for a Ravenclaw. If I can only keep him from experimenting, he should work out quite nicely."

Albus winced elaborately. "I see the point you're trying to make, Poppy. Healing is a perfectly respectable career for young men, too. What about Miss Edgecombe?"

"There are some cases where helping out others helps the victim, but I don't think she's really ready for it yet. I believe she ought to have a spectacular breakdown fairly soon, but I would rather she didn't do it in the infirmary except as a patient. She ought to stick with the work she's doing with Professor Binns. It doesn't help to force someone out of a shell till more healing has occurred than I think it has with her."

Dumbledore grimaced. "I know it sounds like I'm trying to do it with Severus again, but do you think he'll be strong enough for a little get-together Friday night? He hinted rather broadly that he actually wanted some sort of celebration, and I tried hard not to faint. I don't want to put it off any longer than I have to."

The mediwitch nodded. "He'll be all right as long as he can sit back comfortably, and leave when he's had enough. He _will_ push himself past his endurance. I can't imagine where he learned it." She narrowed her eyes at him.

Albus blinked and tried to look innocent. "How can I fail to rest and eat enough with so many looking out for me?"

"Rather easily, I suspect. You still need to let Minerva or Filius take on more, while Pomona should really become a member of the Order in her own right. All the houses of Hogwarts are at risk now and you know it."

The name of Cedric Diggory hung in the air, unspoken. "You should take more care yourself, Poppy," he said, counterattacking.

"I know. That's why I want to organize the students on a more regular basis. I don't often give out points, but this time I will. I also want to scout the house elves and train one or two in some basic procedures, along with Winky. She will want to help, but only if her master is safe. If she can tend to him at least for a short time, then I or someone else can be freed up for others coming in. I must begin to organize the infirmary for war, Albus. I should have done so already."

The Headmaster nodded. He still felt guilty that when faced with an unconscious mediwitch and a Potions Master with unknown injuries, that he had chosen Poppy first. "We all should organize for war," he said somberly. "It's already here."

"I hope Severus can avoid becoming one of its sacrifices," she said. "I just wish he had something to look forward to, and didn't hang on only for the sake of his apprentices. He wants a _selfish_ reason, but I fear those are scarce on the ground for him these days."

He knew of one thing, but it was something—or someone—Snape could never have. "It's also time the Order showed its appreciation for him, too. Severus even said he would like it." It was only right to do as much for him as they had for Lupin.

"That lot? Everyone but Molly has made up their minds about him already. Well, and Miss Tonks," Poppy said.

"Shacklebolt and Professor Lupin have been dueling with him in the past few months, while Moody has changed his attitude somewhat," Dumbledore pointed out.

"Well and good. But he must be allowed to leave or lie down in his room there if he becomes tired," the mediwitch said. "I've seen him at some functions here where he stayed on much longer than he should have to please you. As for Grimmauld Place, you need to speak to Molly. I read about the fever spell, though even with it the professor wouldn't cause trouble."

"I used the same charm to manage it that I used on Moody a few months ago," Albus said. "He shouldn't feel the effects from that by now." However, the spell to erase the compulsion did nothing about feelings that existed beforehand.

"I've never seen or heard anything between the two," Poppy said. "I don't think there's anything there. Moody is at the house more often than Snape is, and I don't see you lecturing _him. _Molly goes home to Arthur a lot more than she did last year, and frankly, everyone's happy about that. She's much less bad-tempered and Arthur is less inclined to take stupid risks just so she'll pay attention to him. Severus is in no condition to make trouble even if he wanted to. I personally feel he's the one member of the staff who needs to be married. Unfortunately, it's obvious by now that none of the staff suit him, and you've kept him under such close watch he hasn't been able to look elsewhere. One would think the Malfoys would have arranged something by now, but of course Lucius won't ever let him go."

The Headmaster didn't mean to become aware of how his friend felt about the Potions Master, but just now couldn't help catching the overflow of the younger witch's feelings. _There have been more years between a couple,_ he thought, _even with the witch being older. _Of course, that was what he thought now. He had no idea how he would have reacted to a relationship between the two before this year. Then he thought of a possibility that was even worse. "Bellatrix Lestrange is a widow now. Fortunately, that's out of the question."

"Is it? From the damage I saw, what she did was more like 'if I can't have him, nobody can'. I see why Mr. Malfoy was unhappy and made the mistake of trying to stop her assault on Severus. It was not the best judgment he's ever made, but an understandable one."

Albus shook his head in horror. "The boy means to continue the relationship, and Moody approved of it."

Poppy bit her lip. "Alastor is a very practical man. I find this horrifying. I will be certain to have tea with Draco each week. He will hide things from you, Albus, if only because you're a Gryffindor. Even though I haven't shown him as much sympathy as he'd like when he believed himself ill, he knows he can trust me. I do hope his shifts in the infirmary work out. People often heal themselves when they help others." She smiled, and finished her tea. "I should return and let poor Master Lowenstein go back to his rooms. I need to be there if Severus wakes up. Fortunately, he feels enormously guilty about what happened Saturday night and I intend to be ruthless about using it."

Dumbledore nodded. "I should Floo Molly tonight and ask her if she could arrange a gathering as early as this weekend. I don't want to put anything off when it comes to him any more. I've wasted too much time already."

Poppy stood up. "We all have. We spend far too much effort reacting, and not enough actually doing anything. It was Arthur's idea to move up the hearing, and it worked. We need to do things on our schedule, and not continually delay till it's almost too late. I know you're waiting for Harry to grow stronger, but we may not have any choice unless we work harder at keeping the enemy off balance."

"That makes sense." He watched the mediwitch leave, and knew that she was right. _I've been so distracted by all the recent crises that I've been kept off balance. It's time to plan something for the Order to do, rather than just fight fires._

However, that would have to wait. He opened up the Floo to the Burrow, hoping Molly was there tonight. She answered it. "Bit late in the day, Headmaster. What can I help you with?" She had her nightcap on and didn't look pleased.

"I called to apologize, Mrs. Weasley. What I said to you at Grimmauld Place after Lupin's party was an insult to both you and Professor Snape. I'm sorry I did it. And I've taken care of the aftereffects of your fever spell. Severus agreed to it as soon as I mentioned the possibility."

"See? It's not like you had to hit him with a Body-Bind the way you did Moody," she said. "But I appreciate the apology. No harm done."

"And I want to ask you a favor. Last Saturday was the professor's birthday. Obviously, he did not have a good one. He's feeling better now, and should be up to a small gathering of the Order by this Saturday night."

"I'm glad," she said. "He wasn't doing at all well on Monday. Why can't Fawkes help out, anyway?"

"Phoenix tears hurt him since he was inducted into the Inner Circle. I tried to lend him strength the night of the hearing, but the process burned him. I hated sending him out. He was already desperately tired."

Molly's eyes looked distant, as if she remembered something. "But he was so strong that night, especially right at first. For some reason I thought he was drowning in darkness. Oh, that would be awful, if _he_ was the only one who could help."

"There are other powers besides the phoenix and the serpent, Molly. Hogwarts has power of its own, and so do creatures like Firenze. I know you don't like people discussing your own heritage, but if it can help Severus heal, please help us find a way to use it. I can't help him any more, and I would be a fool to keep him from anyone who could."

"Oh," she said, her face softer. "That's all right, then. I'll see what I can do. As for the party, it'll be a bit of a rush and not too many there. The professor doesn't like a lot of noise, even if the fuss is about him for once. I think I can have something ready by Saturday night. He deserves a proper birthday after everything he's done for us. Oh, I just remembered that Harry's blood ritual needs to be as soon as possible. I'll need to borrow him and Ron for Saturday afternoon at the Burrow."

Albus nodded. "I think Miss Granger needs to be there, too."

"Of course. Well, if I'm going to set up both I'd better start. Have another cuppa, Headmaster, you look worn to death." She disappeared from the flames, then popped back. "You wouldn't happen to know the kind of food the professor ate as a child, would you?"

"I don't know," he said. "His mother escaped from Russia when she was just a student herself, along with the family house elf. Both of them have been gone for twenty years or more. I know he doesn't care for rich or fancy food. His appetite has been horrible for a long time, now that I think of it."

"Don't know much about Russian food. At least I don't have to try for that French muck Narcissa adores so much."

"You might ask her, or possibly Dobby, since he lived at the Manor for so long."

"Good idea. Now I'll stop bothering you." She left the hearth again, this time for the night.

Albus followed her advice and drank another cup of tea. He let his mind go blank, or tried to. He knew if he went to bed as he ought, that another day would bring more cares with no time to think about what Poppy had said about moving things on the Order's schedule, not Tom's. For a few minutes he just sat and let his mind and body draw strength from the school.

In his mind he saw the four Beasts. He began to see the flaw in his thinking. Simply because open battle was not an option till Harry was ready, he hadn't drawn on the other strengths of either the Order or Hogwarts. Ravenclaw offered clear, cool logic; though they had already gained several victories from the mind of Hermione Granger, that burden should not be totally hers to begin with. Neither should Miss Edgecombe throw away her life because she thought it worthless. _I should have a meeting with Filius soon and find out what sort of overall strategy he thinks possible._ Being able to step outside oneself was a valuable ability, and he had less of it than most people thought. However, Flitwick possessed it in droves.

Loyalty was not a monopoly of the Weasley family. Everyone took the Hufflepuffs for granted, though the examples of both Fudge and Umbridge should warn him how foolish that was. Pettigrew had been ignored and taken for granted, too, one reason Albus had been careful to keep an eye on Neville Longbottom. _I need a conference with Pomona, too,_ he thought. _The Badgers deserve better than to be offered up a cannon fodder under the banner of Cedric Diggory. Even Tom called the boy 'the spare' as if he didn't matter._ Albus knew that _all_ the students mattered, even—or perhaps especially—the ones he ignored.

Slytherin was a dagger that cut in all directions, and depended on the hand that wielded it. Dumbledore knew that Hogwarts was lucky beyond belief that Snape was its Head. Draco Malfoy was on the side of the light only because Tom and his followers had misused the Potions Master so badly. Albus thought that was true of others as well. Tom's latest blow against Poppy Pomfrey had rebounded on _him_, if the get-well cards in the envelope had any meaning.

His own favoritism towards Gryffindor had almost driven them away, as it had during the first war. Only Snape had barred the path for most of them this time. Severus ruled harshly, but well, and his baptism of pain had been used to help others in the same plight. Slytherin still had the highest suicide rate of the four houses, but Albus shuddered to think what it could be without Snape to see their anguish and do what he could for them.

He had no idea who could replace the man. _I suppose I'd best begin thinking about it now. Sinistra is almost never seen, let alone active with the students. Bellwood is retired and given what he told me on the day he left, probably wouldn't have the post with his weight in gold as salary._ Albus remembered that meeting. After years of complaisantly giving in to the Headmaster's decrees, the man had finally spewed his real thoughts right here in this office. Back then, he had thought it only anger and upset pride at being replaced by someone so much younger, and by most standards, less qualified. He ought to find that memory and go through it again, because looking backwards, the other man had been right on every count.

_I must have a strategy conference with all of them,_ Dumbledore thought. _All minds and hearts must pull together now. We have delayed and merely reacted to things for far too long._

He began scribbling. First, the Order would have to offer up a complete evaluation of both their forces and that of the enemy. Snape must be given some sort of apparent victory to offer as a trophy to Tom to increase his standing after failing to give up Harry. He also must be healed as far as humanly possible. Severus had sacrificed too much, both recently and over the years, to keep Harry and the rest of them safe. It was well past time he was rewarded for it.

Once they knew the ground they stood on, they could plan to improve their position. That was where Minerva and young Mr. Weasley could come in, as well as Flitwick. Minerva was one of the finest chess players in the Wizarding World, and yet was rarely consulted on strategy or tactics. That was going to change. Assigning the Weasley boy as her assistant in this matter would assure that she would not overstrain herself, and would make the boy feel more a part of things and not just an appendage to the Boy Who Lived. Miss Granger might second Professor Flitwick, though the Ravenclaw might not want an assistant. Sprout would most likely choose Mr. Longbottom for hers.

Then he saw how he was still favoring his beloved Gryffindors. No, each Head of House should choose his or her assistant, though Snape might prefer not to have one at all. Yet it was still important that all four houses feel they were part of this endeavor, or they would all fall.

He toyed with the idea of each Head having an assistant from a different House, even Minerva. Snape could avoid upsetting the delicate balance of Slytherin, and should vet the member of his own House chosen to be the assistant to someone else. Perhaps the Trio ought to be a committee of their own, framed around this year's D.A. Snape's apprentices, unfortunately, were divided, though Albus suspected why the Potions Master had chosen the ones in charge of the Quidditch team this year. _Even Tom didn't interfere with the game, but waited till it was over to summon them. I wonder who his hidden spy is?_ There had to be one, of course. The timing had been far too exact.

He made a list of what they needed. Information as to forces, both sides, known or suspected. The Ministry and their possible role. The Wizarding World as a whole apparently evenly divided, given the vote at the Wizengamot. Conferences with Heads of Houses, both separately and jointly, to devise strategy and tactics. Restoration of Snape's health, watchful waiting over Minerva's. Poppy to have an assistant loyal to the Order, as her rota of students would be carefully chosen, but could include someone best not trusted. _I wish Molly Weasley didn't have two households to oversee already,_ he thought.

He wrote down more things to consider. The Weasleys to be guarded, especially between now and the blood rite. He understood why it would happen so soon. Stealing a march had worked before in this case, and probably would again. Such things usually took a month to arrange. No doubt Molly had had this planned for a long time to be able to implement it so quickly. The fact that two members of the family were overseas would help now, since everyone related by blood to the woman would have to die for the bond to be broken. Then he smiled. How many relatives did she have in Lancre, as well? Her grandmother had had many children, and they had descendants of their own by now. Once the rite was over, Harry was protected by that bloodline as well, and could seek refuge there if he must.

There. That was good enough for a beginning. He would look at these notes in the morning and begin their implementation without any further delay. _I have wasted too much time already. _

Molly Weasley

She knew it was growing late, but none of them had any time to spare. Molly Floo'd her granny first, knowing the old witch went to bed earlier than her other contact would.

Fortunately, her Nanny was still up, though yawning. "What is it, dear? Everyone all right?" The fat, wrinkled face was full of concern.

"Yes, everyone's fine. I'm worried about Percy, but that's nothing new. I was wondering if you had the recipe for the er, special liniment."

"Arthur slowing down, love?"

"Oh, no! But there's someone else who was hurt really bad there, and they're all afraid to give him anything to help because he's a potions master and has been poisoning himself for years. Of course, my lot's mistakes probably didn't help." She felt her face growing hot. "It's not what you think, either!"

"Too bad. You're just in your prime, gel, and only the one poor fellow to keep up with you. I remember how it was like for me when I finally put away the playpen and the playground was still open. I had me some fine times, I tell you…"

"I'm not like that, Nanny!" She was well over the effects of the fever spell now, never mind how she'd felt with his touch on her hand in Fortescue's months ago. _Of course, I do go home to Arthur more when Snape is at Grimmauld Place,_ she reassured herself. _But it has nothing to with that._

Her grandmother laughed out loud. "Whatever you say, dear. Is this the one with the big nose and the sour manner you told me about?"

"Yes, Nanny," Molly said with a sigh. "But about the liniment—I think I know how to make it, but I don't want to make any mistake with it. He's sick enough from other people's, and he was hurt because he helped us keep Harry instead of doing what he was told by the other side. We're the ones who got him into this, it's only right we help him out."

"All right, dear. You'd better write this down. After all, you might need it for Arthur one of these days. From what you tell me, I'm surprised you stopped at seven."

"I had a bad time with Ginny, don't you remember? They told me I was better off not trying for any more. I miss having a baby in my arms, but the rest are old enough to start popping their own. And now I'm going to have Harry, so I don't mind so much." She found some paper and a quill from a drawer to scribble down the recipe.

"That's too bad, though from what you tell me, that boy could use a family like yours. I have to wonder what your Headmaster was thinking to leave him with people like that. I know about blood magic, but he could have watched them better than he did."

Molly had thought the same thing many times. "I'm ready for that recipe."

Nanny laughed. "Of course. Now, here's what you need to do for this man you're not planning to bed on the side. Once he puts it on his skin, he'll dream of the one he really wants, and whoever he dreams of will feel it. Don't pout if it doesn't happen to be you."

"Whatever you say," she said with narrowed eyes. Her grandmother was probably right, though, since the Headmaster had cast the charm to remove the effects of the fever spell. _I ought to be glad,_ she thought, _Moody was a right nuisance for a couple of months till it was done for him. _She began writing as Nanny recited the ingredients first, and then the procedure for making the stuff. Of course Snape was going to dream of someone else, probably Narcissa. _I shouldn't be jealous, not with a husband like hers. The poor woman deserves any fun she finds._

She looked at the timing, and decided she could make it by this coming Saturday. Arthur certainly wouldn't mind _one_ part of the preparation! _I'll have to give it to him once most of the other guests are gone, especially Dumbledore. The old man always thinks the worst, no matter how nice he was about it tonight._

Once her grandmother was done, Molly blew a kiss at Nanny, ignored the obscene joke and best wishes, and immediately Floo'd Malfoy Manor. She tried to be civil to Kreacher, who answered it, and was pleased he didn't waste any time fetching Narcissa.

"Molly," said the woman. Even at this hour she was perfectly put together. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I'm putting together a late birthday party for Professor Snape. I'm trying to find what he likes to eat the best. He manages my cooking well enough, but I want this to be special. The Headmaster said his mother was from Russia, but that's no help to me. What kind of food do they eat over there?"

"Why, I'm not really certain," Narcissa said. "I think Marta might know. We've had to entertain visitors from Durmstrang before, and she managed the dinners for me then." She paused for a moment. "I just never thought about the professor enjoying that sort of food. I know he has trouble digesting anything too rich, and I try to see to it his food is simpler than the rest. I never thought of serving anything Russian before."

"Well, he'd probably like something his mum would have fixed him, is all."

"From what I heard, she didn't cook much. You're quite right, though. Shall I send Marta over to help with the party?"

"Umm…maybe for a bit when I'm cooking the food." She'd take it from the Burrow to 12 Grimmauld Place after the elf had gone. "I'm glad you said something, though. Maybe I ought to have little Winky over, too." Then Molly thought of something. "Did anything happen to you because of how the hearing went?"

"No. At least not yet. My sweet sister was only too happy to tell me that her protection kept me from being hurt and that I ought to be grateful. She laughed and told me what she'd done to Severus." The gorgeous blue eyes blazed with rage, then faded to their normal clear beauty. "I received a letter from my son that disturbed me. If she's laid a finger on him I will break her neck."

Molly didn't think Narcissa was joking. "I hadn't thought of your boy being in the middle of it. I mean, she is his aunt and all." She'd bet he hadn't liked watching the professor being hurt.

"I will never forgive Lucius," the other woman continued. "He encourages Draco to follow in his footsteps, and there's so little I can do about it. I hope he stays in prison forever."

Molly felt sorry for her, though she doubted Narcissa meant everything she said about her husband. Everyone knew how the man tomcatted around, and still managed to put a real smile on his wife's face. She had no idea how she would react if Arthur tried anything like it. Lucky for both of them, the question had never come up. _I can't betray his trust in me, either._ "I'm so sorry," she said. For all she knew, Percy was involved as well and there wasn't anything she could do about that, either. "If you could send some recipes over, I'll have a go at them. I might have trouble finding the right stuff and need to try something else. His mum probably had to do the same herself."

"You're probably right," Narcissa said. "Don't ask Professor Snape about his mother, though." Her mouth tightened. "He's better off without her, though he probably doesn't think so. His family situation was unpleasant."

Molly wondered what sort of scandal the woman had been involved in. She knew _that_ tone of voice. Few dared to use it around Nanny, but some had started talking that way about her before she'd married Arthur. "Well, I still think having some food he grew up on would be a comfort."

The woman nodded. "I hope he's treated better now than he was last year. Kreacher had some nasty stories."

"Probably true," Molly said.

"Even that wretched elf said you tried to make things better, though." Narcissa bowed her head for a moment, then looked up. "You're going to think I'm making a fool of myself over Severus, and you're probably right. He won't say or do a thing, and it's probably safer that way. But just once—" She firmly shut her mouth.

_Well, I hope you end up with a nice dream out of this, then,_ Molly thought. She kept silent, too. Her friend had less privacy than most people thought. "We can't all have what we want," she finally said.

Her friend grimaced. "And _he_ deserves better than crumbs from another's table. I have two sisters, but one is married and the other one—the other one is Bella. Lucius really should have found him a wife years ago, but he's never approved of any of the candidates I found." She looked bitter and ugly for a moment. "Nor is he likely to."

"I didn't know Snape needed anyone's permission to marry," Molly said. _My, she's acting like she's jealous of her own husband. I wonder what that's about?_

Narcissa's face relaxed. "The Snape family has long been allied with ours. And given his current legal position, Lucius and the Headmaster would have to agree on someone."

"Well, that's not going to happen," Molly said.

"You see the problem. Naturally, the professor would have to go along with such a candidate as well."

"Not to mention _someone else,_" she said quietly. "Well, I'm only throwing him a party. Anything more will have to wait. All my sisters are married." Except for Shirl, of course, but as long as she ran in the woods with Mum, nothing was going to happen there.

"I hope you all have a good time," Narcissa said wistfully. "It must be nice to relax around people with fewer expectations."

"Tell you what, one of these days I'll invite just a few women, sneak you in, and teach you how to have a good time without having to worry about putting up a front." A few cups of Nanny's apple scumble would take care of _that._

"Oh, I would love it." Then she glanced over to one side. "Thank you for listening to my problems, Mrs. Weasley."

Molly immediately switched gears. "I don't mind a bit, Mrs. Malfoy. I'll send over a potion and that should help with the cramps." She closed the connection. She never thought about feeling sorry for someone so rich and beautiful, but tonight she did.

She picked up the recipe she'd copied down and walked upstairs with it in her hands. It felt good to go to bed in the Burrow. After last year, both she and Arthur had insisted that she have a few nights off each week except during emergencies. She wasn't going to spend this year shouting at her husband for things not his fault just because she missed him so much.

"What was all that, love?" her husband asked as she climbed into bed.

"Oh, the Headmaster wants a late birthday party for Professor Snape at the safe-house," she said, snuggling under the covers. "He spent his real one making up for losing the case—that's why I was over to Hogwarts on Monday. Dumbledore says phoenix tears won't help him any more since he joined the Inner Circle. I know a liniment that will, though, one of Nanny's old recipes."

"Oh?" Arthur's eyes went wide.

"Yes, _that_ one," she said with a laugh. "But it's not funny, really, considering where that bitch put her_ Crucio_. I'm surprised it's still attached." She played with a lock of her husband's hair. "I'll have to trim that soon. Can't have you looking unkempt there. And you already tried a comb-over." Her darling was going bald in places, but looked better with the hair remaining cut short. "Don't be jealous, love, it's not like I'm going to put it on him myself."

He smiled at her. How she wanted him! She forgot all about the fever spell.

"It doesn't really matter, as long as you come home to me," he said, snuggling up close to her.

"Well, it does to me," she said. Molly ran her fingers down his neck. Yes, it was a good thing she loved her husband so much, or she might make a fool of herself. "I know that liniment is supposed to be made by someone who's already involved with the person who gets it, but there isn't anyone I know of. He's not long for this world, not with the risks he takes, but it'd be a shame if he couldn't enjoy the time he had left. It'll be the two of us who puts the power into the stuff, not just me, and I really don't think you'll mind." She waited a moment and asked, "Do you?" If Arthur really objected, she'd have _Narcissa_ make it. Surely the woman couldn't have forgotten everything she learned in school

Her husband suddenly brought her close with his two strong arms and kissed her so hard her ears rang. Within moments he lifted the edge of her nightgown and all she could do was to squeak like a mouse till he made her cry out in passion.

Soon he snored besides her, while she blinked in amazement. He hadn't been that quick in years, and she had no idea why he was now. She'd heard somewhere that jealousy made some men hot, but as far as she knew Arthur had only joked when others had shown their admiration of her before. If this was the way he was going to show it, she ought to count her blessings. After a quick trip to the loo, she settled back into bed with a smile.

Arthur Weasley

He woke up in the middle of the night and smiled when he heard the thin, whistling snores of his wife. Did she have any idea how attractive she was after all these years and seven children? Snape was by no means the first man to fall to her charms since they were married, though he certainly wasn't annoying the way Moody or Fudge had been.

How much of his current bliss was being paid for by the sacrifices of men like Snape and Moody? How much of the Order's time and trouble was spent protecting his family? From what he'd heard, Bella had nearly killed the professor for losing custody of Harry Potter, and his wife's comments had only confirmed the worst of the rumors. Granted, there were other factors involved, but once more the Weasley family received the benefit while the Potions Master paid the price. If Molly thought it right to heal the man, he had no business being jealous. He grinned again. From what she'd said, he was going to enjoy himself in the process anyway. If the dour teacher had happy dreams using the stuff, then maybe he'd smile for a change.

Lots of men had lusted over his sweet Molly. But he was the one in bed with her. _Dream all you like, Snape, I have the real thing._ With that he rolled over and went back to sleep.


	72. Chapter 72: Shadows of the Past

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too. In this chapter—little action, more wallowing, hope y'all enjoy it anyway. Warning: serious elf pathos ahead. (also, I am sorry some of you received a message about this chapter before. I attempted to upload it and It Did Not Go Well).

Chapter 72: Shadows of the Past

Severus Snape

Snape awoke and saw Winky patiently waiting by the bed with a breakfast tray. He was embarrassed to be here when he truly wasn't that ill. _I'll have to clean my plate to convince Poppy of that, or she won't let me leave_, he thought. As far as he could remember, he hadn't had any nightmares or even woken up once last night. He felt a trifle dull from the sedative, which had clearly been a stronger dose than usual. _I'll make do with the normal one from now one,_ he decided. He tottered off to use the facilities, was happy the process hurt less than it had at the beginning of the week, and allowed himself to be propped up in bed with pillows. It was ridiculous that he still felt sleepy—it was well after the beginning of classes as far as he could tell. Winky had slept well, too, judging by her bright-eyed look.

The elf burbled happily at him. "Look, Master, real food today! Looks funny, but better than soup or pudding!"

It was the same muck Trelawney had recommended to him, but all things considered, the elf was right. It went down better than he expected, and had more flavor. _Here's hoping my digestive system knows what to do with it,_ he thought mordantly, even as he enjoyed actual flavor and texture in his food. The sedative developed by the Swiss slowed down intestinal motility, and with the detoxicant that was a very good thing. He hoped the potion wasn't as addictive as Dreamless Sleep was for some. He hoped it would matter.

Winky looked happier with every bite he took, and cheerfully offered him the mood-enhancer. Snape hated being dependent on so many potions, but it was certainly better than the alternative, after trying to do without last summer. "Mistress Nurse says you not that sick, but says you tired, need to sleep. Master sleeps so well! All night and part of morning, too! New Potions Master eats breakfast with Mistress Nurse, wants to talk to you, but you sleeps, you sleeps, and Mistress Nurse so happy."

"I'm glad she told you. I hope the dungeons were quiet last night."

Winky dropped her head and stared at the floor. "Winky bad elf, stays here instead for night." She lifted her face up. "This morning, Winky goes and looks. Master Shinyhead tries to talk to Missy Princess, but she not want to. She walks away like this." The elf demonstrated, with her nose high in the air and so like Miss Parkinson in a snit that Snape had to blow his nose in the napkin. He wasn't surprised. The girl was bound to Draco through the betrothal bond, and watching him betray her so publicly undoubtedly angered her.

_I need to speak to each apprentice individually,_ he thought. _We also need_ to _have a general House meeting this weekend. Sunday night before curfew would be best for that. I can manage the first years that afternoon, so if the general meeting runs late they can still go to bed on time. With any luck I can convince Poppy to let me go, and have a couple of the interviews by tonight. _"Is Mistress Nurse busy? I want to go back to my own rooms, but I suspect she'll know if I try to leave without permission."

"Of course, Master!" Winky took the mostly empty tray with her, no doubt to show the mediwitch how well he'd eaten.

She came in shortly thereafter, followed by the elf, who carried fresh robes. Poppy looked reasonably refreshed as well.

"I hope I didn't keep you from your own rest," he said. "I don't remember waking up or having any nightmares, but with some potions I don't."

"No, you slept clear through the night and so did I," Pomfrey said as she sat down in the spare chair. "And here's your keys back. Nobody needed them, fortunately."

"Obviously, I overreacted," Snape said, feeling a bit foolish.

"Call it making up for other times when you didn't let us know anything," the mediwitch said. "It also gave me a chance to examine you more thoroughly without embarrassing you. You are healing better than I expected, though I wish you wouldn't teach for another week, let alone tomorrow. Your ability to move quickly has saved lives in the past, and probably will in the future. Having to do so in your condition will not help. I know you don't think it matters, but it's my duty to treat you as if you were going to live to a hundred."

He wanted to protest, but knew she was right. "I hate being weak and ill all the time," he said. "I start to feel better, and then something happens and here I am again. I don't see how Lupin endures it. This potions regimen is helping me, I know, but I hate not being able to heal quickly. I worry something is going to happen that nothing helps with." His voice shook.

"You have good reason for that," Poppy said soberly. "You aren't seeing phantoms. Your danger is real. You must be horribly frightened knowing what could happen to you."

"To my students, too, even if I'm there. I hate being so helpless!"

"Some of us here are worried about them and you," she said. "If you are harmed by the Ghost Dagger curse, and not in the hands of the enemy, you are likely to outlive any arrangements Albus could make for you. Naturally you will be consulted, as long as that's possible. But you won't be abandoned, and neither will those children."

Severus turned his face away to hide the tears brimming in his eyes. He was used to pushing people away. How glad he was to fail at it now! "I…I don't know what to say, Poppy." He had few defenses against kindness, and none at all against love.

"That's all right," she said as she gently patted his hand. "What you've done for us means more than just words."

He forced himself to look at her directly, without hiding behind his hair or the blank face he used as a shield. "What you do means a lot to me, too." It felt odd to make such a declaration and mean it.

"It means a lot that you trust me enough to ask for help," Pomfrey said. "Now, go dress and you can go to your rooms for the rest of the day. Albus told me about you breathing clean air in Firenze's room, and that will work out much better than even the greenhouses in bad weather. Use your best judgment, but if you want to have the strength to teach tomorrow, I think you shouldn't push yourself too hard today. I'll see you tonight and we'll make the final decision then. And don't forget to take your chair with you. I know you think it looks odd, but I'm glad you thought of it."

He nodded. She would be looking for any excuse for him to stay in bed Friday and all weekend if she could. If he spent most of today in the office chair or in the recliner in his parlor, he should sleep better tonight than if he lolled about in bed or on the couch. The sooner he spoke to his apprentices, the better. After all, this weekend might bring another summons.

Winky helped him with his robes and he left the private room with the chair and the elf trailing along behind. Poppy opened the shortcut so he could go back to his quarters with less effort. It was frustrating when he needed to rest after even that short exertion. _How does Lupin stay so even-tempered when life has been like this for him for most of his life? Even when dueling his anger wells up, and I can almost see him pushing it away. Perhaps he gives it all to the wolf. That would explain a lot._ Snape knew his own deep rage was being held in check mainly through Lowenstein's potions. The night that Bella had left him wordless it had boiled back again, while one of her other spells had directed it into lust. _Well, I'm safe from _that_ for now,_ he thought as he sat in the recliner. He'd seen the doubt on Poppy's face and knew what she'd been afraid to say. It was possible he'd never be whole again in that way for whatever remained of his life.

He allowed himself a few moments to grieve for that loss, though in truth he had never let that part of him rule his life. It would be easier to make reports at Order headquarters without being distracted by Molly Weasley's lush form and delightful smell. It would be easier to teach the oldest girls without being forced to confront just how ripe some of them were. _Maybe I'm wrong,_ he thought. _I certainly had those feelings during the fever spell, even if the flesh was too weak to follow through. Albus took only the compulsion from that bewitchment, given how much I would like to see Molly now. It's far too early to be certain. I won't worry about it._

He had wallowed enough. Snape looked over at the table full of mementoes from the healing spell last summer. The others here at Hogwarts had given him so much. _I will not let them remember me as a whinging victim._

Severus levitated the table, contents and all, closer to his seat in the comfortable chair, and tried to remember his old party trick of temporarily manifesting something that he used to symbolize a memory. It had been years since he bothered. _I remember how Evan Rosier laughed when I made a copy of the Dark Mark skull and snake dance around at that last New Year's Eve party before everything went balls-up. _He'd probably be better off not doing it wandless this time, though. Perhaps it was time he practiced a little transfiguration. He'd do the manifestation first, and then change something else into its duplicate. That was cheating a bit, since if he were really good at this he could make a memory-image turn solid, but he should be careful about magic use given he wanted to convince Poppy he could lecture tomorrow.

He had many of these symbols in his mental sanctuary already, but they would be lost when he died. Those around him ought to know he was capable of more than anger and despair.

Albus was easy. A mock lemon drop quickly appeared out the end of his wand. He merely substituted one of many real ones he'd been given in the past and never eaten. Snape spent a few moments going over the papers in the envelope. He scribbled a note. _I wish I could sign this. I wish I could be what you see in me. Love, Severus._ Nobody would see this sentimental twaddle till he was safely dead, so for once he could say what he truly thought.

Minerva's symbol was a bit more difficult. The white queen from her own chess set quickly materialized, but he had a devil of a time turning an extra spoon into its copy. At last he forced the wretched thing to cooperate and _stay_ in the right shape. _She never did understand why I was so good with liquids, which are usually difficult, and had more trouble with solids. Well, neither do I. Metals are only liquids with a very high melting point, and usually I remember that._

He glanced at the newspaper with the half-filled-in Latin crossword, and smiled. He knew another gift he could give the stubborn woman. "Winky," he said to the puzzled house elf as he handed her the paper. "Could you see that Miss Granger receives this?"

"Yes, Master, but why?"

"Muggle education is shockingly lacking. In some ways, so is ours. So few families make sure their children learn Latin these days. In fact, I had to learn it as an adult myself. There are some ancient potions that have never been translated. A filled-out puzzle would only bore her, while an empty one would be too much. One that is half done is likely to intrigue her. I suspect she will go to Professor McGonagall and demand some tutoring. I think her Head of House will be pleased, don't you think?"

Winky nodded, the paper in her tiny hand. "Winky takes it tonight when Master Cauldron-go-boom is done? Missy Book-Girl likes this!"

"Mr. Longbottom will not be brewing tonight, so you may take it to her when he arrives. He and I will be going over how to use the tiles. I find them more interesting than I thought, and I want to see if he has researched any charms to use with them, or started making a set out of something more durable than paper. Don't worry, the first time I become angry I will stop and retire for the evening."

"Oh, good Master! Shouting bad for you, Mistress Nurse says."

Severus nodded, and turned his attention back to the table. He knew he was using too much magic and should probably rest before doing any more, but he hated putting this sort of thing off these days. He wished he could think of something special for Professor Sprout. Fortunately, Winky had adopted the Heart's-Ease plant, and it thrived much better than if he'd had anything to do with it. He imagined a badger, though, and was pleased to see the form of one appear out of the end of his wand. He transfigured a paperweight into the animal's twin, which gave it a solidity most of the other tokens did not have. Glass, after all, was also a liquid, if only a very slow-moving one. _I wish I'd had the sense to confide in her while I was still a student,_ he thought. The Head of Hufflepuff had never turned any student away, no matter their House.

Flitwick was a bit easier to do. The dark, shining quill was easy to see in his mind without the bother of manifesting it, and one of his own quills was already close in form and color. He made the nib sharper than usual, too. _I will have to interview Miss Edgecombe today if possible. In fact, I should call her first. According to Draco, she saved my life from Bella's malice by risking her own. _The Head of Ravenclaw might not appear as interested in his strays as others, but Snape knew the small wizard had not forgotten the girl.

He smiled as he created miniatures of Fang, Hagrid, and Grawp, and made it appear as if they had been carved from rock cakes. He happily added a tiny house elf with enormous eyes and flapping ears, though in her case she looked more like jade.

Winky squealed. "Is that _me_?"

"Yes, dear. You're one of my happy memories."

The elf sniffled for joy. Snape gave her a handkerchief, since he didn't want her to wipe her nose on either the tea towel or on his sleeve.

Once he'd created more mementoes of people here at Hogwarts, including a miniature potions vial for Poppy, he knew he had to add others. Some happy memories hurt. He'd given most of his memories of Lily away, but still had a few. With less trouble than he thought, a full-blown red rose appeared in the air, with two shining emeralds for her eyes stuck to the flower's center.

"That's pretty!" Winky said, and clapped her hands. "Who is it?"

"A girl I knew a long time ago. She died." He gazed at the rose, wondering if he should allow it to disappear. He shrugged, The only eyes looking at this table would be friendly ones. His wand shook a little and it took him several tries, but he transfigured a longer-lasting copy just as the first one faded.

He was becoming tired. However, a ham sandwich shouldn't be hard. The original had tasted wonderful, though he'd find little nourishment in his memory or in a transfigured copy. Snape tried to think of some other symbol, but couldn't think of anything else that fit the woman so well.

Winky fussed when the sandwich, wrapped in wax paper, appeared. "If Master is hungry, Master only has to say so!"

"It's not that, little one. It's what my memory chooses for Mrs. Weasley. I don't have to eat it to enjoy remembering her."

The elf visibly pondered that. "Mistress Red-Hair helps you a few days ago. Winky shouldn't laugh when she turns you upside down."

"It wasn't the first it happened to me," he said. "I'd rather she did it than anybody else." The memory of James Potter tormenting him that way filled him with resentment. For a moment, he had to close his eyes. _No. I have too little time for this. _He used an Occlumency technique for dealing with harmful memories that he should probably do more often. First, he mentally changed the scene from color to black and white. Then he lowered the volume on it, so he could barely hear anyone's voices. At last he finally pretended to flick his wand at it to make it disappear entirely, as if dispelling an Illusion Charm. _Gone,_ he thought to himself. _Gone, as if it had never happened. I don't care if the Dark Lord can find it, either. If he asks, I'll tell him I sweated it out the last time I had an expulsion cycle. Or I spat it out in a basin when someone pounded me on the back helping to clear my lungs. If he does find it again he can bloody well keep it._

"Master?"

"Yes, Winky, I'm fine," he said. In fact, it was true. "I had a bad memory, and I tried to make it go away. I don't want it on my table." He had a thought. "Winky, do you want to learn how to keep good memories and deal with bad ones?"

The elf blinked. "Not sure, Master. Push bad ones away with butterbeer. Elves not talk about bad things."

"That doesn't always help," he said. "Humans use Firewhiskey like that sometimes. Then you have bad memories _and_ a headache, usually. I've tried to hide mine away, too, but it doesn't help much without good ones to think about."

"Winky…all right for Winky to talk about Barty?" She gazed solemnly up at him.

"Yes, if you think you ought to," Snape said. He didn't know what the Headmaster had told the elf when she'd first come to Hogwarts. "I found being told not to talk about bad things just made me more determined to think about them. I know you can't tell me family secrets, but I'm not asking about any of those. Was the Crouch household your first one?"

She stared down at the floor and twisted her hands. "Yes, Master," Winky said in a whisper. "The old elf Mandy tells me, 'you takes care of Barty now, Winky. Stay with him, not let out of house, do what Old Master says.' She dies, everyone cries and cries. I hears Old Master doing bad spell to Barty, same one Master Headmaster does to you. Barty happy. No." She stopped, then started again. "Barty not happy, not at all. He smiles, he eats, he sleeps, but not happy. Cries at night in bed. Winky tries to help. Barty finds me, tells me to help with Master Mad-Eye. Winky is wrong, wrong, wrong!" The elf wept.

Snape was silent. Nobody had ever learned the real story of what had happened between Mr. Crouch and his son. After a few moments, he said, "Winky, I am commanding you to tell me the rest, whatever you can." He understood now why Albus had done the same with him.

"Yes, Master," she said with a sob. "Winky takes care of Master Mad-Eye. Barty teaches, makes potions, complains about Boy Who Lived and Greasy Git and the Old Coot. Likes making Greasy Git scared. Sorry, Master," she added.

Severus nodded. "I'm not angry at you for what someone else said."

"Thank you, Master." Her voice was thin and tired. "Winky keeps Mad-Eye sleeping, he not feel so bad then. But then, but then, Barty kills Old Master! Horrible things happen, the Grey One comes, and Barty is gone, gone! Winky so afraid. They know Winky helped, they gives Winky to Grey One too! Then I drinks butterbeer, everyone thinks Winky bad elf, no good." She looked up at him. "Then you become good Master, ask for Winky, give me work! Winky tries so hard. Winky wears _equipment_, so pretty! Then Master so sick, so hurt, Winky afraid again." She burst into tears.

He was glad nobody was in the room to see it when he picked her up and settled her in his lap. "Cry all you like, Winky. Your Master says it's all right if you want to." It seemed odd to comfort someone who clearly grieved for Barty Crouch, Jr., but it didn't matter. She sobbed out loud till he thought he'd need a Drying Charm. He also knew what she was afraid of now. "I'll live for as long as they let me, Winky, and if I turn up without words again, you'll just have to do the best you can to make sense of what I want. I'll try not to be like Barty after the Dementor took most of him away."

"Won't matter, Winky stays…" she mumbled into his arm. Then she raised her head. "But they not let me for Barty!" she wailed. "They take me away, then Barty gone! Try to find him, and can't!"

He didn't know where the bodies of Kissed people went. Snape supposed Moody had told him, but that was one memory Albus had not forced him to keep from Azkaban. "Well, if the Dark Lord has me, I don't want you to risk yourself hunting for me. Other than that, I suppose you're stuck with me for a Master." He knew there was probably some paperwork to fill out to make it official, though with the entire Crouch family dead a formal transfer of ownership was likely out of the question. "I'll ask the Headmaster what he knows." However, since Winky was obeying his direct commands, even in regards to past duties, there shouldn't be any trouble recognizing his authority over the elf, or the claims any elf had on a master.

Winky sniffed. "Thank you, Master," she said in an unsteady voice. For a few moments she continued to cling to him, then slipped down back on her feet. In an instant, his robes were dry again, without him doing a thing. "Is Master done with table?"

"Not quite," he said. He quickly transfigured a pen-holder into a small green and silver dragon. Then he turned a tumbler into an exquisite fluted goblet. He wasn't good enough to etch her arms, a combination of Malfoy and Black, onto it, unfortunately. But if Narcissa ever saw it, he thought she would know it was for her.

He sagged back in the chair, exhausted for now. He hadn't done this much transfiguration for a long time, and usually not in such detail. There were others he wanted remembered, but he would have to add their tokens later. He wondered if he dared put any one for those who had been on the wrong side, but had still been his friend. He quickly turned another quill into a dark miniature broom. Nobody but he had to know it was in memory of Evan Rosier, who had been so proud of his, even if the brand had been outlawed for Quidditch.

"Master rest now. That hard magic," Winky said imperiously, clearly over her fit.

Severus didn't argue as the elf marched him off to bed. He fell asleep almost instantly and woke just in time for lunch. As he sat up in bed over his tea, he wrote out several messages for Winky to deliver. He _must_ talk to his apprentices soon. They could be summoned without him, and they needed to be prepared.

As Winky left to deliver the notes, he slowly walked to his office. He must appear as strong as possible to the students. For most of them, sitting in the spare chair across from his desk would bring back their own memories of when they had confided in him as first-years.

He drank more tea and played at grading essays. _Should I really teach tomorrow?_ He was sorely tempted to rest between talks, and give Master Lowenstein one more day in class. Soon he would have to start the next batches of Wolfsbane, and he intended to include Miss Granger as well as his godson with this month's procedure. Any extra potion could easily be distributed by Lupin to give him more consequence with his temporary pack, if all the cauldrons turned out the proper quality.

_I'll just lecture tomorrow,_ he decided. Poppy was right; he wasn't up to moving quickly enough for anyone's safety in class. The Magister's brother could return to his home for the weekend, and be called back if he was needed Monday.

Miss Edgecombe came to him first, between her History of Magic class and Charms. "Please have a seat, but leave the door open," he said, as he put up a Muffling spell. The proprieties must be observed. "Once more I must apologize to you for having to see me at my worst," Snape began. "I learned later what you risked to save me. I thank you for that."

She bowed her head. "I wish I hadn't taken the Mark."

"I wish you hadn't, either. However, I want you to know that I owe you a Wizarding Debt now. I am not certain what favor I can do in return, but remember that it's there."

Miss Edgecombe looked up. "I still owe you, sir! You stopped my arm from hurting that first night, and later you blocked the loyalty spell. You had everyone looking for me after that horrible night with Macnair, and I wasn't even your apprentice, or in your house. Jake Macnair said we both owe you because you figured out a way so we didn't have to marry or become betrothed. All I did was to remind _her_ that you weren't supposed to die."

He fiddled with one of the quills on his desk. "Only if you would have it so. I also want to remind you that Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout won't mind listening to you if you need to speak with them. I fully realize how difficult it is to confide in me, given events." He thought of the picture he must have made when Bella had stirred his manhood, and then nearly ruined it. _I hope she paid attention. I suspect she wouldn't mind doing the same to Walden Macnair._

"But you're the only one who told me the truth after…after I was attacked," she said vehemently. "Even the mediwitch just gives me tea and tells me things will improve. You're the only one who really _knows_."

He instinctively bent his head forward to let his hair fall into a curtain—and then stopped. Edgecombe needed someone braver. Snape sat up straight and held his head high. "It is hard," he said in a dull voice. "Everything feels unreal. When people are laughing or smiling, you think they've found out, or that they're out of their minds. It's like a glass wall between you and everyone else, and sometimes you want it that way. It's easier to keep away from people, because when you're alone, that's the only time you feel safe.

"But don't stay like that. Things are easier after a while. You'll find yourself smiling and surprised that you mean it. One day you'll laugh at something, though it doesn't seem like that now, and won't till you're ready. You'll have nights without bad dreams. If you can find someone whose touch doesn't bother you, don't drive hm off. If you freeze up inside, stay away. Hot baths are good then. Animals like Hagrid's dog are safe. Don't force yourself, though. Putting on a happy face just for your friends doesn't help as much as you think it does."

He was amazed she was taking notes. Well, she was a Ravenclaw. Then he thought of something Sybil had left among the box of books she'd given him. He _Accio_'d a Muggle catalog that had been tucked down at the bottom of that stack. No wonder that chit Granger thought all answers were found in books. He'd been amazed at some of the titles here.

Snape handed her the catalog. "Some of these Muggle books directly address your predicament," he said. "If you wish to place an order, circle one or two of them and I'll see they're delivered." Perhaps he ought to acquire duplicates for Poppy's library, to be lent out to students who needed them. He had been tempted by a couple of the titles for his own use. Everyone knew families where one or both of the parents drank to excess, but nobody spoke about the problem. Admittedly, he couldn't take the ones that spoke of 'the inner child' seriously—he planned to stay away from his as much as possible.

She blinked at some of the titles in the catalog, and well she should. His cheeks had flamed when he'd looked over the topics, many of which really ought to be kept private, or at least not hawked like so much fish. Granted, nearly all the books were directed at women, who spoke of topics among themselves that men generally shied away from.

Perhaps there had been too much privacy. "I suggest you keep any of these volumes well-hidden," he suggested, knowing many students had too little. "Perhaps charming the outside to look like one of the books Professor Binns assigns to you will do the trick."

Miss Edgecombe nodded, her face pink.

He continued. "If…if you feel the way you did in Moaning Myrtle's, see Madam Pomfrey immediately. I will let the staff know that you may go to the infirmary at any time you need to, though the mediwitch may use phrasing to your friends and others indicating you are having ah, female problems. In a sense this is quite true, since your attacker doesn't like boys." He was pleased to see his blunt speech put fire in her eyes instead of putting it out. "If you need to spend time vilifying all men, Moaning Myrtle herself is quite sympathetic and is willing to listen. You will not be the first to discuss such matters with her."

"She said…she said I wasn't the only one…" the girl said, wiping her eyes. "But I didn't want to listen to her."

"Understandable at the time," he said brusquely. "You aren't the only one to be assaulted this way, and I fear not the last." Every time he had to talk to a student this way it hurt so much, but as far as he knew he was the only one able to give helpful counsel. Poppy tried to manage them herself, but had occasionally asked him to speak to such victims over the years. He tried hard to help, but had his failures, too.

She bit her lip. Then she looked up at him. "Was…was there anyone for you?"

He nearly threw her out of the room right then. Instead, he remembered that she'd saved his life when he had been helpless, and took a couple of deep breaths. "I find myself unable to discuss that," he said flatly. Lucius had been so sympathetic when hearing of what happened to him in Knockturn Alley, only to reach for him that way as well. Dumbledore had fled his mind when confronted with too much harsh reality. Only Poppy had had the courage to look at those scars without cringing. Last year, her calm voice and matter-of-fact manner had been the only thing sustaining him. "I strongly suggest you confide in Madam Pomfrey," he repeated.

Miss Edgecombe's face changed, clearly understanding his answer. "You're right, professor," she said softly. "May I go now?"

"Yes," he said, unable to say any more without losing his temper. She left the room, still holding the catalog. Snape hoped this would be the hardest of the interviews today.

The happiness of this morning seemed miles away now. He felt trapped in the past again. Then he heard Winky humming not far away as she cleaned in the next room. It was pathetic beyond words to depend on a wretched little house elf for emotional comfort.

Well, he'd had that debate before. He may as well admit he _was_ pathetic and move on. If he were truly strong he wouldn't have blethered at Poppy last night, or stared so long at the poisons cabinet.

Snape called to Winky to refresh his tea. He lay back in the chair and drank it slowly, and nibbled at a seed-cake she'd brought with the fresh tea.

He closed his eyes for a moment, only to open them at a noise.

"Pardon me, Herr Professor," said Master Lowenstein, who was clearly searching for a file in a drawer. "I had hoped not to wake you."

"I suppose you're going to tell me that I should stay in bed, too," Snape said.

"Why should I? My brother attempted it with me, with little success as well." The tall Swiss wizard blinked and reached for a file folder from an open drawer. "Ah, there is it. I wish to see how much mathematical instruction one of the first year children has received. I cannot tell if she is miscalculating the amounts of some ingredients, or attempting to experiment."

"If you're speaking of Miss Marcher, experimenting. I have no idea why she was not chosen for Ravenclaw. Although the Weasley twins, whom you never met, were Gryffindors and should have been in _my_ house."

"I do not understand this Sorting," Lowenstein said.

"You aren't the only one. The divisions seem to be growing worse, not better, too." Perhaps it was wrong of him to wish to Vanish the Sorting Hat, or stick a vulture feather in it and give it to Mrs. Longbottom as a spare, but at this point something needed to be done. Well, it wouldn't be up to him.

The other wizard nodded. "It is not my place to comment. Yet I noticed that a student coming out of here had no snake on her robe, but a bird. I had thought I remembered all of them, but I do not recognize that girl."

Snape knew he'd better think of something quickly, or Lowenstein might think he had other motives for speaking to a student not in Potions. "Miss Edgecombe is currently involved, or thinking about becoming involved, or something of the sort, with Mr. Zabini, who is in my house. I would rather those hormonal idiots could manage on their own, but if they can't, I'm the one who has to pick up the pieces. If you wish, you may mention her name to him and see for yourself. If they're happy in love, they pay no attention to matters in class and try to blow me up. If they're unhappy in love, sometimes they _want_ to blow things up. It's safer to keep a finger on matters than to lose it in an explosion later."

The older man barked a laugh. "Some of my brother's workers are like that as well, and they come to me. I have no idea why."

"Sometimes all I do is listen," the Potions Master said. He wished it had been that easy today. He changed the subject. "I understand I missed you this morning. I can only say that your brother's sedative was quite effective at keeping me asleep."

Lowenstein's face changed. "Be happy he has those potions now. It was…was not good without them, and the detoxicant only."

"I discovered the first day I couldn't tolerate it without the sedative," Snape said. "I tried going without the others to reduce the total potion load, but that didn't work out well."

"Ah." For a moment the other wizard was silent. Then he said, "I had many dark thoughts when I was on the regimen. I hid them, not knowing what was wrong. You would not be the first to do something foolish. I myself—"

"For me that was last summer," Snape admitted. "Last night I merely looked at my poisons cabinet longer than I should have. I gave Madam Pomfrey my keys for the night."

"Then you were wiser than I. Yet the mood enhancer is helpful. Once my ordeal was over, Allard suggested I use it all the time." Lowenstein shook his head.

"Madam Pomfrey will probably say the same thing. Just now it's hard to imagine what it might be like _not_ to be ill."

"It is better than it was," the other man said. "I was sick for a long time, too. It is a great load taken off of me. Sometimes I wonder if many in our field do not try to medicate themselves, not knowing how their work is changing them."

"It's hard to me to see past each day." Severus couldn't believe how he was confiding in a relative stranger. Then again, sometimes it was easier to talk to someone one didn't have breakfast with every morning.

"I was like that, too, while in the middle, and I did not try to teach or end up injured for other reasons," Lowenstein said cautiously. "You cannot expect too much now. I agree with your estimable mediwitch, you should not teach till Monday at the earliest. I—it is odd for _me_ to give others advice, but there it is."

"I wish I could rest." _Other lives than mine depend on my enduring this,_ he thought. He took a deep breath. _Soon enough I will rest forever. I can wait till then._

"Then stop it for now, and continue it later."

"I am tempted," Snape said. Yet, every time he saw black sweat on his skin, or vomited that horrible glop into a basin, he knew he was better off without it. "I think I shall continue it, though at this point in time I'm not sure why."

"You shall be glad you did, when it is over." The other wizard picked up the file. "I am glad I do not work here and undergo treatment at the same time. I shall clear my schedule in case matters go badly for you and I must return, though."

The Potions Master took a deep sigh. "Thank you. I do worry about the little dunderheads, you know, even when I want to hex them."

At that, Lowenstein left with the file in his hands. Snape barely had time to compose himself before Miss Parkinson came in. Since she didn't have Potions this year, she would have time this afternoon before leaving for Transfigurations. She came in hard and defiant, no doubt conscious that her discussions with some of the other apprentices were already known to him.

"Miss Parkinson," he said as she sat down. He left the door open and reinforced the _Muffliato_.

"Don't try to defend Draco!" she blurted out, then clearly realized how little respect that showed. "I mean, sir, um, please don't tell me how ill-used he was!"

"But he was, Miss Parkinson," Snape said. "When you spoke to him Sunday morning, did he enjoy the thought of his new conquest?"

"No." Her face crumpled.

"Did he give you false promises of eternal fidelity? I'm sure you know the kind I mean."

"Not that either." Her voice was quiet now.

"Then please tell me what it was like when he spoke to you."

"I can't," she said. "I mean, it wouldn't be right. He thinks so much of you, professor. He doesn't want to disappoint you the way he has before. He even told me…" She looked frightened.

When she continued to be silent, he nudged her. "Please tell me, Miss Parkinson. You know how well I keep secrets."

"Yes, professor." Her face went bright red. "He said you saved his life last summer, that Goyle wasn't the only one. Don't be angry with him for being a traitor, sir. He's _her_ apprentice anyway. Surely she'd know if he wasn't loyal to our Master now."

"Do you think me disloyal because I tried to stop the spell?"

"Of course not! You just…just felt some of us hurting and didn't know why." Pansy looked unhappy. "Our Lord punished you already. He punishes you a lot. He says he appreciates you, but he lets that woman do awful things to you."

He nodded. Miss Parkinson had more brains than many thought underneath that marcelled hair. Now it was time for her to think about things, and not just react emotionally. "Suppose that Goyle wasn't the only student who had doubts last summer. Suppose I knew who they were and was still protecting them. Perhaps I deserve that punishment, Miss Parkinson."

"Nobody should be hurt that much!"

"You saw Madam Lestrange murder a Muggle child. You helped torture a Muggle man, though I finished him off, and you saw me murder a Muggle woman. She wasn't much older than you are. What did they deserve?"

"But they were Muggles…" It was obvious she didn't find as much comfort in that as she wanted, though. Her face showed doubt. "You're testing _my_ loyalty now, aren't you?" she whispered.

"Perhaps. I think you know by now how well I can be trusted with my apprentices' secrets."

She looked down at the floor. "What good will that do if they kill you?"

"Indeed. In that case, you and the others will need each other all the more."

"I…I saw what Edgecombe was like after that meeting," Pansy said. "I won't be _her_ apprentice, ever!"

"You may not have a choice if I am gone. You may be chosen by some other member of the Circle instead who is even worse."

Her lower lip trembled, and she grasped her left forearm. "Oh, why did I ever do such a stupid thing?"

"I am going to trust _you_, Miss Parkinson. I have had that same thought on occasion."

The blood drained from her face. "If I go to someone else with this, I could ask for a lot."

"If the rules of apprenticeship allowed you to complain to an outside party about your master, yes," he said, keeping his face blank. He gambled she knew little about those rules.

She grimaced. "Nobody would take me as an apprentice again even if they believed me," she said. "I might be made a full member if I betrayed you, but none of the others would ever speak to me again."

"And if I survived, you would still be my apprentice." He allowed a hint of menace to enter his voice.

She swallowed hard. "I, I remember what that woman said. She was surprised none of us had been um, chosen by you. If you were dead and we all had new masters…"

"I fear that few members of the Inner Circle show much restraint. Some of them generally exercise their privileges only with Muggles, but as we know, are not always as careful as they could be. You would be safe here at the school, but could still be summoned away from it. And, of course, you would be available during Christmas break and summer time. You could be ordered to quit school."

"But my mother—"

"Would no doubt be proud that you had attracted the attention of someone higher in rank."

"But Draco and I are going to be married!"

"He is an apprentice, too, and to someone who relishes her power." Snape wished that his godson had kept his mouth shut. _Exercising my least favorite trade one more time wouldn't have hurt me the way her _Crucio _did, and she might have spared me some of the pain if I'd satisfied her. As it is, Draco has barely started down that path. Oh, damn!_ "This is part of being in our Circle, Miss Parkinson," he said. "Your mother knows it."

She began weeping. Though the girl occasionally used tears to get her own way, Snape felt she was sincerely overwrought this time.

"Do you still love Mr. Malfoy?" he asked, as if it made any real difference.

"No…yes, oh, I don't know!" Her voice shook, and her face was blotchy, which it rarely was when she was only trying for effect. "I hate _her_. I know that much. Anything you need me to do to _her_, just say the word. I know…I know you need more power than you have with _him_, or he'll keep letting her hurt you. And Draco."

"I need to have my apprentices united," he said. "You must all meet and decide for yourselves what terms you can all agree on. You need to be able to protect each other, even if I perish. You cannot betray any of this group for any reason. There is a way out of this dilemma, if only you can see it." He wished he could see a way out of _his_. _I'm blinder than the poor children trying to follow my lead._ He remembered when he'd summoned the spirit of his latest victim, and she had said guidance would be offered. _Well, I'm asking for it now!_

"Like a big study group," Pansy said with a wan smile. "Only for keeps. Don't worry, professor, I won't let you down. I wish…I wish you hadn't traded apprentices. I wish you'd been able to save Mar—Miss Edgecombe without that. It was awful when she appeared in the Common Room that night…"

"I am glad you tried to help her," he said. Snape looked at the clock. "And if you hurry, you will make it to your Transfiguration class on time. Every scrap of knowledge is valuable now, Miss Parkinson. It may mean our lives."

"It always has, hasn't it?" The young woman smiled. "Please get well soon, professor. We miss you." She stood up, walked over to him, and kissed him gently on the cheek.

He was startled, but tried to hide it. Obviously, he was slipping, or he would have been able to retain the necessary distance between teacher and student. But after what she'd seen, how could she respect him the way she used to? "Miss Parkinson," he said in a warning voice.

"I won't do it again, sir," she said, not looking abashed. "Just…just don't die, please? We need you."

"I shall do my best," he said with a sigh. "Now go to class."

The Potions Master slumped over his desk. He didn't argue when Winky rushed in and urged him to lie down. He'd managed only two of the interviews, and had so many left to go.

Perhaps the others would not be so exhausting. For now, he felt wrung out. He was always too soft with girls—no, with the young women in his charge. Miss Granger was the only one he was good at tormenting, and that was only because her stubborn intellect was strong enough to stand it. He had already saved out a few potions journals where he had quoted her and the words published. She'd see them soon enough. _I really am tempted to leave her my books, _he thought, _with a few volumes chosen out for Draco, and perhaps a couple for Mrs. Weasley. In fact, I should separate those sets out this weekend. Albus would not want the Darker volumes, and the Malfoy library has a better selection of them than I do. A couple of them are mostly concerned with food, and Molly would likely enjoy those. Miss Granger would inhale the rest with glee._

As he lay in bed, he knew it was past time to segregate the worst books and dispose of them before his death or disability. They could easily fall into the wrong hands. As much as he savored the thought of a member of the Trio tempted by some of them, the war would be lost if too many on the side of the Light were corrupted. _No, better to leave those tactics in hands that are already stained,_ he thought. _And even I have my limits. Pity one cannot feed books to a Dementor—that is all a couple of them are fit for._

The tiny elf urged a tray of food on him. "Master doesn't eat enough to keep a Kneazle alive, even when you well. Please try, Master."

He sat up, drank some tea first, and then nibbled on an apple. Even that minor effort tired him, and he asked Winky to set aside the rest for his evening snack. _What did Draco tell Pansy? And why?_ Snape didn't want to think about that, or about Miss Edgecombe. He clasped the shreds of old protective numbness in that area around him, desperate to keep from plunging into that old pain.

Severus practiced an old mind-clearing exercise. He would have to start teaching Occlumency again one of these days, and must protect those horrible memories where Potter could not reach them, especially since a Pensieve wasn't safe around the boy.

He was still glad he'd forced himself to discuss certain things with the Ravenclaw girl. She had saved his life, after all. _I just wish it didn't hurt so much,_ he thought. And he was amazed at Miss Parkinson. Normally she was fairly self-controlled about most matters except for her relationship with Draco. She certainly hadn't tried to manipulate him like this before. If her intention was to keep him off-balance, she'd succeeded.

At last, he was able to apply his meditation techniques so well he dozed a little. When he awoke, Snape was surprised he'd fallen asleep at all, given how deeply he'd rested the night before. It was nearly dinner time. Despite Winky's protests, he dressed and went to the Great Hall. If he planned to teach tomorrow, he had to show he was capable of some exertion.

Albus looked worried when he arrived, though the Potions Master was pleased to see Poppy at the staff table for once. He made sure they saw him eat as much as possible when his plate was put before him. The others greeted him. Even Vector looked up from her book and focused her eyes on his presence. Severus had enough good will left to nod at Lupin. Fortunately, the werewolf restrained himself and merely nodded back, instead of bounding over to chat.

The Slytherin table began to break out into applause, though his students fell quiet when he quickly acknowledged their kindness and gestured for silence at the same time. It warmed his heart, though he wanted to warn the children that such demonstrations could be dangerous with the wrong people watching. He contented himself with a half-scowl. _I must be sure to have that House meeting Sunday night just before curfew,_ he thought. Showing how much they liked him openly could cause them trouble if the Ministry decided to make an example of him, and it was necessary for the Headmaster to allow them to do so.

Oh, how he wished he could just _enjoy_ things.

He ate over half the serving of rich pasta laden with a pale sauce and bits of meat before his stomach began to rebel. To cover his distress, he calmly sipped his tea till he felt better. Alternating the tea with small bits of food seemed to work. Instead of rising immediately, his usual custom when he couldn't eat any more, he sat and allowed himself time to digest before moving off. The dinner potion helped. It smelled of chamomile and ginger, both of which were helpful in their own right. He was glad their flavors masked the other ingredients.

Minerva cleaned her plate and had dessert as well. He knew that Sprout often commented how unfair it was that the Scotswoman could eat so much and never gain an ounce. The Herbology Professor whinged she could starve for a week and never lose one. Snape never understood why the woman complained, really. Women should be plump, and from all he heard, Sprout's husband agreed with him.

He finally felt he could go back to his quarters and keep down what he'd eaten. He didn't expect half the Slytherins to escort him. It pleased and terrified him at the same time that they trusted him so much. It took twice as long to go to his office as it normally did. He growled at them to go back to their homework or lose points once at the door, but nobody took it seriously, not even the first year students.

He let it go for now. If he died a martyr for the cause, surely even the Ministry would have better things to do than to persecute his students. _I still need to talk to them about such displays,_ he thought as he entered his office. _Umbridge would have found a way last year to penalize them, and me, for showing they liked anyone better than her glorious self. _He remembered some random frothing he'd done last spring at the stupidity of the Potter boy for suffering so badly by not giving in, as any sensible boy would after a while. Albus had only smiled and said, "I remember one such lad, who didn't give in even though he had four Gryffindors, and what must have seemed like the entire administration against him. Perhaps he should have been sensible, too. But I'm glad he wasn't."

Snape hadn't been able to think of anything to say after that. It annoyed him no end to discover the Headmaster was correct about some similarities between himself and Mr. Potter. He had to admit that things were easier this year, and that both of them had changed.

He arranged some papers on his desk, and thought hard about the Gryffindor.

_Suppose I treat Dumbledore's statement as true,_ he thought. _It could not hurt, and might help. Clearly, treating the boy as if he were a duplicate of his father has not worked. It will do no harm to watch and see how he reacts to a different style altogether. He has friends, and is not the victim of any sort of gang, but all the dangers he has faced thus far are undoubtedly unnerving in their own special way. His relatives are as unreliable as mine were, and judging by what I know of the Dursley family, he has little trust in any adult for good reason. That would explain why he has yet to make a confidant of Lupin, for instance, when almost anyone else in his circumstances would do so. Albus is providing him some emotional support, I suspect, along with the Occlumency lessons. Yet, how can I change what I must teach him? Voldemort lured him with visions of what the boy wanted to see. I was susceptible at that age myself. What does Mr. Potter need that I can actually provide him?_

He welcomed the knock at the door. He had scheduled three interviews this evening, but suspected he would be able to manage two at best, given his weakness earlier today. "Mr. Crabbe," Snape said. "Please take a seat."

Ah. Now there was a possible answer. He had already started a file system on Mr. Potter and his friends as if they were newly-Sorted Slytherins. _I shall treat him as one of my own,_ he thought. _Perhaps that will be enough._


	73. Chapter 73: Collateral Damage

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too.

Chapter 73: Collateral Damage

Mr. Crabbe came in, holding a note. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes. Please sit down." With any luck, this discussion would not take long. "First, I want to congratulate you on your play last Saturday. Draco did catch the Snitch, but I also noticed a couple of Beaters keeping Miss Chang away from it so he could have a clear shot. Fine Bludger work, Mr. Crabbe. I'm sure Miss Bulstrode is pleased with you as well."

The large young man's ears turned pink, and he mumbled something incoherent. Then he sneezed. "Oh, that reminds me, sir! Drake can't come tonight for his talk—he's doing another detention at the infirmary."

"Perhaps that's just as well if he's trying to play Healer with the first years," Snape said.

"Er, well, the old witch who was here earlier this week had me and Millie help out Sunday night while she looked ours over. And then she had Drake in for a talk. But she told us right off you weren't going to die, so we didn't mind."

Malachite was wise. Seeing the Dreadful, Horrible Snakes being helpful certainly could not hurt. _Perhaps I have been wrong keeping my students so isolated just to protect them. If they are seen behaving more like Hufflepuffs, perhaps that would do much to make the Gryffindors look foolish when they say all my kind are evil._ "I'm glad," he said. "Be prepared to accept more assignments of that kind. If Mr. Malfoy can be seen scrubbing bedpans with reasonable good cheer, the rest of our House should not worry about losing face in front of the rest."

"Whatever you say, professor," Crabbe said. "If others see us as soft, won't they be surprised when we're not!"

_I suppose that's progress,_ Snape thought with an inward sigh. "Think of it as strategy," he said. "I also want to make sure none of you were hurt later on Saturday night. Mr. Malfoy and I have already spoken about it somewhat, but I don't want to neglect the rest of you."

Vincent looked troubled. "I don't like remembering it, sir. I told Greg what happened, and he said he was glad to be out of it."

"Do you speak with Mr. Goyle often?" He'd given Winky a note for the ghost, too, just on the off chance the boy would finally speak to him.

"Once a week, maybe a little more often. One time he tagged along with me and Millie, and I told him enough of that," Crabbe said. "He's learned a lot from the other ghosts, and he's told me most of it. I can't believe you've fooled everyone for so long! Both sides think you're spying for them, and only you know which one for sure."

Snape wanted to bang his head against the wall. "Both the Dark Lord and the Headmaster are aware of my activities," he said flatly.

"I bet they think so," the young man said with a laugh. Then he became serious. "Greg said that Drake's gone to the Headmaster a couple of times. Did you know about that?"

"Yes, I did. I hope nobody hears of it." If Vincent Crabbe wasn't such a natural Occlumens, and upset over his friend, they would all be doomed,

"Not from me, they won't. He came back for us after that horrible woman sent him away, and was hexed for his trouble. When we finally made it out of there, he started a fire so all the apprentices could go back through the Forest together to the school all right. I won't grass on Drake to anybody!" His face clouded up.

"What do you think about…current matters?" The Potions Master realized he might have to rephrase this. Subtleties were generally lost on this young man.

Crabbe wrinkled his brow. "You or Drake ought to be the Dark Lord. He shouldn't have been hurt just for looking after us. I hope nobody saw me grab Zabini when he was going to help the Ravenclaw girl. And Greg shouldn't be dead," he added plaintively. "All he did was to think different, is all. You're always after us to think, period. He shouldn't have been killed for that."

_In for a Knut, in for a Galleon,_ Snape thought. "It's too bad any of us died last summer," he said, wondering if Crabbe would follow that line. Or could, for that matter.

The Beater began doing sums on his fingers. Then he stopped and blinked. "Funny, that. Mum counted up the black boxes on the front page of the Prophet that week. She said there were at least ten of them. I saw three Muggles get it so far—the little kid at our initiation, that old guy you finished off, and the woman you killed when you were raised up to the Inner Circle. Sounds like we're losing anyway." Crabbe looked totally blank for a moment, then spoke again. "Maybe there's a reason for that. Maybe the Headmaster isn't as senile as he looks." He looked frightened. "Am I in trouble now?"

"Only if you talk about this to anyone but Mr. Malfoy," Snape said.

"I know that! We all saw what they did to you," the young man said, his face crumpling. "I'm scared, Professor. What are we going to do if they kill you?"

"I will do my best not to let that happen," the Potions Master said crisply. "But if it does, do what you've always done. Help Draco and make sure nobody hurts him unless it can't be avoided. You can speak with Madam Pomfrey or the Headmaster if you need more assistance." He closed his eyes, knowing that if Crabbe ever spoke of what he knew, it was over anyway.

"She was hurt, too. How did that happen?"

"Madam Lestrange's rebound spell threw her against the wall when the mediwitch tried a healing spell on me. I am not certain. I don't remember what she said, as I was still under the hex that kept me from understanding words." He looked down at his desk. The boy didn't need to see any weakness in him just now. "She was at St. Mungo's for a few days and only returned last night."

"She's always nice to me when I'm hurt in a game. She's even nice to Drake when he's faking, though not as much." Crabbe chewed his lip. "We don't have to be friends with the Gryffindors, do we?"

"No, Mr. Crabbe, that is much too great a sacrifice. However, that reminds me. I will be tutoring Mr. Longbottom in just a little while. Trust me when I tell you it's in self-defense."

"That makes sense. If our bad potions make you sick, what does _his_ stuff do? How did he pass his OWLS without blowing everything up, anyway?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

"I wish…I wish I hadn't mucked up mine so much, or messed with anybody else's, just to see the look on Potty's or Wormy Hermie's face."

"Pardon?"

"You know, sir, the book-worm. And her hair looks like worms when she tries to make it lie down. You yell at her all the time, but we all know you like her anyway."

"What?"

"Not for shagging, of course. Everyone knows the Weasel would kill anyone who touched her. It's just that everyone knows that you're surprised when her potions aren't perfect, instead of the other way around. Though from what I saw Saturday night, she's in for a surprise if you do give her what she really needs…"

"Mr. Crabbe!" Snape thundered. "Ten points from Slytherin for undue familiarity!"

The young man actually _smiled_. "Oh, sir, you haven't yelled at anyone like that all year. But now I know why people call you the Big Snake when you're not around."

Snape had long been aware of the nickname, but given 'greasy git' or 'that awful bat', had thought this one relatively benign. "I'd better not catch anyone using it," he said with a scowl.

"Yes, sir. May I go now, sir?" Crabbe looked hopeful.

"Yes, and try to stay out of trouble. Do _some _of your homework by yourself, too, instead of having Mr. Malfoy help you. Even though you're not in Potions any more, I have a good idea of how you're doing in your other classes. If you're really bored, Hagrid needs someone large and strong to help with his animals at times. I have asked Mr. Andreas to work out there to learn not to be afraid of them, but I think he'll need more supervision than Hagrid normally gives."

"I wouldn't mind that, sir. Drake doesn't like them, but if he'd just slow down a little they wouldn't go after him so much."

Snape blinked. It was true that Crabbe did best in Herbology and in Care of Magical Creatures as long as no paperwork was involved. "Well," he said, "one of these days you'll be done with school. You might be able to help your friend more if you learn how to manage beasts, or at least learn their habits well. That way he won't have to deal with them."

"Jake Macnair always complains that his uncle wants him to be a huntsman, too, but he hates it. He likes _Arithmancy,_" the young man said, making the subject sound like a dread disease. "I dunno if I'd like the killing part as much as Jake's uncle does, but being out in the woods and tramping about isn't too bad."

"You could work with Mr. Macnair," Snape said. "I might ask you not to tell him anything about your friends or me, while telling me what he's really up to." Walden would laugh at him for planting such a clumsy spy, of course, but many people had underestimated Vincent Crabbe before.

"I could do that," he said. "See, all I have to do is remember the way Greg looked in his coffin, and how Drake made sure he had his Beater club. I won't forget what they did to you when all you wanted to do was to help him, too. A knife in the Dark Mark must hurt a lot."

"It did," Snape said. He briefly sent his mind to examine Mr. Crabbe, only to meet the usual brick wall. "Now, we've talked for long enough. You still have homework, and it won't go away by itself. And remember what I said about doing it by yourself."

Vincent left, visibly dragging his feet.

Theodore Nott came in next. Snape sat up straight, knowing he dare not show any weakness with this student. "Mr. Nott, please sit down," he said crisply.

The young man obeyed. He was tall and weedy with dark hair and eyes, in his seventh year, and was often visibly resentful that Malfoy had higher status than he did, even though Draco was younger. He was almost certainly dedicated to the Dark Lord. "Have I done anything wrong, sir?"

"No. I merely wished to find out if you had any questions after last weekend. I would not like to have you misinterpret events. It is my duty as a member of the Inner Circle to make sure my apprentices do not stray from the path they should follow." _As far away from the Dark Lord as possible,_ the Potions Master thought. "You may be as frank as you wish. I do not write letters home or to anyone else about things I hold in confidence. I prefer to settle most problems and disagreements in this House without involving others."

Nott relaxed. "I hope you are well soon, sir."

"Yes. It is a slower process without the use of healing potions, but I am certain our Lord was aware of that. It is unfortunate the Wizengamot saw fit to assign guardianship of Mr. Potter to the Weasley family."

"Even that's better than him being in the hands of _Muggles_," Nott spat.

"I agree. However, I failed in my duty to see that Mrs. Malfoy succeeded in her petition. Remember, our Lord's rewards are as great as his punishments. As my apprentice, it is your duty to support me in my endeavors and to help me rise in the Circle once more. You might also recall I am owed two favors from those least likely to enjoy giving them." He allowed himself to visibly savor them. The boy needed to be reminded that quarter day had yet to come for Mr. Pettigrew or Madam Lestrange before he made any overtures to them.

"Of course, sir," Nott said. "As long as there's a chance for me, too."

"I find that quite reasonable. Since Mr. Malfoy is now the apprentice of Madam Lestrange, I must keep a close watch on him to make sure he doesn't sabotage me. I should be able to neutralize him, but after what I heard, I think there is no doubt that he sees some advantages in his current position. I will have to continue to appear to favor him. However, I will need your loyalty all the more for losing his. Do I have it?"

Theodore Nott blinked. "Of course you do, sir!"

Snape believed him about as much as the Potters should have trusted Wormtail. He nodded as if he did, though. "Good. I want you to tell me about any meetings the other apprentices have. Some I will know about ahead of time, but I want to hear about all of them. Some of them may feel that I have been treated unfairly, and may consider rash measures. For their own safety, I must know about these proposals and nip them in the bud before the dunderheads end up ruining what little credit I have left. You yourself are to agree with them, but let me know as soon as possible about any such plans. Some of them might actually be good ones, but could use some refining. However, I _definitely_ need to know if anyone comes up with ideas to act here at the school, like kidnapping the Three Gryffindors From Hell, or something equally stupid."

Nott looked stubborn. The older wizard continued. "I need to maintain my position here with the Headmaster, so he may continue to trust me. If any plans involve Mr. Potter, especially, those orders will come directly from _me_. No Slytherin can appear to be directly involved. Since you are on the Quidditch team, I hope you realize Mr. Malfoy has more opportunity than the rest of us to deal with the Gryffindor if such action has been ordered. Most people aren't really watching the Seekers half the time."

"I hadn't thought of that, sir." The young man was more alert, as if he understood the problems of impulsive actions. One could only hope.

"As far as the apprentices go, I suggest you keep an eye on Miss Parkinson," the Potions Master said. "Her anger towards Mr. Malfoy may cause her to do something unreasonable, which will draw far too much attention to us. You may wish to sympathize with Mr. Macnair as well. He is aware that he barely escaped a hasty marriage because his uncle could not keep it buttoned. He may harbor some resentment towards being directed to take the Mark at all."

Nott's eyes blazed. "Yes, sir. I…I wrote my parents after what happened last weekend, and they told me to watch _you_. Even they thought the Dark Lord was…was a little harsh, and believed you might be upset. May I write them back? They'll be happy to know you're as dedicated as ever. Mother also said she was asked by some of her friends if she wanted to send a get-well card to Madam Pomfrey, and pretended to agree. She'll be glad to give me some names if I ask her to."

"I think that would be helpful," Snape said. _I must ask Poppy who actually sent her cards, if any of them did. They must be warned to be more careful, if nothing else._ "Please do write. At this point in time, we should drop most petty intrigues against any in our House. I have said as much to the first years, and I think you can imagine precisely where I heard it first." He made a mental note to have all owls intercepted and read by him for the next few days. Filch wouldn't mind helping him with that. "I hope you realize that betraying me in search of a higher position might put you in an awkward one."

The seventh year's face went blank.

He took a deep sigh, and spoke again. "Because you have shown yourself so expert in Potions, I might have you tutor oh, say, Mr. Longbottom, or that strange first year Hufflepuff who is so willing to experiment. At times I could use an assistant more skilled then Winky. For instance, I need to start another batch of the Wolfsbane soon. I would hate for any accidents to happen, of course…"

Nott's eyes went wide. "Of course, sir."

"I'm so glad we understand each other. Now, I'm certain you have homework. I will be lecturing and reviewing only tomorrow, but I will be assigning essays for the weekend. The rest of your schedule had better be clear, especially since Hufflepuff's team this year is better than anyone expected and we're playing them Saturday."

Theodore Nott left, obviously relieved to make his escape. _I shouldn't enjoy this,_ Snape thought, _but I do. I should be awarded points for making such a good little Death Eater squirm. Yes, it's petty, and I really shouldn't indulge myself with students who can't fight back. However, Nott can take care of himself._ He paged through the older boy's file and sobered. Nott's real father had disappeared during the First War, only to be seen in the States. His mother had received a divorce without any scandal on her part, which was rare in most pureblood families, and then remarried to her husband's cousin, thus keeping all the estate in the clan. Had this boy become lost in the shuffle, or was he trying to make up for his father's cowardice? Theodore Nott would bear more watching. However, spying on his fellows would keep the Slytherin occupied and possibly useful till Snape could understand him better. _I must not let any of them become lost,_ he thought.

Severus lay back in his chair. Other interviews would have to wait till tomorrow. It was just as well that Draco was busy tonight. He was just too tired to deal with his godson's problems, and too proud to let the boy try to help with his.

He heard a timid knock on the door. "Come in," he said, and brightened the level of light in the room somewhat. Mr. Longbottom walked in, and looked about nervously. Snape gestured for him to take a seat. "We're not going to brew tonight. Have you done more work with the tiles?"

"Yes, professor," the Gryffindor said. "I tried some charms on the paper ones, but they don't seem to work right."

"Bring them out, and let's see. Paper doesn't hold spells as well as wood does, while ceramic or metal tiles would be better yet, at least for what you want them to do. For now, you could probably tap each paper tile with your wand and change its color each time you complete the necessary action. That way you don't have to make a new set each time." He wouldn't suggest using bone. In fact, the more he thought about it, the Gryffindor should probably use wood from a tree he was already emotionally involved with.

"I hadn't thought of that," the young man said.

Snape noticed how Longbottom's eyes automatically went to the plant in the corner, gave it a slightly worried look, and went back to the pile of small papers on the desk. "I have Winky take care of it," he said. "I know better than to poison it with my touch."

"Oh, sir, I never said anything like that."

"I am well aware that according to popular legend I can curdle milk with a look, too. Personally, I have better things to do, plus Professor McGonagall prefers to retain her monopoly, but you know what gossip is like." It was fascinating to watch the young man's face—he was so undecided between wanting to laugh and to flee in terror. "You may as well enjoy this while it lasts," he added. "No doubt I'll be shouting at you while you melt your cauldron any day now."

"I hope so, sir," Neville said quietly, real concern in his eyes.

"I imagine you realize that nobody will believe you if you repeat this conversation."

"I don't believe it either."

"Good. Neither do I." The rest of the hour was actually palatable. Once Longbottom stopped stuttering and started thinking, it wasn't horrible for either one of them. _I could become used to this,_ the Potions Master thought.

The session lasted longer than he thought, judging by the clock up in one corner of the room. Longbottom stood up to leave, then suddenly bent down.

"What is that?" Snape always wondered about the contents of his students' pockets, if only in self-defense.

"Just a gum wrapper, sir." He held up a purple Droobles paper.

"Sometimes I wonder what the manufacturer puts into that gum," Snape said, "or into any of the standard commercial sweets."

"Harry says the Muggle ones prints the contents on a label. He showed me one, but I couldn't tell what half the stuff was. I suppose I'm lucky. Her—I mean, Miss Granger, usually isn't allowed any when she's at home. Gran used to be like that, too, but when she saw how Mum and Dad liked their gum, she let me have some, too…"Longbottom's face went white.

"I know about them," Snape said quietly. He hadn't been on the raid when they'd been driven into madness, but had heard all the details from Bella and her husband when they'd come back. He sometimes wondered how many more spells of the Cruciatus would be needed for him to end up on the same floor of St. Mungo's. "Perhaps later this year the class can examine what's really in some of these confections. Nothing from the twins' shop, mind!"

"Of course, sir." Neville looked relieved to be away from the topic of his parents. "It'd be neat to find out what makes Ice Mice glow in the dark."

"That's probably a simple Fluorescence Potion," Snape said. "It tastes sweet as well, so the makers probably save on how much sugar they have to put in. But we'll discuss that later. I'm sure you have homework."

Once the Gryffindor was dismissed, Snape was exhausted, but pushed himself up to a standing position after a few minutes' rest.

"You're doing too much," said Albus Dumbledore from the doorway. "Are you sure you want to teach tomorrow? You'll feel much better by Monday."

"Don't worry, I won't have them brew," he said, as he moved out from behind the desk and towards the hallway. "I plan to lecture and review only. Tonight, Mr. Longbottom and I went over how best to use the tiles. He's afraid of ruining Master Flamel's set, and is using paper substitutes. Also, we use some procedures now your friend didn't use, while the converse is also true."

"He needs to make his own, then."

"Yes. Given his affinity with plants, wood would be best, I think. Since he doesn't play Quidditch, he should have more spare time than his friends." Snape paused once out in the hallway, and charmed his chair into following him. "Now I need to see Poppy and convince her I'm well enough to sit at a desk and lead a discussion."

"You'll have better luck with that if you aren't so tired. Ride in that chair—I don't mind slowing my step to match its speed. As long as you actually walk through her doors, she won't know the difference."

The Potions Master reluctantly agreed. The chair was slower than walking, especially when he was tired, but the Headmaster seemed glad of the chance to stroll. The older wizard appeared weary as well. "I'm not the only one who should be sitting in a charmed chair," Snape said. "You had better allow me to go in first, or I won't be the only one to be checked over."

Albus nodded, but didn't smile. Both of them, and the chair, went through the big double doors. Snape was reasonably happy his magic had held up so well, given how much use of it he'd made this morning.

Poppy was glad to see them, but whisked Severus to a corner well away from the main ward, put up a screen, and used a few diagnostic spells on him. Snape would normally insist on the private room or her office, but decided not to protest. Besides, she would undoubtedly tell the Headmaster the results anyway; he may as well listen in now and save time.

"I suppose you'll do all right tomorrow, but I still wish you'd rest till Monday. If there's an emergency you might strain yourself," she said.

"I'm only going to lecture and review," he said. "Even Longbottom would find it difficult to melt something that way, though Flitwick says it isn't impossible. I've taken it easy today, and have napped twice. I sat up more so I would be sure to sleep all the way through the night." He didn't like the mediwitch's furrowed brow when she'd gone over him with her wand. _Ash with unicorn hair,_ he thought, not wanting to think about what she could have found.

She fiddled with it as she sat, and still looked worried. "You are healing inside even with lack of rest. The inflammation isn't as bad. However, I fear you're scarring internally. You really do need to see a specialist. I know one at St. Mungo's who is an expert in the reproductive tract, and he has some tests that will show the true extent of the damage. He's developed a procedure to repair such blockages which doesn't use potions. The only problem I see is that it's quite painful, even when the patient is stupefied, and you've endured so much already."

"Wouldn't dissolving internal lesions start the bleeding again?"

"I don't think he's had that problem," she said. "You'd require strict bed rest afterwards, of course, to make sure the healing takes and to recover from the trauma of the procedure, but you would stand a much better chance of er, becoming completely whole."

"It was bad enough being torn apart the first time," he said in a monotone.

"This would take place under proper supervision at St. Mungo's," she said. "Much more could be done about the pain there than I can here. Please consider it, Severus. If you wait too long, the damage will likely become permanent. It's possible you'll regain function anyway, but…well, you're such a young man. It wouldn't be right."

"I'll think about it," Snape said. There were more risks to magical surgery than she was telling him. In the hands of those incompetents he could easily bleed to death, with no one the wiser, even if the hospital had not been compromised. It would be easy for the Ministry or the other side to rid itself of him while he was helpless there, if he survived the procedure.

Dumbledore wandered into the screened area. "If you have it done at the clinic in Switzerland, it'd be easier to monitor your potions, and you'd probably feel safer."

Madam Pomfrey nodded eagerly. "At least see the Healer and see what he says. He may be willing to do the procedure at Lowenstein's clinic and leave instructions for your after-care."

"What is it like?" It couldn't do any harm to ask.

"As far as I understand it, extremely tiny magical snakes are lured into the injured area, work their way through any scarring under the healer's direction, and leave an ooze behind that knits the tissue behind them cleanly. Once done, the Healer Apparates them out and puts them back into his jar for next time. It is recommended that the patient not be conscious for this." She looked grim. "Professor Flitwick should know some charms against pain. I have a few that induce unconsciousness, but I fear none of them last long enough. I would hate for you to wake up in the middle of it, since I'm certain Williamson uses a paralysis charm for safety."

Snape felt queasy just listening. "I'll—I'll speak to the Healer next week," he said, to forestall further nagging.

"It shouldn't be any later than that," Poppy said. "I know you will have to start the next batch of Wolfsbane soon, but this…this is more important, Severus. It really is. Mr. Malfoy did make one cauldron's worth, and even if you are directing him from a stretcher hovering in the air by his side, he is likely to be able to make another, especially if Miss Granger is going through the instructions at the same time." She smiled. "You could win your bet that way, you know."

The Potions Master was slightly tempted by the prospect. 'I'll speak to this healer first," he said. "I—I don't know—"

"It does seem that everything we ask you to do these days ends up hurting you or making you ill. But it would be wrong to give up _everything_ for the Order's sake," Albus said.

_I'm already giving my life,_ he wanted to snap. Snape pretended to listen to some more urging, and then made his escape after promising again to schedule an appointment with Healer Williamson. Having the procedure in Switzerland made sense; his potions could be managed much better there, if nothing else, and Malachite had already shown him that she was expert in older techniques.

Yet he shied away at inflicting yet another set of indignities on himself. The Potions Master wanted to scream in rebellion against such medical tyranny. Everything was supposedly for his own good and he was sick of it. Why did it matter so much if he could truly function as a man, when the only woman he wanted was the loyal wife of another?

As he exited the infirmary, he smirked at his small triumph. Poppy _had_ allowed him to teach tomorrow. He waited till he and the chair were safely ensconced in his quarters with the door closed before he gave way to despair. There was just time for a warm bath before he should be in bed, especially given the hour he would have to rise. As he approached the bathroom, however, he heard Winky laughing…and sounds he hoped he would never hear again.

Once each year, the Headmaster gave him one bizarre Muggle rubber duck, which he had charmed to quack and to do various other things, claiming his dour Potions Master was insufficiently frivolous. Snape had quietly stunned each one as soon as he took the most recent acquisition back to his quarters, and had stuffed the entire collection in a closet in the lavatory, and locked it. Obviously, Winky had found the lot.

He opened the door with a thump and was prepared to roar his fury, until he noticed how the elf shrank against the wall while the ducks froze in place. As much as he had enjoyed yelling at Crabbe earlier in the evening, this was quite different. "Winky," he said, "please draw me a warm bath. Please round up all these little gentlemen for now. Once I'm finished, you may do as you like with them as long as no sound goes past the door, and that the tub is properly drained and cleaned before you retire for the evening."

The tiny elf obeyed, though several of the ducks, including one the Headmaster had named Duck Vader, did their best to escape. Snape Accio'd that one himself, as it seemed most resistant to capture. By the time his bath was drawn, he had entirely forgotten to pity himself. In fact, when he was finally in bed, he relaxed the _Silencio_ built into his threshold and smiled as he heard the giggles, the bleating ducks, and the occasional splash.

_There must be a prank I can play with them,_ he mused. _I would hate to admit that Albus was right and silliness has its uses, of course. I wonder if I could teach them to sing Christmas carols? Winky could lead them down to the Great Hall…_ He started to doze imagining the stunned looks on everyone's faces while his bland one totally denied responsibility…_Damn! I could have taught them how to sing "Weasley Is Our King" last year, and follow young Mr. Weasley around.._

Then he smiled to himself. _I shall leave them to Miss Edgecombe. She won't understand why, either. _

Draco Malfoy

Draco carefully pretended he hadn't heard a word while cleaning bedpans in the scullery. _I wonder why Madam Pomfrey didn't use a Muffliato while talking to the Professor? I sure hope nobody in the ward in the other direction heard anything. Well, I'll be able to see it on their faces if they have when I ask if they knew why he was here. And I'll have to tell him as soon as possible that I'm visiting Father in Azkaban Friday night. _

He knew that all the apprentices had been scheduled for interviews, and wished he hadn't had detention tonight. _I didn't need to know he was hurt _that_ badly,_ Draco thought. _I know the name Williamson, too. Mother had a brochure from his clinic by the fireplace in her parlor the last time I was home, though Marta whisked it away before I could really read it._

He felt humiliated when the mediwitch came in and found his face wet with tears. "I should have kept my mouth shut," he said. "It's all my fault. If only I'd left things alone, she might not have hurt him so much."

Madam Pomfrey, who had let him talk for a bit when he'd first started this evening, shook her head. "You don't know that. From all accounts, Lestrange is an evil and vicious woman who enjoys the pain of others. Professor Snape might have been hexed just as badly anyway."

Draco knew better and turned back to his bedpans. "Why didn't you talk to him in his office? Others besides me might have overheard."

She sighed. "No one in the ward can hear anything from that corner, though, and I forgot you were in the scullery. If you really want to help, try to persuade your godfather to take the treatment you heard me talking about. I know when he's pretending to agree with me just so I'll let him go. I don't blame him for resisting anything else that would cause him more pain. But he might listen to you."

"I'm not ready to do the Wolfsbane Potion, even with the Mu—er, Miss Granger hectoring me with instructions," Draco said. Lupin wasn't that scary most of the time, and his classes were easy if you paid attention, but this time around, everyone knew the DADA instructor was a werewolf.

"I know. However, Professor Lupin was guarded by Firenze late last summer when Professor Snape was so ill, and we couldn't find any on the market. His transformation that time was much the same as he endured last year, and his recovery was uneventful. The potion is dangerous if made by inexperienced hands. I feel your godfather should spend at least a week at the clinic after the procedure, where they will have a better chance at keeping him lying down. You have seen for yourself how impossible that is here."

"Did…did all that affect how he's healed?" Draco had to ask. If only he'd known, he could have organized the apprentices to watch over their master better, and not leave so much to Winky.

"I really don't know. Sometimes light activity helps reduce scarring by increasing blood flow. Not being able to use any potions for healing was the main factor, I think. The older spells do work, but not as well as potions do now." Madam Pomfrey sighed. "And now this."

"I…I don't know," Draco said. "If he thought…if he thought he was going to live, he'd probably go through with it. You should have heard him Sunday morning. He thinks he's going to die or be left, um, left the way he was after the hex. Every time he turns around someone's hurting him, even if they say it's for a good reason."

The mediwitch turned pale. "I know, Mr. Malfoy. He's suffered far more than anyone should have to, and now I'm asking him for more. But it's my job to see that everyone in my care is as healed as they can be." She sat down in a chair nearby, clearly crushed.

Draco rinsed and dried his hands, then fetched the teapot and a cup from the office. He set them on the counter and poured some for the older witch, then Accio'd the sugar and cream. "I'll try to persuade him," he said. "It's not right that a family line as old as his should be wiped out. I'll owl Mother and ask her to look for another source for the Wolfsbane. I know she tried last summer, but she may have found some private supplies by now. Winky should go with him, too. He'll feel better, and the clinic probably won't mind having someone look after him while he recovers."

Madam Pomfrey looked up at him oddly.

"What?" he said, wondering where he'd gone wrong this time.

"I want you to know how very proud I am of you," she said. "I would never believe this happening a year ago."

He grimaced, thinking of that horrible toad Umbridge, and the whiny, selfish brat he'd been till this last summer. _My godfather must have despaired of me! I can't fail him now._ "I want him to be proud of me, too." Draco cheated, and stacked the dry bedpans with a wave of his wand.

"I'm sure he is," the mediwitch said. "I hope none of the students are disappointed this year because he isn't breathing thunder and lightning, though."

He thought about it. "It was fun watching him go after the other students. He mostly just glowered at me last year, as if he couldn't think of anything I'd listen to. Crabbe says he misses it, actually. Some of the others are worried the professor isn't strong enough to protect us any more, and don't know what to do."

"Professor Snape _is_ strong," she said firmly. "He would be dead by now if he weren't. And while constant anger is impressive in some respects, it's a double-edged knife. It has had physical as well as mental effects on him. Though I wish he wasn't so ill, he has needed a rest from the disruption his fury has caused _him_, never mind on others. Do not mistake lack of pyrotechnics for weakness, Mr. Malfoy."

"It's, it's scary when he is so sick," he said, turning his head away. "We're not used to depending on any of the other teachers. This year, we're trying to pretend that we aren't targets, and so far it's working, but if he was gone for good…"

"I don't blame you for worrying," Pomfrey said softly. "However, please continue to behave the way you have so far. Other teachers notice it, too. I shall not name names, but I think many students in Slytherin would be happy to know that one of the most stubborn is changing her mind, however reluctantly. The longer it takes for her to adjust her thinking, the more likely it will stick, so continue to have patience. She has a very difficult task on her hands, much of it self-inflicted, but every time one of your House reacts calmly and refuses to hex back even after provocation, that is a victory."

Obviously, the mediwitch was talking about Professor McGonagall. Draco was humiliated knowing he and his fellow students would have to continue to crawl the way they had so far this year, but Professor Snape said it was the best strategy. And…didn't his own aunt cringe at the feet of the Dark Lord towards the same end? The Headmaster wouldn't live forever, no matter how much it looked like it now. Wouldn't it be worthwhile to have a Headmistress who didn't think Slytherin the root of all evil?

He sighed. He knew another step he could take. "I wish you hadn't been hurt," he said. "I should have come here and warned you, but I was worried about the others." Now that he thought of it, of course, he could have left a note at Hagrid's hut, or summoned the Malfoy owl and ask it to send a message. He had only been given the right to do so last spring, when his father had been taken to Azkaban, but he continually forgot to use it.

"Thank you," the witch said. She finished her tea. "That helps. I wish you and the others could meet together and do…do whatever you did last summer. Whatever it was saved his life. The Headmaster said he'd never seen the Dark Mark glow like that, or used for anything but pain. The professor could use some heartening."

"I was so afraid. We all were, after what we saw." It felt extremely odd to speak so freely to anyone, let alone someone not from his house. "And with Greg dead. I've seen his ghost a couple of times, but he never stops to talk to me the way Vince says he does to him. I don't know if the others will trust me now after…after what happened last Saturday. Maybe if I tell Vince that I'm worried about Professor Snape and wonder out loud if he needs the kind of help we gave him last summer they'll meet again." Wait. Maybe he could still be part of it. Edgecombe hadn't been the professor's apprentice back then, and Percy Weasley still wasn't, and the rite had worked anyway.

"Most ghosts are shy their first year or so," Pomfrey said. She stood up and patted him on the shoulder. "You've done a good job this evening. Go on back to your dorm now."

Draco left the infirmary, though not before he walked around the ward and tried to cheer up this evening's catch. It was obvious none of them had heard anything that Madam Pomfrey had told Professor Snape. That first year from Knockturn Alley was here again, but only to show the mediwitch that the bite he'd received in Transfiguration was all the way healed.

The Slytherin suddenly realized the kid was the same age Snape had been when his father had been in his sixth year, and felt a brief wave of nausea. He made sure the scrappy firstie didn't see it, though. The brat was quick to take offense when it wasn't meant. "Sleep tight, and don't let the hedgehogs bite," he joked.

"And if they do, hit 'em with a shoe," Mr. Andreas replied with a brief smile.

"And if they bark, hex 'em in the dark," Draco finished. "That's the Hogwarts way!"

It was fun making the sober little guy laugh. He left the infirmary in slightly better spirits. Once he reached the dungeons, he saw Winky guarding the doorway to his godfather's quarters. He remembered when he was in the first and second year dorms on this level. Older students worked their way up, and since they were fewer, had more spacious quarters than other students in more populous Houses. He'd been afraid his first couple of years, since he had been schooled at home by tutors, and being on the same floor level as the professor had helped a lot. Now, of course, he rather liked having less supervision and being higher up. _I could have had a single room or one with Vince this year, since there is more space, but it wouldn't feel right without Greg around. Besides, Zabini usually remembers to block the light when he sits up late to study in his bed, while Rosier is always good for a laugh. Vince needs that this year. And so do I._

He stopped at the professor's door. "Is he still awake?"

"Don't know, Master Shiny-Head," Winky said. "But Master's tired, so tired," she added. "Sit up too much today, talk with people. Will feel bad tomorrow, but won't rest. Hope nobody calls him till Monday."

"I hope so, too," Draco said. He dreaded knowing Bella Lestrange would call him again. "I hate just leaving a note. I'm going to visit my father tomorrow night, and your master might want me to take a message. But I don't want to disturb him tonight, either." His godfather didn't like people seeing him when he wasn't at his best.

"Good, Master needs to sleep," the elf said. "Winky remembers, tells Master as soon as he wakes up and has first cup of tea. No yelling tonight? Winky worried Master will hear and have to help."

"Of course. I'll make prefect's rounds in an hour with Nott." He was amazed any Slytherin had received a badge this year, especially anyone who'd been on the Toad's enforcer squad. _The professor must have done a lot of talking,_ Draco thought. _I should be grateful for this second chance._ He decided he'd better find Vince and beat that Herbology essay out of his friend. Maybe it would be a good idea to have team meetings for homework the way the Gryffindors were this year.

It wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be. His friend already had his book open and was scrawling notes on a piece of paper. _I'll be ready to take a NEWT in Herbology just from helping Vince even without taking the class,_ he thought. _Maybe I ought to do a detention or two in the greenhouses to make sure the plants really act the way the book says. _He didn't mind drawing extra duty so much this year, especially since most of the teachers giving them made him actually learn something, like the ones he had in the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey would sometimes quiz him on things related to healing while he was cleaning or sorting things. He understood how much he needed to learn, especially after Saturday night. _I could have been the only one able to help the professor. I'm amazed Potty bothered, everyone knows he hates Snape. Then again, he isn't mouthing off in class the way he did last year. He's changed, too. Weird._ _Funny how that scar acts the same way as the Mark._

As he finished ragging Vince into writing the paper, Draco had a strange thought. _I wonder what happened to St. Potter last summer on that Sunday morning? Or on the night we were at the Manor to help my godfather? I can't think of any way to ask, though._

He left and began patrolling the halls with Ted Nott. It was interesting looking for troublemakers and wondering which side the other Slytherin was really on. They had fun rousting a couple of third year students and sending them back to Ravenclaw. _Brave souls to take a dare and wander through this realm!_ Draco thought with a laugh.

As the two of them slowly walked down a deserted hall, even the portraits were asleep. Nott looked around, and then stopped. "Have you have a talk with my master lately?"

"I talked to him on Monday and Tuesday," he said. "And I saw him up at the staff table at dinner like everyone else did." He wasn't going to mention Snape's visit to the infirmary.

"No, I mean a sit down talk in his office," Nott said.

"Oh, I know what you mean. I was supposed to go in tonight, but I had to wash bedpans instead. I'll probably talk to him tomorrow or Saturday night, unless he squeezes me in just before the game against Hufflepuff. I heard he was going to teach tomorrow."

"I didn't see Master Lowenstein at the table, so you're probably right," the other Slytherin said. "I did have a talk with the professor, and when he was done with me I was petrified."

"No shock there," Draco said.

"You know what I mean. I hope you don't mind me saying I think they…they've done too much to him. If anybody's planning anything, I want to be part of it."

He nodded. Nott hadn't been like this before, even though he'd helped in the ritual last summer. _I don't believe he's really changed his mind that much,_ he thought. _The whole family is behind the Dark Lord all the way. _"Of course I'll let you know if there is anything," he said. "You have to realize that even Pansy won't talk to me now, though. I have a new mistress who has first call on my loyalty. I'm going to see Father tomorrow night, and ask for his opinion." Not that he was going to listen to it, of course.

The other prefect looked down at the floor. "Things are different than what my parents said. I wasn't expecting some of this."

"I don't think any of us were. But look, it could be worse. I could be apprenticed to _Umbridge._" Maybe that's why Percy Weasley didn't mind having Wormtail for a master.

They both laughed, then carried on with their sweep of the halls. Draco wondered what Nott was really up to. It was almost as hard as figuring out Zabini—although these days the quiet Slytherin clearly had plans that involved Walden Macnair's head delivered to Miss Edgecombe on a silver platter. _Mother would probably offer the loan of the one she sets out for Ministry dinners if she knew_, he thought.

Nott was a different story. _My best bet is to keep my mouth shut, for a change, around him till the end of the year._ "I wish Pansy wasn't so angry with me," he said, failing to follow his own advice.

"Can't blame her. It's even worse than being caught in the rosebushes with the wrong girl, to have to watch like that. I'm just glad it wasn't me showing my bare arse to the world."

"It could be, you know," Draco said. "If the professor isn't…isn't around any more, you and the others will likely be parceled out among the rest of the Circle. You aren't the worst looking fellow. In fact, you clean up nicely for someone not a Malfoy." The older Slytherin was starting to fill out. _I wonder if the Professor ever will._

Nott grimaced. "I hadn't thought of that. The girls would be the worst off, though."

Malfoy agreed. No doubt Edgecombe wouldn't muff her suicide the next time, while Zabini would manage his in the guise of avenging her. Both Pansy and the Rosier girl would be vulnerable, too. "You should probably volunteer to serve Pettigrew as a group, then," he ventured. "I bet the Unweasel would feel more at home in a mob anyway. Even Edgecombe would be safer." Maybe. He didn't know as much about Wormtail as he ought to.

"You really think it's possible?" Nott looked agitated.

"You saw what happened. My godfather can't take the healing potions he needs because of the regimen he's on for overload poisoning. Do you really think he's going to survive the next time our Lord wishes my mistress to punish him?"

The other Slytherin's face went blank. Draco pressed his point home. "Father protected him last year, but he's in Azkaban and can't do much from there. I gave it a try, and we all how _that_ worked out." He swallowed. "I'm being much too sentimental, of course. I ought to look at things the way our Lord does. It is my place to obey."

"She's going to ask you to hurt him," Nott said.

"I know." Draco didn't know what he was going to do when that happened. _I have to think of something soon. Too bad the Weasley twins don't make joke wands. Zonko's used to, but the Ministry made them stop when one of their Aurors grabbed the wrong one._

They both stopped, having come to the end of their patrol. Nott peeled off without a word, and went up to the seventh-year bedrooms on the boys' side. Draco hoped he hadn't ruined anything by shooting off his mouth. He made a quick stop to see Winky, saw her snoozing on her pallet, and passed her by. _I wonder how she'll manage if the Professor dies. She went to the butterbeer when Barty Crouch Jr. snuffed it, but she's much better now she has a new master. Will she find another one, or just go sour the way Kreacher has?_

He shook his head and went up to his own room. Draco checked things out as he went to his level. It felt so _weird_ to spend so much time worrying about other people. Father would tell him he was going soft. Seeing the way Madam Pomfrey looked at him these days made up for that. She would never have acted that way around him before now. The snarls of grudging respect from that lunatic Moody were new, too. _My godfather wouldn't trust me so much if I hadn't changed._

He looked around his bedroom, glad he had taken a standard four-bed one this year. Crabbe snored like a behemoth in one, while Rosier and Zabini were in the other two. No empty beds to remind him of Greg.

Draco undressed quickly and slid under the covers. He hugged the pillow to him and stifled the impulse to sniffle into it. He wasn't ready for this! _At least I'm old enough to do my whinging in private,_ he thought. _I promised Snape he wouldn't be abandoned if he's hit by that hex again and they can't take it off. What is Merlin's name am I actually going to _do?

_And what am I going to say to Father tomorrow night about it?_

Severus Snape

"Oh Master, time to wake up, oh Master, time to wake up…" A tiny voice breathed into his ear.

Snape blinked, and sat up slowly. He renewed the girdle spell, since he was going to be so active today. Winky helped him dress. Odd how he didn't mind her assistance as much as he used to. Since he wasn't brewing today, he allowed a hint of color in his wear—a splash of green at the throat was a nice touch. He still wore the bespelled outer frock coat, of course. The halls of Hogwarts still offered endless excitement to the careful and careless alike. The Weasley twins were gone, but others like Miss Marcher carried on. As long as Mr. Cauldron-Go-Boom was on the grounds, intelligent men took precautions.

The elf brought him a note and a quick progress summary from Master Lowenstein. "He says good-bye to Mistress Nurse last night, says he comes back if you too sick."

The Potions Master nodded. His classes weren't as behind as he thought they would be. His normal timetable was in tatters, of course, but at least the students were headed in the right direction and could still catch up.

His godson was at the door, ready to escort him to the Great Hall. The boy twitched, obviously concealing something. As they went, Draco chatted about nothing in particular. As they turned the corner into a deserted section of the dungeons, Snape said, "Out with it. What is it you're not telling me?"

"I have permission to visit Father tonight," the nervous student said. "I'm to leave my wand behind and use the Portkey the authorities send to the Headmaster."

"Ah. And you, being intelligent, are absolutely overjoyed and terrified at the same time."

"Er, well, sir…"

"Don't apologize because you care for your father, Draco," Snape said quietly. "Also, don't feel sorry because you're worried about what to say to him. That only means you have a brain, and are actually using it. Washing bedpans must be good for you."

The young man took a deep breath. "That reminds me, sir. Last night I was doing so in the scullery and couldn't help overhearing what she said to you." His cheeks flushed pink. "Please look into the treatment sir. It sounds awful, but if you need it, do it anyway. I think Mother had one of his pamphlets at home."

"We shall speak of that later," the Potions Master said. _Preferably much, much later._ In his opinion, far too much attention was being paid to the state of his health, let alone that area of it. They continued on in silence.

As they entered the Great Hall, his godson headed towards the Slytherin table, while he went to his preferred spot at the end of the staff table in front. Dumbledore, of course, spotted him and motioned him to the seat next to his own. Snape resigned himself to cheerful conversation at breakfast. Fortunately he had already had his first cup of tea in peace already, and was braced for more concern whether he wanted it or not.

He eased himself down into his chair. This was the longest walk he'd taken without the chair since Wednesday, and was probably a mistake. However, he'd spend the rest of the day either in the classroom or in his office, while his quarters were close enough so he could lie down whenever he needed to.

Once more, the Slytherins started a cheer. Once more Snape acknowledged them with a nod and a wave for silence. It was still nice to know he'd been missed. The occasional glare from the Gryffindor table brightened his day as well. He'd know for certain he'd gone soft if _they_ were glad to see him back.

He forced himself to eat in the middle of the din that passed for breakfast, knowing he'd need his strength later. The morning potion would improve his disposition, while the one at lunch would help his appetite. _I am going to have to start the detoxicant again soon,_ he thought mournfully.

Surprisingly enough, the Headmaster was quiet this morning. Snape took advantage of the reprieve and attempted to empty his plate. _If someone talks to me, I either lose my appetite or I become so involved in the conversation I'm not finished by the time the bell rings for removal to classes._ Well, it had taken him long enough to realize this; he shouldn't be upset that Albus hadn't done so till now as well.

He was nearly finished and was just washing it all down with one last cup of tea when the old wizard leaned towards him. "If you have time today, I'd like to talk," Dumbledore said.

"I'll be lying down during the hour for fresh air this morning, and most likely this afternoon as well. I can listen from that position as well as from a sitting one," Snape said.

"No, you won't rest properly with me haranguing you," Albus said with a smile.

"You have me curious. It's not about Poppy's suggestion, is it?"

The smile faded. "No. That has to be your decision. As much as I would enjoy cajoling you into taking proper care of yourself, you have some rights. One of them is how much medical treatment you must endure. I do wish you would consider it. Professor Lupin can be managed without the potion for one month as he was at the beginning of school, and you could be at the clinic for the treatment. Firenze has volunteered to keep watch again if need be.

"However, it's asking too much to force you into this procedure without adequate pain management. There are limits to how much anyone can endure. If only Fawkes…" The old wizard grimaced. "But that's my fault. You had to accept being drawn deeper for our sake."

Normally, Snape would close up tight when hearing this sort of thing, either physically or mentally. This time he took a clear look at the Headmaster. Usually the ancient wizard was at his best in the mornings, but this was not the case today. "Well," he said, "at least I cannot be forced to do things I find distasteful anyway. Next spring you won't have to lock me up with Flitwick and Hooch when the warm air goes to their brains. Pity they've never fancied each other."

Dumbledore's eyes went wide, as if he couldn't believe what he heard. Then he snorted with laugher. "Perhaps it's just as well they don't. As it is, I normally send Madam Hooch to scout the Steamers or the Wasps, and Flitwick to the nearest Charms conference. I don't have to know what's going on as long as they stay out of the papers." The old wizard looked more cheerful. The bell sounded. "Remember, I still need to talk to you. Don't worry about coming up here for lunch or dinner, but I would like to talk to you once classes are over for the day."

"Of course, Headmaster," Snape said. "I'll need a few moments with Mr. Malfoy before he leaves, though. I assume he already has permission?"

"Yes." Albus stood, and offered his arm.

The Potions Master took it, though he put as little weight as he could on it to stand. "I shall lie down whenever possible. Winky will move my office chair to the classroom, if she hasn't already, so I'll be more comfortable than usual."

"Good. If you can't make it through the whole day, send me a note and I'll take the class myself. I hope you don't plan on having them brew."

"Lecture and review only. Any explosions would only put me further behind than I already am, though Master Lowenstein was quite helpful. I shall see you this evening." Funny how the old wizard's hovering didn't bother him as much as usual. It was odd how Dumbledore said he wasn't going to nag about the procedure. He often said such things, only to make it extraordinarily clear about certain choices. _I suppose even he realizes my time may be too short for some things to matter._

Once down in the dungeons, Mr. Crabbe and Miss Bulstrode approached him, though the young man wasn't in Potions any more. Both of them were nearly his height, though even Miss Bulstrode was broader. "Is there something I can help either one of you with?" he asked.

"Just wanted to go this way, sir," Vincent said, and went to Snape's right side, while the girl placed herself on his left. Both of them walked slowly enough to keep up.

The Potions Master was touched, especially when he hesitated on a step and the ox-like young man steadied him. "Thank you," he said. Snape knew he should have brought the chair, but was glad to have the help. _How odd. Normally I would feel humiliated to need any._

Both of them left as soon as he reached the classroom door, since they were scheduled for other lessons at this time. Once they were gone, he took out his wand and spelled the door to open with a bang, His audience was expecting it, after all. He should hate to disappoint them.

Author's note: I'm actually the person who gives a few of those ducks to my friend, who is clearly insufficiently frivolous. The ones I give her just sit there, though. Darn it. She thinks I'm crazy too.


	74. Chapter 74: Surprise Party the 1st

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too. The Tarot card reading used later in this story was an actual, more or less random reading I laid out muttering the circumstances to myself. The interpretation, of course, was Sybil's.

Chapter 74: Surprise Party the First

Molly Weasley

Molly hit the Burrow with a flurry of cleaning spells that Friday. Saturday was going to be really busy—first the adoption rite with Harry, and then the party for Professor Snape at Grimmauld Place in the evening. Of course, the legal part for her boy would take place at the Ministry on Monday with just her and Arthur, but the magical portion had to take place here, so Harry would be bound to the house the same as the rest of the family. The food and the liniment for Snape had to be ready the same night. She had no idea how she was going to run both parties the same day. She'd read about the social schedules of other women in the Prophet and had no idea how they managed all of that either.

With a puff and a bang a house elf appeared. Well, at least it wasn't Kreacher, though at this point she'd put the bugger to work so hard he wouldn't have time to whinge. "Pardon?" she said to the elf, who looked vaguely familiar.

"I's Marta," said the sober little thing. Her pillowcase was _silk_! "Mistress Narcissa sent me to help. Will help tomorrow, too."

_Not bloody likely,_ Molly thought, and then reconsidered. The elf could work all she wanted today. Once the Burrow was set, she could easily manage the Grimmauld Place bits. And if a house elf could bring something or someone nasty with it, Kreacher would have done so by now. "Well, I need food suitable for a young man who's having a party," she said. "And then I need another feast for a houseful of adults, but I want to make all that Russian food. I've written down some recipes, but I don't know if I can find the right ingredients."

"Marta find them," said the elf.

Molly found her purse and began to rummage in it, but Marta shook her head. "M'lady gave me notes from her for the stores. She says not to worry, is part of her present."

"Well, I must admit that takes a load off my mind." The Order gave her a budget for food and such for the safe house, but it wasn't always easy to make it stretch. She didn't feel right taking anything from it for Harry's party, but if Narcissa wanted to foot the bill for Snape's celebration, why, that only left more for Harry, or whichever way around anybody wanted to take it. She looked at the elf. "Shopping first, I think. I know how to clean this old place faster than a stranger would." Molly handed Marta her first list. "Now, you need to let me know how much the food on this list costs, because this is for someone else. But go ahead and charge what you like for this second one, since it's for a birthday party for Professor Snape, and he needs something to cheer him up."

The elf nodded. "M'lady wants her friend happy, too. But you start cooking already. What is that on stove?"

Molly's cheeks flamed red. Last night she and Arthur had given the liniment a good start, so to speak, and tonight they'd give it a sound finish. "Healing balm," she said. Nobody but she and her husband needed to know what sort.

The solemn little elf nodded again, and then disappeared with both lists. Molly cleaned like a fury, then, not wanting to be shamed for shoddy housekeeping before someone used to Malfoy Manor. Now she began to remember Marta from occasional teas with Narcissa, but it was different seeing your own place through the eyes of someone used to so much better.

Her efforts raised a sweat, and she made sure to gather what she could to put into the balm. Her mum's would be better, since she had more maenad in her, but that wasn't possible on such short notice. She would just have to make it up in quantity. She remembered from long-ago Potions classes that her sweat was more effective than somebody else's, because of her heritage, for certain kinds of potions. Of course, most of those were from a book in the Restricted Section Dolly had sneaked out for the girls in their room to giggle over.

As she carefully put each drop into the liniment, she had to grin. _I bet one of those recipes was the same one Nanny gave me!_

Once she finished that, she grimly fetched out more pots and pans. At least a few of the rooms were fit for visitors now. Harry wouldn't mind, of course; he'd seen the place far worse than this. But she had _some_ pride.

Molly was ready to cook when Marta popped back in, holding an impossible number of parcels. She took them from the elf and stacked them on the table, and was astounded when the little thing disappeared again and came back with more. "This is too much!" she said, and hoped there were enough Galleons in the place to pay her share.

"M'lady said for you to read this note."

Molly took the paper and read it. At first it seemed gibberish, but then she realized it probably had an identity charm on it. She breathed on the paper, and words appeared.

_Dear Molly—_

_Please don't argue about how much food Marta is buying. I made up my mind last summer that I would help however I could after Professor Snape saved Draco's life. I have done so little thus far that I am ashamed of myself. I was happy when I saw the red glow from the goblet after you drank and knew someone would be in safe hands. You and your husband take risks that I would never dare._

_And so does Severus. He will take few gifts from me, for fear of ruining my reputation and from pride. Please allow me to help with this. He is paying a dreadful price for his courage and grace while protecting so many others. It was all I could do to keep from using an Unforgivable on my own sister when she bragged of what she did to him._

_Take this food and use it however you think best. Marta is discreet—she is _my _house elf and has been since childhood. Even Lucius doesn't bother to question her any more. You only need ask to have her go shopping any time you like._

_After all, what's the point of being a Malfoy if one cannot be extravagant?_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

The paper began to disintegrate and soon was nothing but vapor. "Well," Molly said. "We have work to do."

Albus Dumbledore

Albus looked at the certificates from the new business in Hogsmeade he had discreetly encouraged to open. Moody hadn't grudged the work required to vet the employees—especially not after one of them had worked out some of the kinks in his spine. Yes, this gift would be far more useful to Severus just now than potion ingredients or yet another book. _Oh, my son, my son, you have given so much. Let me give you a few memories of pleasure in return for all the sorrow and pain you have endured._

This morning the Potions Master had tried to comfort _him_, or at least distract him. How different that was from the snarling bitterness of last year. Dumbledore treasured such moments more than he could say. Oh, how he hoped both Flitwick and Sybil were wrong!

He turned his attention to the little package the owl had delivered last week, only to remain unopened. The little Surrey firm had outdone itself this year. Albus took this year's rubber duck out of the box and began placing charms on it, then put it back to sleep till this evening.

Severus Snape

He was exhausted, but not as much as he had expected. Lying down between each class with his office chair completely back, and a full hour in the morning and the afternoon on the couch in his parlor had helped immensely. By evening, though, he was ready to take a tray in his rooms and call it a day. He was glad to have Draco eat with him, since the two of them had been unable to talk earlier.

Snape was comfortably ensconced in his grading chair with his tray on the little table when his godson came in holding a small package.

"I meant to give you this right after the game," Draco said, holding it out.

"Catching the Snitch was a good present by itself." He picked at his food. He knew that Winky would tell Poppy if he didn't eat, though he had a ready-made excuse in the detoxicant once more sitting like a small ogre in front of him. It tasted as foul as ever, and made everything else seem like dirt. Fortunately, the tea washed most of it out of his mouth, though he had to sweeten it more than usual to counteract the metallic tang left by this potion. _I hope the Swiss remembered to keep the dosage divided like before. I am not looking forward to its reaction to my digestion as it is._

He took the package, glad of the distraction. It was a beautiful photoglass. One set a picture down at the bottom, and the glass would project it as an illuminated colored image above, even in the dark. "Thank you," he said with a shaky voice. He knew what he would try out first. He shouldn't tempt fate, knowing he wasn't likely to enjoy any dreams of her. However, seeing a woman who looked so like Molly Weasley the way the model in the magazine did was too much for him to pass up. _I mustn't forget to start that Root of Magic potion for Filch,_ he thought.

"Godfather," the young man said solemnly. "I know I shouldn't nag you to be looked at by that Healer. I—I can't blame you for wanting to avoid such pain. But I wish…it's just wrong for your family line to end like this."

"I don't recall any women pleading to be my bride. Did I miss something when I was ill?" Snape said with a scowl.

"Mother's found others before, I remember. It was Father who objected to them. I never understood why…well, till now." Draco's face flushed red.

"I didn't care for any of them myself," the Potions Master said. Now that he wanted a woman he couldn't have, it didn't matter so much that Bella might have destroyed his ability to enjoy one anyway. "Besides, Madam Pomfrey could be wrong. I ought to allow this wonder-worker to examine me just to prove it." He followed that up with his standard smirk, hoping his godson would stop poking his nose in things that didn't concern him.

The boy's face relaxed. "The Wizarding World won't be the same without at least one or two big-nosed sarcastic know-it-alls to tell everyone else what they're doing wrong. Who else is going to keep the rest of us in line?"

That was worth a sour laugh. "Miss Granger will have to manage by herself, then. See, the Muggleborn do have their uses!"

"That's not funny, professor!" Draco laughed anyway. Then his face turned sober. "Too bad she doesn't have a family worth speaking of, and is my age instead of yours. At least you'd be able to steal books from each other's libraries."

"Now _that_ really isn't funny," he said flatly. "I've never considered a student in that way and never will." Crabbe's comment had offended him, and this came close.

"I was only joking," the boy said with a smile. "I've heard her raking over the other two in a voice that would cut glass. Twenty years from now I'd put her up against Aunt Black, the one that's supposed to have a portrait somewhere just as scary as she was when she was alive."

Snape was terrified that Draco was right. Miss Granger, should she survive the war, would likely become even more formidable than she was right now. He doubted he would be around to see it, though. "McGonagall _secunda_," he said, knowing his godson would pick up on the Latin tag.

The young Slytherin chewed his lip for a moment, then brightened. "Or using the Latin diminutive for the first name, Minervanilla. Possibly Minerva-chocolate."

_No, more likely Minerva-lemon-drop,_ Snape thought, given the woman's quiet relationship with the Headmaster, but knew he shouldn't encourage the boy. He allowed himself a small smile, though.

"Thought that was a good one!" Draco said, congratulating himself.

The Potions Master couldn't bring himself to douse the boy with any more reality just now. No doubt Lucius would be delighted to do it for him. He wanted to say something cautionary anyway, but couldn't think of what would stick.

However, Winky's timing could not have been better. The tiny house elf clattered in, when normally she moved quietly. "Sorry, Master Malfoy, must go to Master Headmaster's office!"

His godson went pale and nodded. No doubt the Portkey had arrived. "Have a good talk with your father, Draco," he said gently.

"I'll try," the young man said, and left. Snape looked down at the remains of his dinner. It looked horribly dry and tasteless. "Is there any soup tonight in the kitchens?"

"Winky looks," she squeaked, and disappeared. He tried to down a few more bites of the beef and potatoes, but nothing had any flavor that could make any headway against the sour taste the detoxicant left in his mouth. He drank more tea instead.

The house elf returned empty handed and apologetic. "All gone, Master! Berry makes some quick if I asks."

By the time anything was done he would have no appetite at all left. "Well," he said, "this has happened before, only I didn't have such a clever house elf to help. In my private lab I have some preserved vegetables and dessicated meat stock ready to go into one of the smaller cauldrons along with the water. No doubt we can make do."

"You mean Master has had to _cook?_" She made the word an obscenity.

"Only when I wished, Winky. The other elves feel the same way you do, and they're terribly upset when they find out. It's much like potions-making, though, and with any luck far more palatable." He rather enjoyed it, but generally refrained given the reaction of the school elves. He wouldn't have minded cooking at Grimmauld Place, but had only had door-right till just before the beginning of school. Snape didn't want to think what would have happened in the kitchen if he'd tried to help before then, even without the wrath of Molly Weasley descending on him. His visits to the place since then had been rare, and he had been too ill to be much help.

The fireplace roared up and Dumbledore's head appeared in it. "I know you're tired, Severus, but could you please come to the office for a moment? This won't take long. Ride up in your floating chair, the stairs aren't being cooperative tonight."

The Potions Master nodded, and hoped it wouldn't take that long. He had some serious worrying to do over that idiot godson of his, and what he might say to Lucius. He told Winky, "Cancel the soup. I'll be too tired for anything but ice cream when I return."

As he floated up towards the gargoyles, he idly wondered how long an ice cream manufacturer would live if one dared to come out with the flavor Minervanilla, and exactly what she would change the unfortunate person into.

He entered the office. Albus sat behind his desk. Snape remembered last year, when nobody had been able to go inside the office at all, while Umbridge attempted a reign of terror, or at least incompetence. Unfortunately, the time would come someday when the elderly wizard no longer sat behind any desk. _At least that's one thing I won't live to see,_ he thought grimly.

"Have a seat, Severus," the Headmaster said. "You look tired. Regretting not waiting till Monday to go back?"

"A little bit," Snape admitted. "I would have done nothing all day but fret about Mr. Malfoy's visit to his father, though, so perhaps it was just as well. Master Lowenstein apparently kept the children on task better than I expected. You may keep him in mind, should he wish, when it becomes necessary."

Albus grimaced. "I hope you are able to rest this weekend," he said. "I may have to ask you for a Remedial Potions lesson for a student on Sunday, but it shouldn't take long."

Snape knew without being asked that it was about Mr. Potter. "I think I will have another potions crisis that day if it's who I think it is," he said, joking. Mostly. He was glad he'd kept his words obscure when he realized there were others in the room. "Is this a staff meeting?"

"Yes, and for your sake," Flitwick said, as he suddenly appeared, along with the most of the teachers. "I provided a Concealing Charm so it wouldn't be obvious the moment you walked in what we were up to, so don't feel you're slipping."

The Potions Master felt himself falling into his usual attitude about social affairs. He decided to indulge the childish thought, _They didn't forget me after all, _instead. He even allowed himself to enjoy the sensation. "Thank you," he said in a shaky voice. Despite how much trouble he had believing it at times, it was clear the others really did care for him.

McGonagall, Pomfrey, Sprout and Hagrid also came forward with presents, while Madam Hooch hung back. A few extra packages sat back on a small table, no doubt from those members of the staff unable to attend. Snape had new respect for Flitwick. Hiding the half-giant in a room this size took real skill. It felt so odd to trust people. Normally, knowing he could be fooled in any way would have put him into a rage, or at least into a case of the sulks. He wasn't used to _happy_ surprises.

Everyone took chairs around the Headmaster's desk and watched as Snape unwrapped his presents. He opened Dumbledore's gift first. He was impressed by the quality and variety of rare potions ingredients in the case. He'd seen the kit advertised in Potions Monthly for a sum well out of his range. Then he noticed the paper folded around it. It was a certificate for ten massages at "The House of Health" in Hogsmeade. Obviously, it was a new business. Snape checked the name of the proprietor. _Her first name is Gerta,_ he realized, who hoped it was the same woman who had made his massage session in Switzerland so memorable. _I shall have to make an appointment immediately. I can't tell if they're open on Sunday, but a session underneath those hands would certainly be an antidote to an Occlumency lesson with Mr. Potter. The boy could probably use some relaxation after he and I tangle again, but he's underage yet. _Then he remembered that odd guided relaxation routine Poppy had done with him and the Headmaster. _Perhaps that would be a good exercise for him. I'll have to think about it._

"When did they start up?" he asked.

"Just a couple of days ago," Albus said. "They have an extremely good introductory package, obviously. I saw to their wards myself yesterday, and explained that you'd probably reinforce them once you go there. Their staff is said to be excellent, and have no interesting connections, at least according to Moody. He vetted them himself. He said it was his present to you, but he enjoyed the process too much to be convincing."

Snape breathed deeply, trying to regain control. The Headmaster understood his terror of being helpless, and was doing his best to address any objections. "Thank you," he said, swallowing his feelings before they spilled out. "And the potions kit, I know what it's being advertised for."

"Don't you dare say you're not worth it, Severus." Then Dumbledore grinned. "Don't think you're going to dodge this little ritual, though." He brought out a brightly-colored Muggle box with the lettering _Ducksss_ on it. Everyone could hear the faint quacking inside.

The Potions Master knew he ought to show his customary irritation at the silly present, and offered up a modest scowl as he opened the box and let the new addition to the flock walk around the desk. He'd never seen a duck quite like it, even after all these years—its conformation was closer to that of a cobra than an actual duck, and it shone silver and green. "Now, _that's_ a proper duck!" he growled.

Albus looked pleased. "I hoped you'd like it. I try to remember that Slytherin really is an important part of this school, but I don't always remember." He tapped the little creature with his wand, and it went still. For now.

Snape placed it back in its box, and knew that Winky would be happy with it, at least. The absurd tradition made him want to smile.

He went on to the next one. He audibly admired the beautiful cloisonné tea set, and promised Madam Pomfrey the first cup out of it. "It will also glow brilliantly if any of these poisons find their way into it," she said, handing him a list. "You never know."

"Yes, if you need to rid yourself of someone you'll just have to be more creative," Flitwick joked, while the others laughed.

Snape carefully put the tea things and the list back into their box, and made sure the tissue was packed around it.

The next present was from Minerva. He had no idea where she found the rare edition of Catullus in the original, though he knew she didn't mean anything personal by giving him love poetry. But it touched his heart, and he thanked her for it.

"I'll have to find my old grammar," she said. "Someone stirred Miss Granger's curiosity by giving her half a Sunday crossword puzzle. I told her she could begin studying the language as soon as she passed Remedial Broom."

"Now, that was cruel," said Flitwick.

"I suspect it will be effective, though." McGonagall looked more like a cat than ever in her expression.

"You could let her know that the hallway on the fifth floor of the Astronomy Tower is usually empty during the weekends," said the Charms teacher.

_No, it isn't,_ Snape thought. "She'd interrupt at least five couples then," he said. "The dungeon level below mine is usually deserted, mostly because it becomes quite damp this time of year. However, that can be remedied. As long as someone not a Slytherin is careful to use the entrance by the statue of St. Leonard—you know, the one who was transfigured into a frog—she should be undisturbed. Most of that part of the dungeon is watched by a portrait of Oscar the Grumpy, so help can be summoned in any difficulty."

McGonagall and Dumbledore looked at each other in a way that meant the two of them would talk about it later. For once, Severus didn't worry about it.

"Miss Granger was able to manage some rather nice flying in the room with the keys her first year, or so I was told," Flitwick said. "Now, here's the gift I brought."

It was clearly a book, but Snape unwrapped it eagerly anyway. It was a volume full of charms, which came as no surprise, but the table of contents listing their names and a summary of their effects caused his eyebrows to rise. Some of them would certainly be classed as Unforgivables if they were in common use. "No wonder you win most of your duels!" he said to the smaller wizard.

"You need all the weapons you can manage," the head of Ravenclaw said. "And…and if you would be so kind as to teach some of them to Miss Edgecombe, I would appreciate it. I have not been a proper Head of House to her, and I am grateful you are still helping her."

"Of course," Snape said soberly. "And please continue knocking sense into Mr. Zabini."

Flitwick gravely nodded.

Now it was Professor Sprout's turn. "I have three bales worth of lavender drying in greenhouse four," she said. "But that's not all. I have the first few pots of a plant that I think will absorb some of the poison in the Potions area. I'll have Mr. Longbottom bring them over next week. I still think you were mad to sit up with him a couple of nights when you should have been resting, but we all appreciate it." She blew her nose. "But I really wanted to show you _this_." She brought out a small pot with an extremely ugly cactus. It seemed to be a Mimbletonia, but with odd flowers that stood straight up the way limed hair did on the ancient warriors of Britain before the Romans came.

"Wait…is that a _Mimbletonia Caractacus?_" he asked. He'd have to go through his books—he knew there was a potion made with the flowers, but couldn't quite remember what it was. He hated not knowing it instantly.

"Yes. I've had it for donkey's years, but never could talk it into blooming. Mr. Longbottom placed it with his Mimbletonia, and it seemed to take heart from that. Perhaps it was just lonely."

"You might be better off letting it fruit. They're quite difficult to propagate," Albus said.

Sprout nodded. "However, the petals need to be thinned first," she said.

"I'll have to do some research," Snape said, twitching to be at his books to find out just what niggled at the edges of his memory.

"I'll have to help," Flitwick said. "There's a purification potion that requires some rather complicated charms to go with it. I found it when I was doing research on removing ah, certain curses, but dismissed it since this breed of Mimbletonia is dying out. But aren't the petals supposed to be green?"

"That's the color they'll be in a month," Sprout said. "About the time I should thin them anyway. Next spring I'll be able to thin the fruit as well, to let the best ones propagate."

Snape was torn between hope and despair. "Tell Mr. Longbottom thank you," he said, finally unable to decide, and forcing himself away from both. He'd still research the potion, of course; if nothing else, some of his apprentices could be freed from their Marks if the Charms professor was hinting at that. It would be best to put away all thought of himself for now. "I will definitely enjoy the lavender, and appreciate the efforts of anything that helps clean the air where I work. However, you'd better retain custody of this plant for now. I would hate to see anything happen to it."

The Head of Hufflepuff looked pleased. "I'll let you know how it's doing," she said. "The first bale of lavender, though, has been sent to your quarters for Winky to deal with.

He nodded. Her efforts struck at his heart. The lavender he'd already used smelled of peace, and had allowed him better sleep on the nights the sedative didn't work as well.

Hagrid shuffled up with a small, badly-wrapped package. "Sorry I forgot to give you your present last week, perfesser. Wish you hadn't been so hurt."

"And I'm sorry I fought you so hard," Snape said. "Please accept my apology for that." The half-giant had only been trying to help. If he'd stayed out in the forest, he would have died.

"Aw, you've been worse before," the groundskeeper said. "It's when you don' say or do anythin' I worry."

Snape nodded, and unwrapped the present. He gazed in wonder at the tiny white statue. "I, I can't believe you found it," he said, his voice shaking again. After all these years the last part of the matryoshka, the only thing he still had left of his mother's, now lay before him. The tiny alabaster angel's wings were shaped oddly, as if it were really a small, pale bat in robes, but it didn't matter. Now he looked at it closely, it wasn't quite the figurine that he remembered. Hagrid was capable of astonishingly delicate work, obviously, and nobody would be able to tell it wasn't from the original set.

"I'll have to lay out all the pieces of the doll out in my parlor so my visitors can see it," he said. He couldn't believe his friend had been able to make it the right size just from seeing what the next doll up could hold in the few minutes he'd had the matryoshka out when the half-giant had visited him.

"What doll?" asked Flitwick.

"My mother's matryoshka," Snape said. "It looks like a tall, solid figure, but it opens up. Then the next one opens up, and so on, for nine pieces. I've been missing this last one for years, which is solid. Hagrid has finally found it."

Everyone looked pleased and congratulated the groundskeeper on his achievement.

Then it was Madam Hooch's turn. He was not surprised to see her carry a broom-shaped package, but he was stunned when he opened it. For a moment he couldn't speak. Evan Rosier had had a Blood Broom like this, but Snape knew that the Aurors had destroyed it. "This…this isn't legal in Quidditch, you know," he said, trying to sound casual. The Black Shadow broom, said to be made of sapient pearwood, was more like a living thing.

"That's not your game," Rolanda said serenely. "Sometimes I'm approached by people who have er, different sorts of brooms who don't want them any more. Besides, I understand that once the broom is bound to you, it will follow you anywhere you want it to. Winky shouldn't have to keep fetching mine out of the Forest. Er, I am a registered Broom Mistress, and know some of the more arcane things about them…"

He would be a fool not to follow up on the hint. "Headmaster? No time like the moment, if you don't mind."

Albus gravely nodded. "This should really take place outside under a full moon, but I certainly understand why that would be a bad time for you."

He held out his left hand. Rolanda Hooch nodded, and stood. She took out a silver knife, chanted something in a language he didn't recognize, cut his palm with a shallow slice, and had him hold the broom while he repeated something back to her. Some of his blood seeped into the wood. Everyone paused for a moment.

The broom glowed brightly, then faded. Snape felt an affinity towards the broom as he never had towards any other. He quickly turned it over to discover the initials of its former owner, now visible to him and him alone. _AR_. He blinked as the lettering changed to _SS_, and then faded. If he remembered rightly from what Evan had told him about his broom, there was a secret compartment for notes and small items that only the owner could access. He felt along the main stem till he found a rough spot, pressed, and the tiny opening became apparent.

The Potions Master took the note out of it, and closed the broom back up. _I will have to find a way for Albus to be able to find it as well,_ he thought. _This would be a good way to pass messages if I have no other way._ He quickly put the rolled-up piece of paper in his pocket. He would look at that later. His left hand was now completely healed except for a thin white line.

"I have a book about Blood Brooms, especially the Black Shadow brand," the Quidditch instructor said. "You know, you are allowed to let others ride it if you give it the proper commands," she broadly hinted.

He smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "I will likely need help learning how to manage this one. Who else would I turn to?"

Hooch sat back down, a satisfied smile on her face. Snape tried to remain enthusiastic as Sybil Trelawney approached, a deck of cards in her hand. "Does it have to be in front of everybody?" he said.

"No," she said. "However, I know a spell that will offer privacy without having to move anybody. I have a few tricks in my trade, too." She pulled out her wand and chanted. Suddenly, the two of them were in a shadowed space, sitting on either side of a table. "You see? No one can hear or see what I lay down except for us."

He was impressed. Few had seen her do much actual magic while she taught here. Sybil brought out a deck of cards and handed them to him. The pasteboards had a cold feel to them. "Hold them till they warm in your hand," she said.

Snape nodded. He always said this kind of thing was a fraud practiced on the unwary, but now he was afraid it wasn't. "These cards are different," he said, not knowing how to explain it.

"Yes," she said. "They are. I don't normally use them. The real magic is in the meaning, even with a Muggle deck. But these were my grandmother's, and use the magic of both the querent and the reader. I hope you weren't planning on doing much after the party."

"I wasn't planning anything this evening," he said. The deck was warm now, and in some places hot. He shuffled them.

"Three times," Sybil said. "Then cut them into three piles with your left hand, and pick up the stack from the bottom first."

He did as he was told, as if he were in another brewer's lab and using an unknown cauldron. Snape handed the deck to the Divinator.

She laid the cards out in a pattern somewhat resembling a cross, with a row of cards along one side. "I normally choose a card by gender and coloring for the one that stands for you, but tonight I felt like letting the deck choose. That card is the Four of Swords, reversed. I suspect Poppy is quite out of patience with you, as this one stands for someone who is not yet recovered and who still won't lie down and rest."

"You're making that up," he said lightly. How odd. The knight who lay in tomb-like silence—the room around him changed to look like the infirmary.

"No, that's the actual meaning. Your question…" She put a finger on the card showing a skeleton wielding a scythe. "Yes. It is Death, only reversed as well. You struggle against change, yet it will come to you."

_Or perhaps it means I see death as preferable only to have it skitter away from me,_ he thought, remembering the hex that had left him without words. The grinning skull changed to the face of Voldemort, and he shuddered.

Sybil continued. "However, the opposing forces show the Four of Wands. Even though it, too, is reversed, it still means a happy home and joy. I know you don't think you'll ever have this, Severus, but it's a possibility you shouldn't ignore."

"Why are so many cards upside down?" This card changed as well, and showed the Burrow, of all places.

"Because you're so bloody contrary!" She laughed. "Even the cards notice it. This one down at the bottom isn't, though. It's the Page of Swords, which means someone who is spying out the land and carrying messages for others." The figure on the scene holding a sword transfigured to show his own younger face.

That was frighteningly accurate. He nodded, afraid she would divine all his secrets, many of which he could not speak. "But there's another upside-down one."

"Yes. That's the influence passing away. The Ace of Pentacles like this means you once desired all sorts of wealth and glory, only to have it prove false. It's also a wish to own the fruits of your labor. I am sorry you have to give that up, Severus. It's not fair." Handfuls of Galleons spilled out of the cup onto the ground, making a small clinking sound.

"Perhaps it's just as well," he said. _Wanting wealth and glory is part of what made me take the Mark. I wish I hadn't wasted so much of my life wishing for either one. Even the cards are saying I shouldn't have bothered._

"This is the Crown, but it is only a possible future," she said. "The Hermit, reversed, means you may be thrust into a position of prominence anyway, or at least not allowed to hide in your dungeons."

Severus could think of all sorts of way that one could be bad. He had been singled out less than a week ago, and he would rather have refused the honor. "There are worse things than hiding," he said. This time the card didn't change. Perhaps that was just as well. Seeing the location of where he might be _prominent_ for the last time would not help much. Then he noticed that the card was changing. He was standing in front of the Wizengamot. But was he honored or condemned there? He couldn't tell.

"I know," she replied. "Now, this is a future that will come true. Just because it's the High Priestess doesn't mean it stands for me. It does mean that your Inner Eye will open, at least to some degree. Sooner or later you will understand somewhat of Mystery, and it will be a comfort." How odd. This time the veiled woman changed to the huge serpent of Slytherin he'd seen in his dreams.

"Are…are the cards supposed to change?"

"I wondered when you were going to mention that, or if you saw anything. With these cards, yes. It's just that I'm usually the only one who notices it, or says something about it. Now, this one is your fears for the future. It, too, is reversed, and for this one that is a good thing. This is the Four of Cups, and here it means it's time to develop new relationships and not just be bored with the same old thing."

He saw himself sitting at the staff table in the Great Hall, playing with his food. Then his miniature abruptly stood up and walked away, holding his arm as if it pained him. "Sometimes boredom is better."

"Not always," she said softly. "Here's the reaction of friends and family. Yes, it's reversed, too. When the Seven of Cups is upside down, it means the loss of illusions and dealing with what is really there."

The card showed many things falling from seven cups facing downward. Once empty, though, they reversed themselves and shone light up into the sky. He looked up at Sybil, and she nodded. "Sometimes you just have to start over. Most of us have done that one time or another. You had to do it, too. In a way, this is a good thing. You are seeing us more clearly, as well as the other way around." She firmly pointed to the next card. "This one stands for your hopes for the future. Yes, we all have them, including you. This card is the Knight of Brooms."

At first the card simply showed a young man on a broom wearing armor. Then the boy looked back, clearly realizing someone was watching him. Blazing green eyes surrounded by dark spectacles gazed out from spectacles, while black hair showed at the edge of the helmet. Snape was suddenly glad he knew Sybil was no traitor. This alone would condemn him in the eyes of the Dark Lord.

"Oh, Severus, I'm so _glad,_" Sybil said.

"Why should you be happy knowing I'm as much of an idiot as everybody else in the Wizarding World?" he growled. _And Sunday I find out if I can teach him anything._ He had no illusions whom Albus meant to come to his office for 'Remedial Potions'. He suddenly had a cheerful thought. Mr. Potter was also in his Potions class and part of his bet for teaching the Wolfsbane Potion. The boy could help him set up the cauldrons and fetch all the dry ingredients for this month's batch. _I need to find my old copy of _When Potions Attack _for him to read. If I give him something sufficiently dangerous to do he might pay better attention. I hope he read the article on the requirements for a Firemaster._

"There was a great deal of talk last year, which I'm glad you did not hear, about where your loyalties really lie. Madam Umbridge was so very certain that you were Lucius Malfoy's client, you see, that some of us began to worry. Nobody minds what a drunk overhears," she said with a touch of bitterness. Then she brightened. "But…you wouldn't hope like this if you were really like that."

Snape thought Sybil put entirely too much faith in these wretched things. However, she was right—this time, anyway. "What is this last one?" A glum-looking man sat at a feast with his head on his hands, clearly overwhelmed, while some of the cups had fallen.

"The Five of Cups, reversed. Really, you are such a contrary person I'm not in the least bit surprised most of the cards in your reading are like this. However, in this case I think you'd rather have this card upside down. When it's right side up, it's someone who has overstayed his welcome and is now regretting coming at all. This way, it's refusing to pout over what can't be helped, and deciding to make the best of what's on the table." She cleared her throat. "You must have been terribly distressed when the Headmaster wasn't…wasn't kind to you last summer. Yet you and he seem on much better terms than in the past."

It was true. The Potions Master now knew how much to expect from the relationship, where before he had depended far too much on one person for all his needs. "Learning that some people are human was rather a shock," he said.

She nodded. "It was a shock to us, too. We've been leaving too much to him and not depending on ourselves. We left too much to you, too. I'm glad that's changed. But now, because this is a reading for a birthday, I want you to draw one more card and place it at the top, above the Hermit."

He did so, and it was the face of a woman holding out a cup. "This is the Queen of Cups, a loving wife and mother, and who inspires those around her to love harmoniously. That's straight from the book, really," Sybil said.

Severus took a deep breath and felt his face grow hot as the woman in the card changed to Molly Weasley. He reached out for the pasteboard a moment, and then withdrew his hand. He knew she was not for him. He was better off not being tempted by the sight, sound, and smell of her. Yet he knew that if he did allow some wretched Healer to torment him again, it would be for her sake. He gazed at the card silently.

"I suppose I ought to sympathize with you," she said. "But it's better to love without hope than not to love at all. She will be a strong influence on you for the year to come, so you may as well enjoy it as much as you can."

"In your prophecy, you said 'gather ye rosebuds.' Frankly, rosebuds terrify me. I have them in my classes all year long. I prefer a full-blown blossom." _Or a ham sandwich,_ he thought.

"Nothing wrong with that," Sybil said, as she gathered up the cards and put them back into a velvet bag. "I must admit, I didn't expect much. I hope this has been a help."

"Yes," he said, "it has." No wonder the Muggles used to burn fortunetellers at the stake. The frauds were bad enough, but the real ones were far more dangerous.

"Don't worry about my saying anything," she said. "Diviners have a code of ethics, and one of them is silence on a client's reading. Besides, you certainly said nothing about me to the others, even after seeing me at my worst last year. I don't know Mrs. Weasley very well, but her reputation is…formidable, as is your own sense of honor. Nobody will hear a thing from _me_ about that last card." Trelawney chanted and waved her wand, and they were back in the staff room.

"Thank you, Sybil," Snape said. "This has been most enlightening." He had expected a much nastier reading, actually. Though he shouldn't grasp at straws, he did enjoy the thought of the few positive cards. As for that last one, it was annoying that even random bits of paper gave away his secret. Yet he trusted the woman to keep it. For one thing, she knew far too much about other things, and thus would be protected here.

The Headmaster looked at him benignly. "There are some other presents from those who couldn't be here tonight. Magister Lowenstein sent this cask. He says you enjoyed the ale on your first visit to the clinic, and that a mug or two each night won't conflict with any of your potions. He's also working in improved pain and burn cures. Apparently his brother told him a great deal about your condition, and he was properly horrified. I'm sure Frau Grussweiss will fill him in on anything Master Lowenstein missed."

Snape had enjoyed the flavor of the brew while he'd been there, despite his normal aversion to alcohol. "Won't it potentiate the sedative?"

"It will increase the potion's effect if you use it for a nightcap," Poppy said. "If you have it at dinner and wait for an hour or so, though, there shouldn't any problem."

"I shall write a note to thank him," Snape said. There were a few other gifts, though nothing from the wolf. Well, everyone knew Lupin's finances were shaky till Black's will was finally probated, though that ought to be soon. However, the Potions Master knew better than to expect anything. The DADA instructor's absence from this meeting was gift enough, while the centaur's invitation to rest in his room to breathe fresh air was more welcome than any other present could be. _I should bloody well be happy with what I have,_ he thought, knowing he'd probably take the Blood Broom out on a ride long before he was actually well enough to do so.

Then Winky came in, carrying a cake with lit candles. His friends sang him "Happy Birthday" while he sat back and allowed himself to enjoy it. The elf had obviously been in on the secret as she joined in with her tiny voice. He smiled, knowing how it would shock everyone.

Once the cake was on the desk, everyone cried, "Make a wish!"

All right, then. _Voldemort gone, no matter the cost to me. _He blew out the candles in one breath, which he hadn't expected. Winky cut the cake and served it, his piece first. He dreaded the first bite, since cake was almost always too dry for him, but once more was confounded when it was moist and sweet without being cloying.

"Pineapple upside down cake," Dumbledore said around a forkful.

How appropriate, given the cards in his reading. Snape managed the entire slice, though he was glad it wasn't a huge one. "It's good," he said. Once he lay down his fork and put both it and the plate on the desk, he was tired and only wanted to lie down. _I should stay a little while longer,_ he thought.

"Severus," Albus said. "You've had a long day, and we shouldn't keep you any longer."

"Don't worry, we won't eat all the cake, and if we do, Winky can bring you another," Minerva teased.

Snape carefully stood, shaken by emotions he'd pushed aside for so long. "It's…it's so much," he said softly. Obviously he was exhausted, or he'd be able to control the tremors in his voice and hands. "It's so much," he repeated, not knowing what else to say. He took in a couple of ragged breaths and sat down again.

Poppy handed him a cup of hot tea without a word. The others sat in silence as he sipped the restorative drink. One tear leaked out of his left eyes. McGonagall handed him a handkerchief. "Must have swallowed something wrong," he said, as he quickly wiped the treacherous drop away. He finished the cup, then gave it back to Poppy. "If you'll excuse me, I think I do need to lie down." He left, trusting Winky to bring the rest of the presents down to him. He held the carved angel in one hand and the Blood Broom in the other, with the chair he'd brought with him floating along behind.

He made it to his private quarters without meeting anyone, for which he was grateful. Fortunately, he was in his own parlor when he broke down.

Winky popped in and looked puzzled as she set the presents on the couch, as the table was becoming rather full. "Master sad? But everyone so nice to you."

"Yes, Winky, I know. I wasn't sad, really. I don't know what I was." He was glad the emotional storm was over for now. "I feel rather foolish, in fact. You and the others made me very happy tonight. Perhaps I'm just not used to it." He left himself smile again. _I'll have to be careful. I might do so in front of the students! With any luck they'll be terrified. One can only hope._ "Since you are so good at keeping secrets, little one, you can help me plan for Christmas. I should have enough time to make sure everyone has a present this year. Even if I'm sick again, you can make the deliveries for me." _Or dead,_ he thought soberly. _Or worse than dead._

Snape opened the rolled-up paper in his pocket. He blinked. He knew the handwriting, and had suspected the name of the former owner of the Blood Broom once he'd noticed how much it resembled the one Evan Rosier had owned.

_Funny, the things you find in attics. You couldn't pay me enough to fly this beast these days. I suppose you need it more. My brother always laughed at how bad I was at it anyway. Oh, its name is Vincent. No doubt the broom is brighter than the boy you have in your care these days, from what I know of his father. _

_AR_

He quickly Incendio'd the note from Arvid Rosier and guided the broom, which hummed under his touch, to the rack by the door. "Winky is my house elf," he told it, "and may handle you as she likes. I should be unhappy if you did anything unpleasant to her." There were stories about Blood Brooms taking unwary thieves for a long, nasty ride. "And Madam Hooch is a Broom-mistress, as she said. I may allow her to ride you on occasion. I'm sure she knows ways of keeping your sort in line, and let's all stay ignorant of them, shall we?"

The wooden object stopped humming and as if giving off a sigh, settled in the rack as if it were an ordinary broom and not half-alive. "Of course, I will take good care of you," he added. Severus smiled for a moment. "I know at least one person in this school who would fall down and worship you, if he knew half your capabilities." He actually looked forward to telling Mr. Potter about them. Perhaps this Sunday wouldn't be as bad as he thought. He patted the broom, and felt it warm to his touch. "We shall deal well with each other, I think. I'll need Cushioning Charms the first few times, but that's not your fault. Rest, now. You will be back in the air before you know it. Much better than some dusty old attic, now isn't it?" The broom hummed for a brief time, then fell silent again. Snape was reluctant to stop touching it, and knew he'd have to spend some quality time testing it out fairly soon.

He walked over to the high shelf in his parlor and brought down the disguised matryoshka, returned it to its normal shape, and opened it all the way up. Snape placed the tiny angel, though its wings looked even more like a bat in better light, at the tail end, next to the smallest doll. _Nine is a magical number,_ he thought, _just as much as three or seven._ He mused, looking at all the different colors and sizes of dolls in front of him.

The first one was all in shades of red, save for its blue eyes. He wasn't sure if the figurines already had names, but they were his, so he could do as he liked. _I shall name you Molly,_ he thought. _You are plump, red, and strong, and hold all the others together._

The second was engraved in a complex green pattern. It wasn't quite a tartan, but in some ways was quite close. _You will be Minerva. Your wisdom will be needed in this war._ No wonder the Headmaster loved her.

The next doll was decorated in blue and gold, with a bit of pale hair peeping underneath the carved scarf. _Ah! This one must be Narcissa, the most elegant of all. I hope your namesake can stand fast and not be destroyed in this conflict. _He didn't understand their relationship himself; how could he expect anyone else to?

The fourth figurine was colored in misty gray and brown, and her face was slightly older than the rest of them. The only brightness about her was the stylized red poppy at her throat. _Of course,_ he thought. _Poppy Pomfrey, the woman who has saved my life more times than I can count. Perhaps I ought to listen to you more._ She'd been in his life ever since he'd come to Hogwarts, and all he'd done in return was to put her life at risk. The mediwitch had clearly enjoyed herself being escorted to eat in the Great Hall; he would have to do more of that. It was little enough.

The next doll was older yet, and was colored in a combination of white and deep green. For some reason her expression reminded him of Magister Lowenstein's great-aunt. _Malachite,_ he thought with satisfaction. He owed her a good deal as well. _I will have to send her more of the Cruciatus potion I've developed. I had no idea the aftershocks lasted so late into a person's life. I've never seen Albus have that problem, but then I might not notice. I'll ask Poppy. Perhaps he ought to be using it as well. I've been so wrapped up in my war I don't even think about past ones._

He gazed at the sixth doll. She had green eyes, though lighter in shade than the previous one, and was covered in a carved shawl painted with crimson roses and vines. _Oh, Lily. I'll never forget you. _Snape smiled as he saw the thorns woven into the design. _I would have gladly dared their sharpness if I could have had the rest. You're gone, but not forgotten._ Then again, seeing those eyes in the face of her son was like having thorns pressed into him—except this year they didn't hurt as much. _For your sake I will learn to care for your son. I should have done this years ago, but at least I will make a start._

The seventh doll was somewhat different than all the rest. It was painted in misty colors that swirled into each other and sometimes changed, while her eyes were large and had more depth. _Ah! Your name is Sybil, and like the one of the Romans, you see more deeply than others. I don't care what you said last summer, you are _not_ a fraud. Yes, I could have done without hearing that wretched prophecy of yours, but better that than foolish hope. _Those cards had struck too close to the truth.

He looked at the last one, which shone in lacquered colors of black and white, with red lips showing the only color. Snape touched it gently. _Marya. Oh, Mother, I wish things had been better for all of us. I don't remember how you died. The Ministry kept that memory. If only Elizaveta had lived, maybe we'd still have that cottage in the country and the hedge. Father might have settled down for the two of us. I wish…I wish I'd been strong enough to protect you. I know old Mr. Bartholomew offered to train me when I was younger, and you refused him. I suppose you did what you could._ Thinking about his mother always left him sad. The happy times had been few, but all the more precious for that. _Mr. Potter is not the only one here with his mother's eyes._

He gazed with more cheer on the angel. Now that he looked at it closely and in a better light, the wings almost looked like the folded-down ears of a house elf. _Winky,_ he thought. _I have her heart in my keeping, and in a way she has mine as well. I could have no better guardian in some ways. _

And there the real one stood, with a bowl of ice cream in her hand. "Master, is late. You needs to rest, take nasty potion for night, use this to make bad taste go away. Cake is put away, won't go dry."

He agreed and sat on the couch next to the packages the elf had placed there. "Now, Winky, you must wake me when Mr. Malfoy returns. I will sleep late in the morning, but I want to speak to him before he goes to bed. He is worried about a great deal and I want to help." _And I need to find out what Lucius has told him,_ he thought.

Once done with the sedative and the ice cream, he retired to bed. He found the magazine, quickly paged to the picture he most wanted to see, and placed Draco's photoglass over it. A projection of a woman who looked very much like a younger Molly Weasley without her clothes sprang into the air and remained even when all the candles were out. Severus went under the covers and held his wand on the aerial image, as he wanted the picture to disappear once he fell asleep. _I wish you sweet dreams, Molly. May you be part of my life for this next year the way that final card promised._ His eyelids drifted down, and he fell asleep with the scent of lavender bringing peace to his heart and the light-filled bawdy image fading into darkness.

Minerva McGonagall

She and Albus sat together in his office once everything had been cleared away and the others left. "The ice is breaking," she said idly, sipping at her tea. "I always knew there was more than people thought beneath that prickly exterior."

"So did I," Dumbledore said.

"I am glad you didn't push when he…he was distressed. The weight of a feather would have done it, and he would have been so humiliated."

"I am finally beginning to learn how gently I must deal with him. It's taken me long enough." The old wizard smiled faintly. "A good thing I've lived so long, since I'm so slow."

Minerva felt tears spill down her face, and used a handkerchief to clean them. "Damn that Trelawney!" she said.

"He is at risk every time he is summoned even without a prophecy, my dear," he said. "Don't you think I hate it, too?"

"When I went to the infirmary on Sunday morning with the paper, I thought Severus hadn't recovered from the hex you told me about, or had relapsed. I was glad when he spoke to me, and made sense over the crossword. If it hadn't been for Dobby, he might have bled to death while I just sat there." Yes, she had finally been disturbed enough to do something, but it might have been too late if Albus had waited for her to begin contacting Frau Grussweiss.

"There are worse ways to go than while having tea with a friend," Albus said. "I keep wondering what else he'll have to endure before his war is over. Did I tell you part of my garden showed up in Firenze's room?"

"No," Minerva said. She was really worried now. Her friend had told a little bit about _the_ Garden. Having it appear elsewhere signified grave change. "I don't want to lose you, too!"

"Sorry, love, I wasn't clear. It was a part of the garden outside this office, not the other one." He had the grace to look abashed.

"That still means another sort of change, though, doesn't it?" There were so many blasted portents around this place it was hard to keep up with them.

"Yes. It means a member of the permanent staff, besides Defense, of course, is to leave forever." He paused. "I must admit, I was terrified last year when I learned you had been stunned so badly. I'm used to thinking of my own death as not far off, or I should be at my age, but the thought of losing you was terrible. We shouldn't assume that Severus will be the one to go."

She reached out and held his hand. "This is why it's a good reason we are working together this year. Snape needs a great deal, but you can't give it all. It was everyone here at Hogwarts who brought him back before. He _is_ reaching out to others besides you. We saw that just a little while ago. It's something I never expected."

"I don't think anyone did." He paused a moment. "He's changed how he deals with all students, not just his own. Despite all my ranting on the subject, I didn't expect that either."

Her lips pursed. "We never have talked much about that nightmare hex, Albus. I'm just too tired tonight to rate you the way you deserve over that, never mind the other spells. It does help that one of the students has changed, too. I don't know what you're teaching Harry, but he is vastly improved over last year."

"Our Potions Master deserves a lot of the credit for that," Dumbledore said. "His summer was much better than usual, mostly because of how Severus worked with his family. Petunia Dursley has given up listening to me, and I can't say I blame her. However, he understands that kind of family situation better, and was able to help her change things."

Minerva grimaced. "I know you felt you had to leave the boy there, but I cannot understand why you did not watch them more closely to keep him from harm. I've heard a few things about that place from Moody, and I think you should have let him in on the secret years ago. What in the name of Merlin were you _thinking_?" Oh, dear. She hadn't meant to become so angry. Yet she remembered that night so many years ago when the infant Boy-Who-Lived was left for that cross-faced woman to pick up, and she had _known_ it was a terrible idea.

His eyes lost their twinkle. "He really does need the protection of his mother's blood. The remaining Death Eaters would have found him and destroyed him years ago otherwise. Tom would have been revived, and no one else really has a chance to stop him. I will grant that I didn't watch them, and chose to look the other way when I realized how…inadequate they were. Harry seemed to flourish so well when he arrived here that I thought most of the damage his relatives did him would be healed. But I thought that about Severus, too, when he began to teach, only to discover all his anger and resentment were only in abeyance. I've done terrible things to both of them, and still made them love me. In his horrible way, Tom is more honest than I am. He doesn't pretend to do anything for anyone's good but his own. There are days when I feel soaked in hypocrisy."

"You aren't the only one," she was forced to admit. "We both know, of course, that Gryffindor is the best house and that any student not Sorted there is somehow not really one of us, except for those who become linked somehow. Even they are never quite as important as the _real_ students, of course. It's not a healthy situation, and I should have spoken up about it years ago. Both Flitwick and Sprout have given me an earful once they thought I would listen. I wonder what we've both missed."

"That is why I want things to change. They _must_ change." Then Albus told her about his plan to assign a student assistant from a different house to each Head. "At first I thought Severus should be allowed to veto the choice of assistant from his House. Then I realized I didn't need to. Here's the list I've come up with. I want to know what you think."

Minerva looked at the paper. _Flitwick—Blaise Zabini. Sprout—Padma Patil. McGonagall—Susan Bones. Snape—Ronald Weasley._ "Interesting choices," she said. "Now, Zabini's assignment makes sense. I believe he nearly sorted Ravenclaw, and given his ah, interesting position, will be able to make sure the voices of the students of Slytherin are listened to by someone not afraid to beard you in your own den. I suppose you want Miss Patil a little more firmly grounded in reality, and she'll respect Pomona more once she has worked with her. I've afraid that Ravenclaws always underestimate Hufflepuffs. I'm not certain about Mr. Weasley, though. I understand why one of the Trio should be chosen, but why him?" Despite his surprising win over her chess obstacle his first year, any promise he seemed to have then had not panned out. The boy was clearly overshadowed by his more spectacular relatives, and by his friends.

"Harry will soon take more Occlumency lessons from Severus. I would rather a new relationship sprung up without any additional pressure. Plus, the choices will be public. Our Potions Master would be asked to take advantage of the boy's placement by other parties. Miss Granger's health must be considered, as she would undoubtedly be pressed into some brewing. I also don't like assigning young ladies to assist male professors, unless it's like the way Miss Edgecombe is helping Professor Binns. Severus has never taken advantage of any student, but she is at a susceptible age despite her academic achievements and he is the youngest member of the staff. She is also likely to receive tutoring separately or with Mr. Malfoy in regards to the Wolfsbane Potion, so it's not like she will be neglected in any way.

"Mr. Weasley has several things going for him. He is a more typical Gryffindor than the other two. Harry will always be set apart because of his destiny, though he hates it, and Miss Granger because she is Muggleborn. It's not right or fair, but there it is. Our house prides itself on accepting the Muggleborn, but there is always a difference. Another factor is that Mr. Weasley longs for recognition. He has it this year as captain of the Quidditch team, but the season for that will be over till spring quite soon."

She smiled. "How very clever. This way Snape assists you in watching over all three of them, and they, one hopes, realize the extent of his sacrifices for them. If Mr. Potter is more cooperative, he'll learn a great deal more about our Potions Master. Miss Granger will receive the tutelage she requires in advanced Potions while he is still here to give it, and will learn that Slytherins are not necessarily evil. I am certain Mr. Malfoy will be on his best behavior with his godfather present if he is brewing along with her. Mr. Weasley, as an assistant, will undoubtedly hear volumes from Winky about her poor, dear master. I have yet to see anyone who can sustain a temper tantrum longer than five minutes in her presence. Yet—won't Severus object to so much responsibility?"

The Headmaster took a deep breath. "He has always respected Molly Weasley more than most people think. He sent young Mr. Weasley summer lessons after she asked for them—and no, there weren't any Howlers involved."

"I heard some bizarre rumors about a fever spell," Minerva said, looking at the ancient wizard through narrowed eyes.

"They were true, though I helped him managed that compulsion shortly afterwards at his request. However, he is grateful for her assistance when he was ill, and is likely more willing to tolerate her son because of it. Mr. Weasley does have unexpected depths, and is more likely to realize them if properly challenged. He is also probably more susceptible to pressure to break the Trio. Snape is best able to find out if this is so, and take measures to counter it. Don't worry, I'll tell Severus before it's announced. I will also speak to Mr. Weasley, and make sure he understands what his duties will be."

"I notice they're all sixth-year students. But why Susan Bones for me? She'll bustle about, hover over me, and try to do all my paperwork."

"They're all sixth-year students because I believe the war will come to a conclusion at the end of Harry's seventh year. I chose Miss Bones for your assistant because I _want_ someone hovering over you. She's energetic even for a Hufflepuff, and needs an outlet. Seeing to your welfare is something that needs to be done, my beloved, and since I've made such a poor job of it lately, it's time to add someone else."

She took his hand in hers. His was cold, which was a bad sign, since they were usually so warm. "My darling, you're not well yourself. Who is going to be _your_ assistant?"

"I would be Obliviating the poor fellow almost every day because of what he would find out on his own working for me. It wouldn't be fair."

Perhaps Albus was right, but something had to be done. Minerva decided she would find someone appropriate for him, whether he thought he needed help or not. _I shouldn't choose a Gryffindor,_ she thought. _And perhaps it should be someone much younger who will understand less of what my darling is up to—whoever I choose shouldn't have any connections who might pressure him into revealing what he does learn helping out the Headmaster. And since Mr. Weasley will undoubtedly talk to his friends about what he's doing for Severus, perhaps it ought to be one of the new Slytherins, so Snape feels more secure. It will do Albus good to see the Snakes aren't evil on a daily basis, no matter what he said tonight._

"You had better go to bed," she said. McGonagall looked up at the phoenix preening himself on the stand behind Dumbledore's desk. "Fawkes, make sure he does, and see to it his bed is warm before he lies down in it."

"Now, really, Min, you're as bad as Poppy…"

"Good. She and I need to have another talk anyway." She cackled. "What's the point of being a witch if you can't plot with others to make the men nervous?" The Deputy Headmistress grinned to see the look of consternation on her superior's face.

The phoenix squawked, rose from his perch, and flew off towards Dumbledore's bedroom. "I should take that as a hint if I were you," she said.

Albus looked up into the ceiling and sighed like a martyr on his way to the stake. He stood and stumbled off towards his bedroom, grumbling under his breath all the way.

Minerva left the office, made sure the door was locked and warded, and left for her own quarters. As she made ready for bed, she smiled to herself. Miss Granger had come to her earlier in the week, waving the half-filled out crossword puzzle, with a few additions in her own hand, and begging for a Latin grammar. It was clear the girl was currently bored with her easy schedule. Perhaps it was just as well she wasn't to be Professor Snape's assistant in any formal way, and was likely to be well chaperoned for brewing lessons. Despite what Albus had hinted about Severus and Molly Weasley, which McGonagall found difficult to believe, it would likely be a mistake to have the dour Slytherin and the girl work too closely together. _He'd never abuse his position, but Hermione might not take his death or disability well, and her work might suffer,_ she thought. _Mr. Weasley is likely to manage it better, and it's not like his studies are on the same level anyway._ She chided herself for giving up on a student. After all, the boy had made it into NEWT Potions, and Snape's standards were notoriously high. He was not likely to allow someone in class he didn't think was qualified unless, of course, through Dumbledore's intervention. _I'm glad Mr. Potter is doing much better this year. If he had neglected his work the way he did last year, Snape wouldn't be the only teacher justified in objecting to having the boy in his class. I was losing patience myself by the end of last year, but Umbridge was so awful, I couldn't bear to see Harry lose so many points. I have no doubt that he was caught trying to hex Mr. Malfoy._ She still felt a trifle uneasy at giving so many points upon her return to Hogwarts from St. Mungo's. Mr. Potter could have learned the wrong lesson that way, and might have been even worse this year.

_I made the same mistake with him and his friends as I did with the Marauders. If it hadn't been for the Ministry Raid, or for Snape's intervention with the boy's family, we could have had a real problem on our hands. Mr. Malfoy might have attempted some foolish act of revenge on the Express, given what happened to him and his friends earlier, and this year could have been rather unpleasant. Severus could have lost control of his godson, and given the Headmaster's attitude in the past, I would have none whatsoever over the Trio. _She shuddered to think of the dramas that could be playing out from the past this year. Without any help, Snape might have been nastier than ever, had he survived, and utterly convinced that he had no choice but to look out for his own welfare and those under his protection.

As she lay down, she had a brief vision of Mr. Malfoy screaming, his face and chest drenched in blood, while Harry Potter stood with his wand out, his face blank. _Don't eat so much this late at night!_ she told herself, knowing she wouldn't remember her own good advice the next time the opportunity offered itself. _That didn't happen and isn't likely to,_ Minerva thought, and was glad of it. She considered again just who should be Albus' assistant. Dobby was working less these days, as Miss Granger had seen reason—or at least pretended to—on the subject of house elves. Winky had taken over caring for Severus, so Dobby didn't feel pulled in so many directions, either. The elf could also offer insights into what Lucius Malfoy might be up to.

Then again, her beloved enjoyed being with students a great deal, and Dobby was old for a house elf. Albus needed youth around him. Perhaps being here had helped him lived so long. She fell asleep going over names, and smiled to herself thinking of that poor boy in Transfiguration who had so much trouble with his hedgehog…


	75. Chapter 75: The Prisoner

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too.

Chapter 75: The Prisoner

Lucius Malfoy

He was delighted to see his son. When they stood and embraced, the boy was little short of his own height, though still not as sturdy. As soon as they both sat down, he turned his lamp a quarter to the left. Nobody else needed to listen to this conversation.

Draco's features were just a bit more delicate than Lucius had expected them to turn out, but matched his thinner build. _Perhaps he'll fill out as he grows older,_ he thought. _Narcissa's heritage and mine have mixed well in the boy._ No. Not a boy any more, but a young man, especially after what he had heard about Saturday night.

After a few pleasantries, Lucius poured a glass of wine for each of them. "I know you don't want to talk about it, son, but I need to know what really happened last weekend. I've heard some ugly rumors about what my dear sister-in-law has been up to. I need to know the truth. Don't worry, I certainly won't tell your mother. Some things men keep to themselves."

Draco took a deep breath. His gray eyes didn't look the way they usually did when the boy meant to lie to him, which was good.

"Professor Snape came over to the team during our game on Saturday afternoon and warned us he'd lost the hearing. Those of us who er, belong, felt we were going to be summoned. Fortunately, our Lord waited till after the game was over, which we won. I caught the Snitch after Crabbe and Bulstrode scared the crap out of Chang with their Bludgers. I gave it to the Professor, because it was his birthday.

"Then my arm started hurting. I told the team we'd go over the game the next morning, and took off to fetch my robe and mask. So did the other apprentices. We met out in the woods and left as a group. When we arrived, wherever it was, the Dark Lord was there along with Pettigrew and his apprentice Percy Weasley. Madam Lestrange was also there, and I went to her side, since I'm her apprentice now." Draco looked down at the floor. "Our Lord said that the professor was to be punished by my aunt, and that he couldn't use the favor with my mistress to avoid it. She…she was very happy. Why does she hate him so much, Father? The professor wasn't even on the raid on Azkaban. It wasn't his fault her husband died."

Lucius was still working on plans for the wretched werewolf who had blocked his own escape route. Then again, he could have ended up with an arrow in his guts the way Rodolphus Lestrange had. "My sister-in-law must be angry with _someone_, dear boy, since even she knows it would be fatal to show her unhappiness with the person truly responsible for the failures shown at that raid." _I have to be careful. It would be so easy for my son to turn against our Lord, especially after seeing Snape hurt so many times. It does seem odd for _him_ to allow it, unless it's also a way of showing _his_ displeasure towards me, since I was my beloved's sponsor._

"Oh." The _Lumos_ went on behind Draco's eyes. "Of course. But she hated him before that, sir. Unfortunately, I think it's partly my fault he was injured so much this time."

"Tell me what happened," Lucius said.

"Well, Professor Snape argued a bit, and Madam Lestrange put a _Silencio_ on him. She explained what she planned to do. The first spell was a new hex that would keep the professor from being able to talk, or even think in words. The second one was a spell that would rebound against anybody using any magic on him once she was done. Well, anyone who didn't have the Mark. Madam Pomfrey had to go to St. Mungo's last week because of that one." His son's face went blank, which showed how strongly he disapproved.

He knew stories about that particular hex. The old mediwitch had been kind to him as well as to many others, and from all accounts had saved Snape's life numerous times. Given how many Hogwarts students who had been helped by the woman, some might now refuse any call to serve their side. Perhaps this use of the spell had not been wise. "Continue," he said.

The boy took another deep breath. "She stripped him and bound him to the earth. Then she put on the first hex. My godfather's eyes went blank, and he started fighting to escape. He…he howled with pain when she hurt him. She…she wasn't wearing anything underneath her cloak, and did something, er, to make sure the professor was um, ready for her." His face flushed pink.

Lucius nodded grimly. "I'm not surprised. Snape consistently refused her before she and her husband were sent to Azkaban. In fact, I've always wondered exactly who told the Aurors where the two of them were hiding after they'd had their fun with the Longbottoms."

"I should have kept my mouth shut!" his son said. "But it wasn't right!"

_I should have kept my own closed on my relationship with Severus,_ he thought. "What exactly did you do?"

"I, I said no. And then she laughed, and said she could see why you were so fond of him. She said I was too young to know about that. I said I did know. Then she went over to Professor Snape and almost…almost sat down on him. She stood up and said she'd changed her mind and hit him with a _Crucio_. I didn't think you could put one all in the same place…" Draco was deathly pale. His hands shook as he held the wineglass.

"Continue!"

"She hexed him some more. Then Edgecombe came forward and stopped her. I don't think she cares if she lives or dies, but it wasn't right for me to stand there and let her be killed for doing what I should have. So I knelt before Madam Lestrange and told her that if the professor died, she would be punished, and so would I as her apprentice."

_Interesting how he isn't calling her 'aunt__.'_Lucius suspected why. "What happened?"

"She wanted me to take Snape's place." His son gulped the rest of the wine. "I tried to um, step up right away, but seeing that _Crucio_ and um, where she put it, well, I think she used the Mark on me, because then I didn't want anyone else but her. We—we did it right there in front of everyone and I couldn't think, couldn't feel anything but her. My own aunt!"

He desperately wanted to take his son into his arms, but knew it would be a mistake. Draco had to be strong enough to be a man now. He refilled the empty glass instead. "I take it you managed to please her?"

"Yes." His son fell silent for a moment, then spoke again. "She said you and her husband had great times with her, but Snape wasn't interested. But he was only a second year when you left." The boy's face turned grim. "At least I'm in sixth year. After I finished I couldn't tell if the professor was still alive. He had such a horrible bruise…Madam Lestrange put the magical rebound spell on him, so that anyone who didn't have the Mark would be hit with a backlash if they tried to heal him. She banished him after that. Then she kissed me and sent me back to the Forbidden Forest. I was worried about the others, though. I didn't know if she was strong enough to manage them, as the Dark Lord had left much earlier. So I touched my Mark and hoped it would send me back."

"I hope you realize how foolish that was!" Lucius was appalled at the risk his son had taken. He ignored the remark about Snape being in second year. There were certain calculations that did not bear looking at. _Surely my care for Severus over the years has made up for that._

"Oh, don't worry, I learned my lesson. My mistress didn't know what to do with the rest of the apprentices. _He_ returned, and called me forward. I received a light _Crucio_ for my cheek, and he sent us all back to the Forbidden Forest. I lit a fire and made sure everyone gathered together and went back to the school all right. Nobody caught us." His son looked proud, and well he should.

Then Draco's face turned sober. "It was light by then. I went to the infirmary and hoped the professor was there. Winky was there, but not Madam Pomfrey. I found out later she was at St. Mungo's, The professor…he thinks he's going to die, Father. He keeps trying to prepare me for it. In fact, I think he'd rather die than end up under that one curse again, the one my aunt found and used that took words away from him."

"Surely he's all right now," Lucius said. He'd seen Severus in bad shape before, but the foul-tempered Potions Master always recovered quickly.

"He's still on that stupid regimen the Swiss put him on for potions overload," Draco said. "He almost bled to death inside. At least that's what his file said when I took a quick look at it when I was doing a detention last week. I never should have left him! I was called out of class on Monday when the woman brought in to help was doing a fever-spell to clean out his lungs. He didn't teach again till yesterday, and you know that's not like him. He still walks like he's in pain, and he's charmed a chair to trail along behind him when he's too tired.

"Last night, when I was working off a detention in the infirmary, I overheard what Madam Pomfrey told him. What…what Madam Lestrange did might not heal all the way right. There's someone at St. Mungo's who does some weird stuff with tiny snakes that might help the professor, but it's supposed to hurt tremendously. I could tell he was just agreeing to look into it so they'd leave him alone. He doesn't want to chance it, at least not without any pain potions. But if he doesn't, he might never—" His son turned beet red.

Lucius was horrified. He had forgotten about the regimen Snape was on. "This is dreadful," he said. He knew about the healer and his snakes already, as the treatment was one for infertility in women. Narcissa had mentioned it to him in one of her visits last summer, and it was said to be extraordinarily painful. He'd told her a couple of months ago that she should wait till he was out of Azkaban before she even considered such an ordeal.

But Severus was suffering terribly now. _It's my fault he doesn't already have a wife and children of his own._ Snape had been quietly attracted to a few of the candidates Narcissa had found, though they had been foreigners. Then again, he'd been teaching long enough that most British witches of the right age had been students of his. _But I vetoed every single one. Granted, there were a couple of them where he begged me to do so!_ "Let me think about this, son."

"Father," said Draco, "is there any way you can talk him into this? I don't know how close you are now, but he might listen to you. I'll look through as many books as I can on ways so it won't hurt him as much."

"I'll do what I can," he said. Lucius wanted to strangle his sister-in-law. How dare the bitch destroy Snape like this? Part of what he loved about the scowling bastard was his responsiveness in bed. The Potions Master was no complaisant fuck-toy! And to destroy one of the finest bloodlines in Britain from spite was a crime against the Wizarding World.

Then he realized something. Not once had his son whined about what had happened to him. True, it was Bella's right to do what she liked with her apprentice, but that hadn't stopped Draco from complaining before. "Well, boy, many apprentices have worse duties than yours. At least she took the trouble to make sure you enjoyed yourself!"

His son flushed pink again. "I love Pansy," he said in a quiet voice. "I shouldn't—I shouldn't want anyone else so much."

Lucius understood _that_ problem. "I take it you'll find it easy to be obedient if your mistress calls you again?"

Draco bit his lip. "It feels strange. I mean, I was so little the last time I saw her, it doesn't seem like she's really my aunt. It sounds horrible to say she might not need to use the Mark on me next time."

"Let me offer some advice. You can still love Pansy, even when part of you is involved somewhere else. At least Bella is outside of school, so you won't risk losing Head Boy the way I did when I let my dick lead the way. I can tell you're still not comfortable with what I did with your godfather. I made sure he gained a great deal from it, and I hope my sister-in-law shows the same kind of responsibility towards you. Frankly, I doubt it. I'm afraid that you'll be more or less in her power for the next few years.

"However, that will change once you marry Miss Parkinson. Remember, your aunt will become older as you come into your maturity. Once you are a full member of the Circle, you will undoubtedly have your pick of partners. The Blacks do not age well, with the exception of your mother, of course."

"I've done some research," Draco said. "Snapes don't age at all."

"Yes, they are a contentious lot, and they tend to die young of their own bad tempers," Lucius said, only half-joking. It was true that the men, especially, often ended up dead fairly early from violence. He had his own suspicions about what happened to Snape's father, though it was clear his beloved had no memory of it. With Severus requiring several weeks in St. Mungo's afterwards, no doubt the Ministry had rightly called it self-defense.

_I wish I hadn't been out of the country that summer,_ he thought. _At least Snape would have had somewhere to go besides the couch at the __Prophet_'s_ office. I could have made sure he'd had clothes that fit him instead of Filch's castoffs._ Of course, it had worked out well in one way. That summer, Snape had been extremely grateful to live at Malfoy Manor and hadn't let misguided pride stand in the way.

Lucius was also aware of how the Potions Master had made the first year students completely off limits as soon as he'd become Head of Slytherin. When faced with that, he knew better than to say anything. Once Draco had started school, he'd been grateful.

"Father," his son said. "Snape is going to die, isn't he?"

"Not if I can help it," Malfoy snarled. "He's _mine_!" How had that black-eyed demon gained such a hold on him? _I was in sixth year, slated for success, when that wretched child upset all my calculations._ "I never thought to find him half-trained already," he mused out loud. He had been a little ashamed, but unable to control his longings. The next year, someone else had been chosen Head Boy, and he'd known why, even though he was careful to make sure nobody had proof.

Severus had been worth it. For a while after he'd left Hogwarts, laden with academic honors, Lucius had wondered at himself. When he'd married Narcissa, he thought he was over the insanity, and tried to give Snape as little thought at possible. _I was glad to discover others the same age didn't draw me at all. Even in the Wizarding World there are names for such people_.

For a short time, he'd thought Severus just a whim, though naturally he listened to anything people had to say about the boy.

Then the lanky brat had come to live at the Manor the summer after his parents' death. Lucius discovered his obsession was worse than ever. Narcissa suspected another woman at first, naturally, and was enraged to find out her rival was a boy she'd known only as a Potions prodigy worth sponsoring for later use. She'd hated Snape for a long time.

By then, Lucius had taken the Mark. Severus was clearly too young for it. Regulus Black had been recruited while in school to watch on the rest of his family, though, especially his mad brother. The boy gave reports all the time about what the Marauders were doing, especially their latest prank on Snivellus. Unfortunately, he had rightly pointed out that other Slytherins knew better than to draw Gryffindor fire for someone they couldn't properly trust. At last, the Marauders went too far and Snape finally gave up some of his hard-earned independence for safety.

_Fortunately, Severus finally saw that even the wretched little Mudblood girl had turned on him, and was to marry his chief tormentor. I must remember to write the Headmaster one day and express my gratitude for making James Potter Head Boy. It was easy to recruit __him __after _that. _Perhaps it was cruel of me to force him to attend the wedding, but he knew it was to occur. He would certainly have done something foolish with his knowledge of potions if he had been forced to face facts alone._

"Father?"

Lucius returned from his reverie. "Just thinking," he said. "You must appear to be loyal to your mistress. That is first and foremost. I'm sorry, but your survival is more important to me than Snape's. You must obey our mad Bella for now, no matter what she orders. We all must take commands before we can issue them."

"What if she tells me to hurt my godfather?"

"Of course she will. I should have thought about that myself. You will have to do it, but only if our Lord has given her permission. Snape is still a member of the Inner Circle, though he's so new to it, I suspect your aunt may have forgotten. I am glad you've thought of this now, while there's still time to do something about it. Any Unforgivables you are commanded to use must be performed with the wands the professor fetched for you apprentices from Knockturn Alley, of course. Wouldn't do to have the Ministry interfere. Pity that wand quality is so mediocre these days, isn't it?"

Draco looked thoughtful. "I'll have to find a way to practice safely with it while at Hogwarts," he said.

"I'm certain Severus has thought of that already," Lucius said. "After all, some inferior wands manage nicely for a few times, and then fail just when you need them the most." He hoped the boy took the hint.

His son nodded. "The professor has a lot of meetings with the Headmaster these days, and doesn't yell at Potty the way he used to. I've reported that to Madam Lestrange even before I became her apprentice. Should I add that he's having private interviews with each apprentice?"

"Of course. No doubt Severus has cleared these changes with the Dark Lord already, but you need to establish your loyalty to Bella first." Lucius knew his son would undoubtedly repeat everything he said to his new mistress, too. "Feel free to tell her that I am greatly concerned for my former apprentice. She thinks me helpless here. Pretend to be so besotted with her that you would gladly betray me and spend the family fortune on her. Just send a message through your mother when you've convinced her, though. It's not impossible to have someone assassinated in here, and there are some precautions I should like to take beforehand."

"Of course, Father," Draco said dutifully.

Lucius resolved to take those safety measures as soon as the boy left. He found his son more difficult to read these days, and he found that annoying—and gratifying, as well. Draco was growing up, and would have to be dealt with as an adult from now on.

"May I ask a question, Father?"

"Certainly." He beamed, knowing he'd have to watch his back. Perhaps that was why his father had smiled at _him_ the day he'd married Narcissa.

"This whole hearing thing. If Mother had won, and Potter became part of the family, wouldn't there be magical consequences on me through blood, and possibly on you through marriage when…when the time came?"

Lucius was startled. He'd never thought of that. "It was Snape who came up with the guardianship idea to begin with, wasn't it?"

"I don't know, sir, but I could find out."

Of course. That was why Narcissa hadn't petitioned for the full blood rite. He had wondered about that part, knowing it made their side seem less willing to nurture the Potter brat than the Weasleys. Now her reluctance made greater sense. Perhaps Severus had done them all a great service by losing the case. Damn that Bella! She knew the rules. Oh, yes, make a fellow Circle member dance at the end of the wand, and maybe force him to take longer than usual to become well again. But it wasn't done to leave any compatriot with permanent damage. After all, that would impact any future service to the Dark Lord. _We all think of Snape as such a potions genius that healing should come quickly. But _he_ already knew from last summer that it wasn't like that, and_ he _still let Bella mangle him anyway. That doesn't make any sense, especially since my beloved has all those apprentices to lead. How many of them follow Snape alone now, or wonder when it's going to be their turn? Yes, apprentices should have a rough time of it, but that should come from their master or mistress, not from the Dark Lord. Maybe…maybe_ he's_ slipping._

That was a disturbing thought. Then he remembered Draco was probably one of the apprentices having a few of those himself. "Our Lord wouldn't have let anything drastic happen to us because of serving him," he said loftily, knowing full well that Tom Riddle wouldn't mind letting the Malfoys take the brunt of any magical consequences of betrayal.

"Of course, sir."

Was that a hint of doubt in his son's voice? Almost certainly. Draco really _was_ growing up. "You must remember that the Malfoy family comes first," Lucius said. "Our Lord is going to win, of course, but there may be some temporary setbacks. It might be wise to have friends in different places than many expect. I still think it's a pity that you and the Potter boy never hit it off. I know you tried, lad, but sneaking around trying to find out what he and his friends were doing wasn't helpful, either." Fortunately Severus had put a stop to _that_ right away, obviously seeing the parallel for himself.

The boy's eyes widened. "I'll have to be careful, Father. My mistress would certainly hear of it somehow if I don't show the proper attitude."

"Then show it. Nobody's asking you to make up to the brat _now_, for Merlin's sake," he growled. "Figure out something, though."

Draco smiled gloriously. "I know! I'll crawl to the Headmaster, join their glorious Order, and ask for lessons on the side from Moody. Before it's over, he'll offer me a sip from that precious flask of his."

"Idiot. If you could really pull that off, I wouldn't worry a bit about the family's future." He reached over and ruffled his son's hair. "Seriously, you do need to make friends outside the Pit. Perhaps there's a Ravenclaw or two you could hint about having some doubts to. The old fool will certainly hear about _that_ soon enough! If you are called in for an interview with the Headmaster, though, watch out for that blasted phoenix! Fawkes can smell our kind a mile away. A good thing you won't rise to the Inner Circle as a student. I have no idea what your godfather is telling Dumbledore, but I bet it's good."

"It would be hard playing a double game like that." The boy yawned.

"Game tomorrow."

"Hufflepuff. They're not as bad this year, unfortunately."

"Then you'd better go back and catch up on your sleep," Lucius said reluctantly. "Merlin, it's good to see you."

"I've missed you, too."

"Give my best to your mother," he said, and stood. "Remember what I said about making friends. If Bella gives you any shite about it, tell her you're recruiting."

Draco rose. "What about Professor Snape?"

"Your aunt would never dare lay a wand on him, permission or not, if I were out of this hole," Lucius said angrily. "Watch over him the best you can. I won't be here forever, but till then do your best to keep him alive. If he needs more help, try to persuade him to take advantage of it. I certainly will."

"I'm glad you really care for him, Father. You've always been good friends, but I had no idea there was anything…more." The boy's face was well controlled.

"He wouldn't talk to me for years. When you were just a baby, I left him to rot here while I saved my own skin. It was the old fool who rescued him from the Kiss, and from what I heard later, without much time left on the clock. We are all extremely lucky he isn't spying on _us_."

Draco nodded. His eyes were opaque, though, as if concealing thoughts he would rather not speak. _Very good, boy. Once you can lie to me with a bright smile and a clear gaze, you'll be ready for the real world. _Lucius placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Our time is nearly over," he said. "Watch over yourself most of all. I am so proud of you, Draco. It'll be hard having Bella as your mistress, but I'm sure you can manage her once your eyes stop falling out just thinking about her. Be sure to pay court to Miss Parkinson, though. I set up that match for many good reasons, and it wouldn't do to have it fall through now. I know she's undoubtedly unhappy, but any effort you take will pay dividends over the years. As for your godfather…" He paused a moment. "You are not to think any less of him because of the past. I take full responsibility for it. If the old fool won't see to his health, I'll make the arrangements for the professor's care myself." He grew indignant again, and frustrated that he could really do so little. It wasn't the old fool, whose tender heart could be appealed to. It was someone far more dangerous. He would have to walk carefully to avoid his efforts having the opposite effect of what he intended. It would not be the first time the Dark Lord had used concern over an apprentice to keep a member in order.

Perhaps he had not been wise to insist that Draco take the Dark Mark.

"Thank you, Father," his son said.

Someone scratched at the door. "You'll have to go now," Lucius said, and quickly changed the lamp back to its normal position. "Now, be sure to beat those Hufflepuffs tomorrow. It would be just too embarrassing if you didn't!"

"Of course, sir!" Draco said, then left as the guard opened the door and escorted his son out.

Lucius sat down, his head in his hands. The boy had given him much to think about. Severus was strong, stronger than most knew, but anyone could be broken eventually. The Potions Master had survived things that would put others in their graves or in the closed ward at St. Mungo's. _We're all used to seeing him bounce back from anything that happens to him with a scowl and a smirk. Last year was hard for him, though, and this one's worse._ He had sometimes let Snape sleep for a couple of hours after they'd amused themselves, rather than demand more attention. This year, Lucius hoped someone was looking after the man, even if only that demented little house elf who used to belong to the Crouch household.

_I'm lucky he ever forgave me for leaving him to perish while I bought my way out of here,_ he thought. _He must laugh, sometimes, to know the shoe's on the other foot this year. Yet…I'm in a good cell with several of the guards proving quite cooperative. He had Dementors outside his cell and Moody inside it. I hear stories of the Special Section even now. _

It was time he repaid some of the care Severus had given the family. He fetched out his best paper and ink. This appeal had to be precisely worded, and include enough flattery to turn a goblin sweet. No doubt the Dark Lord was just waiting to see how far one of his Death Eaters would grovel for the sake of another. _Well, I'd better put on some kneepads, for I plan to crawl as far as he could like. He wants to see a Malfoy humble? He should enjoy this._

_Most precious Lord,_ Lucius began to write, then sighed. _The things I do for a friend! Then again, without my beloved watching over the family interests, Narcissa might have lost everything by now. No. I can do this little._

Draco Malfoy

Draco was given a Portkey at the outermost guard station and used it. He arrived back in the Headmaster's office, and left the glove on the desk. He saw bits of wrapping paper lying about, but decided using magic in this place would only result in trouble. He quickly gathered up the largest pieces by hand.

Nobody was there but Fawkes, who trilled at him, and incinerated the tiniest scraps remaining on the floor, somehow without leaving any scorch marks on the carpet. Draco hadn't cared much for the phoenix before his oath, given the bird's red and gold coloring. But now he felt drawn to Fawkes and gladly let the phoenix perch on his shoulder. He scratched, carefully, around the bird's eyes, and sat down by the fireplace. Both he and his companion wanted warmth. Though Father's cell had been well heated, he'd felt the chill of the prison.

Sitting here felt wonderful, though it was spooky with the portraits staring down at him. They weren't even pretending to sleep. _I should leave soon,_ he thought, but didn't want to give up the comfort of the magical creature now nuzzling his neck.

He'd been afraid of saying too much—his joke about Moody's flask had been stupid. Fortunately, his father had taken it the right way. After a few more minutes of letting a human groom him, Fawkes took off and flapped over to his perch. Draco took that as a hint to leave. He went to the dungeons, just to make sure the first years were quiet, and waved at Winky as he walked by the door to Snape's quarters. The elf jumped and said, "Oh, Master Malfoy! Master Potions Master wants to talk to you! He says, 'wake me up, I'll sleep late.'"

He hesitated. "I can speak with him in the morning."

"He says when you come back. Please?"

"All right. I'll wait out here till he's ready to see me." He knew the professor hated anyone seeing him weak. Even last week, when Snape was really sick, he'd been out in the parlor or in his office for visitors.

"Good Malfoy!" caroled Winky. "Be right back!"

It took longer than Draco thought it would. In fact, he wanted to stick his head in the door and say he'd be back in the morning. He was just about to make his apologies and leave when Winky finally appeared. "Master in big chair in parlor. Don't talk long, please? He's so tired."

He walked in and saw the professor lying halfway back, sipping a cup of tea.

"How did it go?" Snape asked.

Draco basked in the warmth of the blaze in the fireplace. "He offered me some good advice about my aunt," he said. "He's really worried about you. I told him everything about what happened last Saturday. He was concerned about me, too, and said I should make some friends outside the Pit. I told him that if necessary, I'd confess all to the Headmaster, join the Order, and take lessons from Moody. He didn't believe a word of that, of course."

His godfather nearly strangled on his tea, then blew his nose. "You will be the death of me yet, Draco Malfoy. I thought only idiotic Gryffindors took chances like that."

_Or mad Potions Masters,_ he thought. "I knew he'd take it the way he did, sir, although he added that he knew the family would be in safe hands if I really managed it."

"Yes. Despite your father's loyalties, the shrine of the Malfoy line is where he worships."

Draco looked at Snape. The shadows from the flames heightened the irregularities in the man's facial structure, making the older wizard look like one of the tormented souls in hell from an old Book of Hours in the Malfoy library. "I should go, sir. I didn't tell him anything he didn't already know or could find out on his own. I feel weird, though. I know what kind of person he really is, but I still want—"

"It is perfectly reasonable for you to love your father and to want him to love you," Snape said evenly. "Please have a seat."

"You need your rest. I shouldn't have had Winky wake you up."

"This is more important. As I said, it's quite all right to feel the way you do. For all his faults, he's been a better father to you than some. Despite all that's happened, your mother still loves him as well."

He sat. "I've seen the way she looks at you sometimes. But you never look back, at least not in the same way."

"She is far safer because I don't. Lucius would likely kill her if she were unfaithful to him. The Manor has many safeguards that you don't know about. Even if she conducted any liaisons away from the place, the Manor itself might detect changes in her when she returned. Kreacher and some of the other house elves also keep watch. Your mother is a kind, gentle woman and deserves better than her probable fate if I felt the way she appears to want me to at times. Also, and do not take this as an insult, but I prefer any women in my life to be more…ample, for want of a better word. I have tried to protect her in her husband's absence, and I fear she occasionally misinterprets that. It is rare for a witch and wizard to be friends in the way I believe we are now, but not unknown."

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. Snape had sworn his mother had never been untrue, but had never really expressed his own feelings. Father had told him many witches were weak in this way, especially when young and beautiful, and had to be guarded from their own impulses. He knew he'd taken advantage of Pansy's desire to be loved, and pledged anew to never let her come to harm. "Thank you, professor," he said. _I would have found a way to keep my mouth shut if Mother had strayed, but I'm so glad she hasn't._

He remembered something else his father had said, about Snape being half-trained already. His godfather really had been a first year when things…when the relationship had started if he had the timing right. No. There were some things he didn't need to know. The professor would be astounded at his cheek in asking. _And if Father was right, if anything ugly happened even before Hogwarts, it's not right to drag anyone through the mud like that. _The whole concept was incomprehensible to him. It'd be like him going after the Walsh girl, or the boy in the infirmary with the hedgehog bite.

"Draco, we haven't talked much about what you really want to do with your life. You went through Career Day last year along with everyone else, but I suspect you didn't listen."

He was grateful for the change of subject. "Not much," he said. "I was too full of being an Enforcer, I suppose. And it seemed so stupid, knowing that our Lord was going to make us princes over the rest of the Wizarding World anyway."

"What alternatives were you offered? Do you remember?"

The young Slytherin looked down at the floor, and hoped he could bring the scene back. He didn't have a lightning brain like the Granger girl—oh, how he'd love to call her 'Minervanilla' in the open! His memory usually served him well, though. Draco visualized the room and Madam Umbridge. Snape hadn't been able to be there, so Professor McGonagall had sat in as Deputy Headmistress. He recalled the Transfiguration professor's grim faces as she sized him up and clearly found him wanting, while Madam Umbridge had a sweet smile pasted on which didn't reach her eyes.

"Yes, I do remember," he said, hearing the echo of their voices. "They were just as bored with me as I was with them. They had my transcript and recited a list of trades no Malfoy would ever dirty his hands with. Let's see…Arithmancy, potions maker, though the Deputy Headmistress doubted out loud I'd ever make Master class. Well, I didn't argue with that. Then Umbridge said, with a great deal of astonishment, that I had the talents for a Healer, though none of the temperament. You'd think she was talking about Lockhart by the tone she took." Draco hadn't been amused back then. He was a _Malfoy_, by Merlin, not a lightweight buffoon like their former DADA teacher.

"I'm sure you let them know what you thought about it."

He heard the amusement in his godfather's voice. "Oh, yes, though you'd think McGonagall had bitten into a lemon by the look on her face."

"Professor McGonagall, if you please," Snape rapped out.

"Of course, sir." Draco paused a moment, and then continued. "The really strange part is that I've actually enjoyed the detentions I've had in the infirmary. Well, not counting the washing the bedpans part. But it's fun to chat up the little idiots and make them laugh. Of course, Father would never let me study the art for real. But—oh, Merlin, when I saw you last Sunday I wish I _did_ know what I was doing! I suppose it's not something a Malfoy does, though."

"I've heard all my life that Malfoys make their own rules. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will be glad to offer instruction as time permits. I can arrange for more detentions there if you like."

"Well, not too many, or Father will hear of it and wonder what's going on. I am captain of the team this year, though, and it's my duty to make sure they're all right, isn't it? Nobody ever interferes with Quidditch. I mean, _he_ waited till the game was over before summoning us."

Snape laughed. "Quite right. I've already heard that you've expanded the definition of your Prefect duties somewhat, especially with the first year students. Winky is waking you for some of the night time problems, isn't she?"

"Er…" He didn't want to grass on the little house elf.

"Never mind. Besides, learning the healer's trade would be useful to the Dark Lord. It could help others who are on the wrong end of that rebound spell, though I wouldn't mention that part. Mr. Potter was able to assist in its removal from me last Saturday, but we might not be that fortunate the next time. I wouldn't mention that either." Snape looked at the fire for a moment. "You could confess your sinful longings to your mistress. As long as she thinks she's annoying your father, she'll be delighted to back you. I will let him know what we have planned so he can froth appropriately, but be assured, I very much doubt he will actually be angry about it. Is there anything particular about what Madam Pomfrey does that intrigues you? After all, there is a certain amount of glory that attends a successful, well-known Healer."

"I don't know. I just like it when someone feels better." It was hard to explain, and it didn't make any sense to him, either. Of course, he enjoyed it when they made up to him after, but there were some who didn't, and he wasn't as annoyed as he thought he would be by that. It felt weird to enjoy just doing something besides flying without needing applause.

"Good. But remember that healers have their failures, too."

_Oh, Merlin, please don't let Snape be one of them._ "I know. Madam Pomfrey sometimes lets me help with her files. I can tell it hurts for her to look at some of them."

"It will hurt you, too, if you continue on this path."

"I know," Draco said ruefully. "I just never thought I'd worry like that."

"Your mother does."

"Don't I know it! She's forever fussing over the house elves. Why, she even doses that horrible Kreacher, though he won't stand for it till she shrieks at him. She always fussed over me, too." The only times he saw her during some years was when he was ill, or hurt, because of her busy schedule. Last summer had been different, though.

"Are you certain? The clinical end isn't all soothing fractious patients. The human body is capable of a number of exceedingly gross byproducts."

"I think that's why Madam Pomfrey having me clean bedpans," the young Slytherin said. "They're still not as bad as some of the potions we've made or the detentions you've given me off the books. I mean, after shelling polygut shrimp for two hours, the mystery is pretty much over."

"Think about it, Draco. If you really want this, I will help."

"Thank you, sir. I have to admit that I'm not totally certain. It's just that when I do anything like that, it's almost as fun as flying. I mean, I really like that, too, but I'm going to be too tall to be a top Seeker, and that's the only position I'm good at."

"A healer who specialized in Quidditch injuries would be highly valued."

He moved restlessly in his seat. "That would be fun. Now that I know a little bit, I've noticed that Madam Hooch does something funny with her hip when she walks, and not just the way the other boys talk about her. I looked her up in the Broom Bible, and she played for the Wasps till she had a bad collision and landed outside the pitch on some rocks. I haven't asked her, or anything, but I'm guessing that hip is where she was hurt the most."

"Actually, it was a spinal injury, but that wasn't far off," Snape said. "As long as she remains active, she doesn't have much trouble. If she ever had to be laid up for more than a week, though, she would require therapy to regain her mobility."

He decided not to nag his godfather about more treatment just now. No doubt the Potions Master had heard plenty on the subject. "Well, sir, I would enjoy talking more, but we're playing Hufflepuff tomorrow and I'll never hear the end of it if MacMillan ends up with the Snitch." Nobody had expected the plump Hufflepuff to do so well at the position, after Summerby had finished school last year.

"I must admit that Sprout would be unbearable for at least a week," Snape said.

Draco stood up and stretched. As he did, he noticed a line of dolls, graduated in size from tallest to smallest, up on the mantel. "I've never seen these before, professor. What are they?"

"They're Russian, and belonged to my mother. I wasn't able to find the last one for a long time, but I received it as a gift last night."

"Is it an angel or a bat?" He almost bit his tongue for letting that one out.

"Good question. I like it either way. One night when our family still lived out in the country, I saw a bat like that at dusk and believed it was an angel. My father thought I was making it up, but Mother convinced him no harm was done. That year at Christmas, she brought out the dolls and showed me their secret. You see, they all fit into one another, until you think there's only one."

Snape had never spoken to him like that. Draco had asked once about his godfather's childhood during one of the professor's visits to Malfoy Manor, received a stiff answer, and had been punished by his father afterwards. "He spent most of it in Knockturn Alley," his father had spat out, while Draco's rear still stung from the cane. "And he's done his best to rise to his current position. You do him no favor by reminding him of the past."

He'd never asked again, not even after beginning Hogwarts. "They're beautiful," he said, glad to be in this parlor now. He walked up more closely to the dolls. They looked somewhat battered, and some of the inlay was missing on the largest one, but they were obviously quite old. "You must be very proud of her."

"I am."

Of course, Draco remembered _then_ that Mother had told him in hushed tones that Marya Snape was not to be mentioned in polite company, and especially not the professor's. She had never explained why, but he had overheard someone gossiping about the Potions Master at a party. Fortunately, Snape had been on the other side of the room at the time. "Well, at least he's not a drunk the way _she_ was!" had been the comment, which he had never repeated to anyone.

_I have to leave before my mouth leads me where no one wants to go,_ he thought quickly. He ignored the broom in the rack by the door; he'd ask about it later, as it looked a great deal like his father's personal one. _Kreacher says it's a Blood Broom and that I'll end up on the floor wishing I was dead if I touch it without permission. But where would Snape find one?_

Draco turned towards the Potions Master. "Please rest, godfather," he said. "We won't be disappointed if you can't come to the game. It might be nasty weather, and you're just over one bout with fever."

"I would hate to miss it," the older wizard said.

"And we'll miss you, sir. But we'll miss you even more if you're sick again. Don't worry, we'll manage Hufflepuff just fine."

"I should hope so!" the professor snorted.

He bent over and briefly embraced the Potions Master. To his delight, Snape reached back up and hugged him tightly.

He left, and closed the door. "I tried to convince him not to go to the game tomorrow," he told Winky in a low voice.

"Oh, good." The sleepy house elf yawned. "Master sleeps, gets well. Nasty wet bad."

"Since I'm still a prefect this year, let me know if any of my fellow Snakes are hurt or sick. I want to study with Madam Pomfrey, but might have to keep it quiet. If I help anybody who needs me, I can learn now." Winky was good at keeping secrets.

Her face assumed a crafty look. "Then Master Shiny-Head help me when Missy Book-Girl is busy?"

He smiled. The elf really _was_ Slytherin to the core! "Of course. What do you need help with?"

She lowered her head and whispered, "Winky wants to learn how to _read_."

"It can't be as hard as whacking Crabbe over the head till he pukes up an essay," he said lightly. "But I'll be pretty busy till the first Quidditch season is over. Given the weather, that should be pretty soon, though. I'll be glad to then."

"Thank you!" She seized his hand and kissed it.

He always felt silly when an elf did that, but nodded his head gravely. Wouldn't do to hurt their feelings, not if one wanted his laundry to come out clean. "Quite all right," he said. Draco started up to his room, shaking his head. He knew Dobby could read. When the elf was still at the Manor, he had pretended not to, except when his master's son had needed help with the harder words.

It made sense that Winky wanted to, considering she was helping with Potions this year. She probably thought she could do more if she could read the labels on supplies, if nothing else. If she was anywhere near when Longbottom was brewing, she deserved any assistance she could get!

Draco smiled to himself. Wouldn't it be neat if he could teach the elf better than 'Missy Book-Girl'? At least he had lots of experience banging knowledge into blockheads. _Then again,_ he thought wryly, _given what I've seen of Potty and Weasel, so does she._

As he began going up the stairs to his section, he thought, _I hope the professor doesn't go to the game tomorrow. It would feel too much like last week, when we were summoned, and more than likely our game would be off._

His throat tightened with fear. _Father is right. She is going to ask me to hurt my godfather, and I'll probably have to obey. The Dark Lord always lets her do what she wants. There has to be a way I can seem to follow orders, but not hurt anybody. I bet nobody has practiced any of the Unforgivables with the new wands since the start of school. Well, except for Edgecombe, but I don't know where she'd do it without being caught. _

He stopped on the steps, thinking, and glad they weren't moving just now. _The professor hasn't called for any practices, either, not since the end of summer. We would be shockingly bad if asked to do any now, not counting Edgecombe again. I imagine _she's_ found a way to practice them. I wonder. If Snape can find wands that aren't registered, why can't I?_

Seized by inspiration, Draco left the stairwell and entered an empty classroom. He summoned paper, ink, and pen and quickly wrote a note and a sight draft. He had spent little of his allowance this quarter, and given his father's imprisonment, could draw on more if he could justify it to Mother later. She wouldn't mind this expense at all.

He walked to the Owlery, and concentrated. Soon the Malfoy eagle owl stood perched before him, though it looked slightly alarmed. "No, it's not an emergency, you silly bird. I just want the person who receives this message to know for sure it's from me." He tied the note and the draft to the bird's leg. "And don't complain if you don't like his owl treats. I know that Mother spoils you outrageously, and you're gaining weight from not flying enough as it is."

The bird let its feathers lie down after that, sighed with avian resignation, and took off with its burden.

Draco went to his room and lay down, content he had done his best.

Percy Weasley

He thought of the note and the promissory letter lying in his pocket as he sat in a corner at his brothers' shop early Saturday morning. _I shouldn't have been able to come in like this. I'll have to rate them for shockingly bad security._

As soon as the two redheads walked in, he muttered a spell and both were tied up with ropes. Percy Weasley stepped out of the shadows and said, "Now, really, didn't you two learn _anything_ at Hogwarts?"

Fred shook his head. "Damn. You're the only one I know who can still catch us like that. We should stop making fun of you."

George snorted. "Why all this, anyway?"

"I wanted to talk to you without anything untoward happening," Percy said, as he pulled himself up a chair and sat, his wand still on them. "New glasses and clothes cost money, and I'm saving up."

"Still mooning over the Clearwater girl?" asked George.

"I would like to," Percy said. "However, I don't have much time till I have to open up at the Ministry. We're working half-days on Saturdays now, what with the current emergency and so on. I have an order for you, which I hope you will rush through."

"Oh?" asked Fred, who seemed quite interested.

"Yes. You see, the junior members have been asked to test the Ministry defenses. Yours are quite bad, by the way. I was able to walk in here without any trouble at all."

"They're geared for family only," George said sourly.

"Ah. That makes sense. During the raid, we will be _pretending_ to use Unforgivables. However, it would be extremely unfortunate if they should have real effects, especially since Dad is supposedly one of the people being attacked."

"Thought you didn't care," Fred said.

"Think what you like," Percy said sharply.

"Whose brilliant idea was this, anyway?" asked George.

Percy smiled, and tried to make one of his eyes wave around without the other one following. He wasn't good it at it, but hoped the twins would think what he wanted them to.

They both burst out laughing. "Constant vigilance!" they shouted.

"Good. I should hate to hop about on one leg," he added misleadingly. "Now, for the sake of this raid, I would like to order twelve wands total. I thought the easiest way to do this would be to issue special wands which gave out the correct color of light and some sort of buzz or tingle to anyone on the other end, so they would know they had been hit. We want to put a bit of a scare into the senior officials, you understand, and make them see the Ministry defenses require a bit of updating. After all, I could be one of those horrible Death Eaters, and so could other members of the staff."

"We thought the Ministry defenses checked for that now," Fred said.

"That would be a easy one to rig up," added George.

"Of course it would, if the person in charge could be ah, depended on." He let that little thought sink in, and saw by their faces that it had. "And if possible, I need the first wand right away."

"Why?" demanded George.

"And how much are they going to pay?"

Percy let himself grin. "You remember who I work for, don't you?" he said in a low voice. "She might hear word of this practice raid before it happened. I would _hate_ for her to become overconfident. Not wise these days, you know."

Both of them burst into delighted smiles. "Brother, we knew you weren't hopeless!" George said. "_That_ wand won't cost a Knut—just tell us how loud she screamed and if she fainted or not, and we'll call that good enough."

"But I still want to know how much!" Fred said.

"I can go up to a hundred Galleons without any further approval. These wands don't actually have to do much in response to an Unforgivable command, just the right color and the sting or tingle. Remember, it's green for an _Avada Kedavra_, but there aren't any for a _Crucio_ or an _Imperio_. You might want to come up with something so it's clear what spell was done. And please mark the wands with tape or whatever color you like at the hand end, since we don't want them mixed up with other wands. I'd hate to be in trouble and pull out the wrong one."

Both of his brothers nodded eagerly. "Maybe in a month—no, Perce's has to be sooner than that—wish he could borrow Colin's camera and give us a look at Umbridge's face when she's pranked like _this—_Percy, you are going to be disguised when you do this, aren't you?" George finished the double set of sentences.

"Yes, we'll be wearing the robes and masks and so on," Percy said. Damn if he wasn't tempted to actually give Umbridge a spot of terror. After all, it would only be appropriate to test the thing out before handing it to someone else. That little bastard Malfoy was trying to do right for once, and ought to be encouraged. He'd seen precisely what Lestrange was like a week ago, and would rather not see it again, but was afraid her apprentice was absolutely correct that Draco would be told to attack Snape the next time.

Maybe he ought to talk to Moody about just such a raid on the Ministry. Their wards should have picked him up even with Mad-Eye's protection to go past the detectors each day. "You know, I won't be able to carry a camera, but I'll let you take a glance at the memory if things go off the way I hope they do," he offered.

"Now that's our brother back!" crowed Fred. "Say, you did see the note from Mum about this afternoon, didn't you?"

"Yeah, Harry's going to be inducted into the family for real today, at least as far as the house is concerned. You ought to be there, too."

"I wish I could," Percy said, and meant it. "Now, these ropes will dissolve in half an hour, which should give me plenty of time to hide behind my desk from your retaliation. But I'm serious about those wands. I'll send you half the payment now, and the other half later. If it turns out to be more than a hundred, let me know and I'll see what Mad-Eye can milk out of petty cash." He wasn't worried about that part. Draco Malfoy would be happy to supply any deficiency, but would balk at obvious blackmail. Anyway, it was important to have the first one done as soon as possible. "Ta for now, and try not to blow yourself up!" He walked out of the shop and Apparated to the Ministry entrance. He wasn't lying about the half-days on Saturday, at least for the junior help. However, his office was marked on the map under the name "Weatherby". He wondered if the twins would remember what Mr. Crouch used to call him.

_I think I _will_ want one of those wands,_ Percy Weasley thought. _One of these days Pettigrew will ask me to hurt someone I don't want to, either._


	76. Chapter 76: More Interviews

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too.

Chapter 76: Morning Appointments

Severus Snape

He wearily rose from the chair and shuffled back to bed. Draco's comment about Madam Pomfrey not caring to read over her failures struck home. _I don't want to become one of them, _Severus thought. _Even if I don't have a choice, I shouldn't give up._ He was terrified of more healers meddling with his body. They'd done enough damage already, and the procedure with the snakes sounded horrible. The only thing he thought would work to reduce the pain without being able to use the right potions would be if a very good practitioner of _Legilimens_ could hold his mind under, so to speak. He flinched at that idea, too, though he was certain Albus would be competent enough. Yet the wizard involved would face the pain himself, and the Headmaster was old, and often overestimated his strength. Snape almost smirked. _Pot, cauldron, Black,_ he commented to himself.

He quickly chanted "_Lumos,_", found a quill and some paper, and scribbled a note for Winky to take to Madam Pomfrey in the morning. _Poppy—if you could make an appointment for me with the Healer from St. Mungo;s, I would be much obliged. Please ask for as soon as possible, before I change my mind. Thank you. SS_

Snape lay back and trembled. He had to be out of his mind. He'd insist on the procedure being done at the clinic in Switzerland, though. He'd been to St. Mungo's only twice in his life as a patient—once after the death of his parents, and for a little while after Dumbledore had taken him from Azkaban. He didn't remember the first very well, but the second time he'd received the bare minimum of physical healing, and little real care. He'd been shunned by most of the workers because of the Mark—not that he blamed them for it. If he were summoned while in hospital, he didn't want to think what might happen.

Perhaps it was just as well that Magister Lowenstein and Malachite knew so much about him now. Since the wizard managed his case for potions overload, it was reasonable to insist on going there instead. Surely they could find a healer who could keep him from feeling the pain during the actual procedure, and manage the shock to his system better once it was done. _I'll have to send a message to the Dark Lord so he'll know I'm not able to respond to a summons. Well, if his network is as good at St. Mungo's as it was for the blood test, no doubt he'll learn what's wrong. However, sending a note would be appropriate, too._

_I'm creating phantoms out of nothing again. Maybe the Healer will find out that it will only take time to recover, and not another torture session. _On that thought he finally fell asleep.

He was surprised to find it late in the morning, at least for him, when he awoke. He was glad he'd spoken with Draco, though. It had been quite a surprise to find out the boy wanted to be a Healer. Winky brought him breakfast and took the note. "What is it for, master?"

"Madam Pomfrey thinks I'm not healing properly, and wants me to see an expert at St. Mungo's to make sure everything is all right. If I'm not, one Healer has a way to fix it, only it's going to hurt a lot and I can't take many potions for the pain. I'm afraid of being hurt again," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "I hope when I see the expert he'll say I'm going to be all right."

She patted his hand. "Master is so brave!"

He scowled. "I wish I were. I hate going to St. Mungo's and I avoid it as much as possible." Winky helped him dress, though he didn't need much assistance this morning. Snape gloated over the booty from the night before as he ate in the chair. It was petty, he supposed, but small pleasures were better than none. Besides, it was a good reminder to start his Christmas brewing soon. _I'll start the Wolfsbane tomorrow,_ he thought, _and plan out what the others should have this year. Anything with a chocolate base will be popular, I suppose._

He ate his breakfast and drank the inevitable potion. His stomach was a little unsteady after taking some of the detoxicant yesterday, but nothing he couldn't manage. Fortunately, the kitchens were serving him blander food than usual—Madam Pomfrey must have had a word with them, no doubt after Winky told her about his lack of appetite yesterday.

Snape walked without the girdle spell to his office. He had to see some of the apprentices early today, as they would play against Hufflepuff this afternoon. He didn't know if he should watch the game or not. If he bundled up properly and used both Cushioning and Warming charms, he ought to be all right. He also needed outside air, though once Hogwarts settled into winter, he'd take advantage of Firenze's offer

He sat on the long-backed leather chair behind his desk and rested. It was absurd how the pile of essays and assignments never seemed to diminish. The Potions Master pulled out his timetable and began revising it, at least till Christmas break. He allowed for a few days' absence, as he would have at least one expulsion cycle before then. He also made some plans for the months afterwards, more as a guide for any successor than with any real hope.

With their current progress, Draco and Miss Granger should have little trouble becoming ready to brew the Wolfsbane without supervision by spring. Others, such as Mr. Zabini, were coming along nicely as well. Snape just hoped they wouldn't have to try it by themselves without his guidance too soon, but that was pretty much out of his hands. _If only I could be sure of being here to see it. Perhaps I ought to write Master Lowenstein and make it a special request, though I don't know if he knows how to brew it himself._

He hoped somebody would. Lupin, for all his annoyance, was a valuable member of the staff and an asset to the school. For a moment, Snape was thrown back to that horrible night, when he was trapped in the dark and the stench of wolf filled his nostrils. He shook, even though he knew it was only a memory. _I wish I could stop being afraid,_ he thought. For a short time last summer, he had, but at a cost. He still wasn't sure it had been so wrong to feel such peace. However, he suspected how Dumbledore would react if he believed his Potions Master was hiding memories again. _Not even the Potter boy deserves to be trapped in fear, the way I am some of the time._

He thought of the table of mementoes back in his parlor. _Perhaps having good ones out in the open is a better medicine against sorrow than trying to bury the bad ones,_ Snape reflected. _I should move it back to my bedroom before teaching the boy 'Remedial Potions', or see him in my office. _Wait. Perhaps not. It was not too early for Potter to begin building a table of his own, if only in his mind. It would be nice if the Headmaster had already taught him how to make a sanctuary, but Albus might not have gone so far just yet. He balked at showing anyone what his 'office' looked like these days; but knowing he now could keep everyone out when he wanted to, helped him not to worry so much about it.

Snape remembered the tiny Snitch next to the etched glass. This new enthusiasm of Draco's shouldn't have come as a surprise. Madam Pomfrey had likely been much kinder to his godson than usual, and so the boy wanted to please her. The Potions Master didn't think he was going to discourage it, though. It might be what Draco really wanted to do with his life, and even if it didn't work out, he'd pick up some very useful information along the way.

Mr. Zabini was his first appointment, and walked in at the stroke of ten. "Please sit down," he said. "It is my understanding that you nearly risked your own life last Saturday night when it appeared Miss Edgecombe might be in danger."

"Crabbe nearly strangled me by grabbing my collar when I started to step forward," the young man said. "I suppose I ought to thank him, but my neck hurt for the next two days. I know I shouldn't have shown myself so concerned. Mr. Malfoy did his little song and dance for Madam Lestrange at the time, so I put him in danger, too."

"On the contrary, Mr. Zabini, I wish to commend you for your actions. As my apprentices, you cannot stand divided. I realize the girl is a Ravenclaw and new to our group, but your concern for her should be shared by everyone. I am limited in how much I can do to help Mr. Malfoy, given his current allegiance, but you belong to me. I am well aware of your true feelings about certain matters, so don't fear to tell me the truth."

He didn't expect the scream that followed, and hastily cast a Muffliato around them.

Zabini's calm exterior was shattered as the Slytherin gasped for air. "I could kill her!" he shouted. "I could kill her!"

Snape was certain the boy spoke about Bella. Zabini was not alone in his attitude. "Someone eventually will," he said in an even voice, hoping to lead his student back to self-control by his example. "I think that Miss Edgecombe ought to have pride of place in the endeavor. I suspect before this is over, that Mr. Malfoy will be delighted to assist, if not now. You may have to take a number." Mr. Longbottom might steal a march on them all, given his actions during the Ministry Raid. On the other hand, Mr. Potter had lost his godfather to the woman. Severus contemplated the favor the woman still owed him. Payment was overdue.

Zabini bowed his head, clearly embarrassed. "I always thought that nothing could bother me," he said, his voice faint. "I thought I could slide through the conflict just by keeping my mouth shut. People will die if I try that now. I can't sit here and ignore it. Why was I so stupid? I could still have my life if I hadn't."

"Miss Edgecombe would likely be dead. Too much gossip after what she suffered has driven young women to self-destruction before, and I do not think she would have missed the second time she tried it." Snape was surprised to see a proud Zabini looking at someone like the girl, let alone under such unusual circumstances. "I hope I haven't meddled in too much in your life by asking you to lend her social cover when she was…unwell, but I don't regret it."

"No. Well, maybe. But I don't mind. Not much, anyway. I just don't want to act like an idiot in front of her."

"Welcome to the life most of your schoolmates already lead," the Potions Master said. "I have always been surprised you didn't sort Ravenclaw yourself, the way the rest of your family has."

"I'm the fourth son. My grandmother hasn't planned my life the way she did for my brothers, at least not till lately. I don't want to drift along like some of my uncles have. But I didn't really push myself till now."

"I am sorry you had to learn so cruelly," Snape said.

"Nothing's really happened to me so far. Not like it has for you, or to some of the others." Zabini looked up at him, and then glanced away. "I'll do anything to help. I should have been as brave as Mar—as Miss Edgecombe was last week."

Snape nodded. "There is a time for courage and a time for cunning. You have had most of the Pit, including me, fooled for years, and that isn't easy to do. Simply because Mr. Malfoy is my godson doesn't mean I don't value you. All of you apprentices must hang together—"

"Or we will surely all hang separately," Zabini finished emphatically, completing the quote.

Snape had always wondered if the American Benjamin Franklin had truly been a Muggle. It didn't matter, really, though his other statement "three may keep a secret if two are dead" led him to believe Mr. Franklin had never met chatty ghosts. "As for Miss Edgecombe, you will have a long wait. If you attempt any advances, you will lose her entirely, even if she accedes to them. It may be several years before she is ready to return anyone's affection."

The young man grew sober. "I just want to show her that we're not all like that bastard Macnair. Even Jake thinks his uncle should be hexed till it falls off."

"Then wait. Be her friend and nothing more till she is ready. She will behave in ways that will drive you mad." The Potions Master knew that from the inside. "Think hard about whether you really want to go through that much trouble. You can be her friend without needing to be anything more. I know in a family like yours that you will be expected to marry someone your parents or your grandmother has chosen for you. You had best discuss the matter with them before a third party becomes involved. Miss Edgecombe might never be the person you would like her to be."

"I know," the young Slytherin said. "I still want to try. You don't know her, sir. She's so brave! I couldn't believe how she stood up to that—to Lestrange the way she did. I should have been there right beside her."

"Try to restrain the impulse, and help her to do as well," Snape said dryly. "Survive. If I am…no longer available, do your best to help keep the others united, even those who don't meet with you on Sunday morning. Perhaps it is just as well she was so courageous. Some of the others will be ashamed to be less so. Also, she needs a patron here, since she isn't from our House. No one will be surprised to discover you have nominated yourself as hers."

"You have to think of everything ahead of time."

"I try, though I don't always succeed. You have resources available to you outside the Wizarding World through your family connections. If the worst happens, take whom you can into the Muggle one. One must prepare for bad times as well as good."

Zabini nodded. "I can still fake being unconcerned."

"Few will look behind that exterior, though all will understand when you find any comments about Miss Edgecombe intolerable. Do show some wisdom in where and how you settle _those_ matters. The Great Hall is usually a bad place, especially during meals. You may trust the Headmaster, the other Heads, and Madam Pomfrey if I cannot help. Try not to lean too much on Mr. Malfoy. He is not disloyal to what Slytherin really means, despite what you saw on Saturday night, but he has a great deal on his plate already."

The student grimaced. "He'll have to do a lot of pretending with _her_."

"Yes. Not all of it will be a show, either. She has some influence over his Mark that he will find quite difficult to fight." He shouldn't, and probably wouldn't, but he was slightly tempted to exercise some of his own unused power that way, just so his apprentices wouldn't make light of what Draco was going through. "I can only hope Miss Parkinson is strong enough not to give up on him."

"She's been talking to the _other_ apprentices, though Crabbe didn't for very long, not with the Bull watching."

"Miss Bulstrode is a resourceful young woman. Do not use that nickname about her, however. Not only is it rude and uncalled-for, but you also play Quidditch. It would hurt our game to have you injured from one of our own Bludgers. I grant that she is _substantial_, but she does have feelings."

"I could feel Crabbe's fist down my gullet, too. You're right, sir. Besides, she's been nice to Marietta ever since last year. She doesn't like Miss Granger, either. We all know you need that er, Muggleborn witch to make sure you win your bet, but nobody is going to go out of their way for her, either."

"If it is any help, I heard she made her two friends pay handsomely for some ill-considered remarks they made about Miss Edgecombe while in the Gryffindor Common Room. A very brief discussion with either Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley, preferably held away from the ears of any teacher, is likely to elicit the truth."

"I could always pretend I heard what they said, and was offended…" Zabini's eyes looked speculative.

"Again, I don't need to know the details," Snape said, and hid his amusement. "As for repairing relationships, I will be supervising both Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy during the next run of the Wolfsbane Potion. I can hint to her then that an apology to Miss Edgecombe might not be out of line. The month after that, I will supervise her and Miss Patil, and the month after that, Miss Patil and you. This way there is a gradation of experience. I am sorry to leave you at the last of the line."

"That's all right, sir, I'll ask Malfoy to let me look at his notes, and maybe copy them. He won't mind that, if I promise to help Crabbe for a couple of essays in exchange."

"Good. We will muddle through this somehow, Mr. Zabini. Remain extremely cautious about letting anyone know your true feelings. Professor Flitwick is a good confidant and an excellent advisor. Everyone knows you speak with him periodically, so no apparent change will be seen. I suspect he has much more experience in this sort of thing than anyone knows."

"Yes, sir. Do you have any other questions?"

"No. I wish you hadn't been there. I wish none of us had. From what I heard later, you all did your best to deal with a frightening situation. I am very proud of you." Snape didn't know Zabini as well as he ought, and was gratified at what he was learning. Unfortunately, nobody could be trusted completely. "In fact, if you could keep an eye on Mr. Macnair, you could be of some assistance. Not even Winky can be everywhere."

"He's been quiet around me, but as I said, he's not happy with his uncle, either."

"Good. He may wish to talk more if he's certain it won't be repeated. I understand you sit together in Arithmancy, so perhaps you may find common ground there."

Zabini nodded.

"Do what you can, but don't be obvious about it. Remember, I am counting on you as well as on Mr. Malfoy. I want at least one Slytherin to be able to brew the Wolfsbane Potion by spring. It would be much too embarrassing if Miss Granger were the only one." It was unfortunate that Miss Parkinson had missed an O on her exam—she had been doing nicely till the end of last year. _I should have insisted on allowing her into class in exchange for Mr. Potter's presence,_ he thought. Still, his godson was easily distracted, and perhaps it was just as well she wasn't in Potions class just now. _Perhaps I ought to offer her a retest if she wishes, as I did for Mr. Weasley._

The young man grinned. "It's a deal, professor!"

"You are dismissed," Snape said. "I may not be able to attend the game this afternoon, but I _will_ know if a certain Keeper has done his job or not."

Zabini stood abruptly. "None of their Quaffles will make it past me, professor!"

"Good. Thank you for coming in. If Mr. Avery is waiting outside, please send him in."

Instead of Avery, though, the Rosier twins walked into the office. He nodded gravely at them. It wasn't their fault they resembled their Uncle Evan more than they did their parents, at least to his eyes. "Please be seated," he said, and summoned a second chair from the room next door. "I know that you two often prefer to face the world as a unit, but I would rather speak to you as individuals." He wondered sometimes if either Weasley twin would survive the other's death or disability. Fortunately, the Rosiers had more separate lives.

"We'd…we'd rather do this at the same time," Miss Rosier said, pushing a lock of light brown hair out of her face. "Besides, we'd have to bring each other up to speed anyway. This saves time."

"If you wish." It was clear to him the girl was the dominant partner of the two. "I know that last summer both of you were threatened by the loyalty spell sent out by the Dark Lord, and that your father prevented anything drastic from happening. I am not angry about that, believe me. I took the action I did to protect you, and I do not regret it. Do you want to talk about it?"

Both of them nodded vigorously. "It was awful," Charles Rosier said. "I knew we'd be in trouble for sneaking around the attic in the first place. But Dad said he had a Blood Broom a long time ago, and I wanted to take a look at it. Libby said she'd watch out and tell me if anyone was coming, and I promised she'd ride on it, too, if we found it. We felt sick and thought Dad had put a charm on the place to keep people out. The wards howled like anything, and kept up from moving. Then Dad came in, and put Body Binds on both of us. Our arms started hurting while he tried to figure out what to do. Libby asked Dad if that meant we were being summoned, and he wasn't sure. He didn't let us go, though, not till the pain stopped. Nobody knew what it meant till he talked to some of the other parents."

"We were really scared, then, especially when we heard about Greg," the girl said. "Dad was upset because he said he couldn't be like Mrs. Goyle for anybody, not even the Dark Lord."

"We weren't supposed to tell anybody about that part!" Charles said.

"I think you know you can trust me," Snape said, forcing back anger. How could he blame these children for being suspicious of everyone? "I spoke with your father at Mrs. Malfoy's party. I reassured him of my own loyalties, and said I would watch over you. Clearly, I haven't done much of that thus far. May I ask why the two of you took the Dark Mark?" He was conscious of the Blood Broom back in his quarters, but knew it was not his secret to give away.

"Well, growing up hearing about Uncle Evan was the main thing," Charles said. "Did the Ministry really torture him to death?"

"Yes. He was my best friend. We took the Mark at the same time. I was seized first, and he was taken afterwards. The Headmaster pulled me out before it was almost too late, but no one helped Evan. It was too late by then for him." He paused. "I have never forgiven them for that."

"Dad said it was one of us who gave Moody our uncle's name," Libby said.

"I don't remember doing it, but parts of my stay in Azkaban are still a blank," said the Potions Master, who wished more of it was. He hid his hands below the level of the desk. It would not do to show how much they trembled. "I could have been the one. Your father has always suspected me, and I fear he may be right." _I tried so hard not to betray some of them,_ he thought. _I was happy to give them Avery's name, and they already had Malfoy's. Only Moody believed me about Macnair. He was just as disgusted as I was when they all bribed their way out. I wished he had stopped there. _Snape wanted a sip of his tea, but knew he didn't dare show how shaky he was. "They showed me Evan's body, and said they never would have found him except for what I'd said." Odd how distant his voice felt to him, as if he were still in the Special Section, droning on under Mad-Eye's command. After seeing Evan, though, he'd stopped talking except to ask for Dumbledore, or so he'd thought till now. He did recall he'd stopped eating and drinking once he realized how much Veritaserum was in his rations, till Moody had forcibly fed him. "I am sorry," he said.

Both faces glared accusingly at him, their eyes so like their uncle's. Like the eyes in Evan's face in the occasional nightmares, asking, "_Why did you betray me?"_ Snape took a deep breath. "However, just because the Ministry is wrong, doesn't mean that...that _others_ are right. You know that, too, or you wouldn't have had any trouble last summer."

Libby Rosier sighed. "Dad said Moody was awful to you, but wouldn't go into details. He said the Circle should be proud of you. You didn't give in when we were in danger, though."

"Why are you telling us about this now?" her brother said angrily.

"Because you deserve to know the truth," the Head of Slytherin said. "You and the other apprentices will have to support each other in the times to come. You must find a way to trust each other more than you have ever trusted anyone. The Headmaster will help if he can, but if Gryffindors are in need at the same time, he will attend to them first. You must find a way for _all_ of you to work together. The name of Rosier is a proud one and you must never let either side tell you otherwise."

"What was Uncle Evan like?" Charles asked.

"He was a little taller than I am, but just the same build. The others called the two of us the Elevens, because we looked like that when we stood together. He made terrible puns and wouldn't stop till we hexed him. Even then he'd still mouth them at us. We were always pulling stupid tricks on Avery and Rookwood, and we'd end up being turned purple for our trouble. It's probably just as well he never met the Weasley twins. He once had a plan to turn Hogwarts into a funfair, and I suspect they would have helped."

The pair goggled at him, obviously disturbed by the thought of him as a prankster. "What should we tell Dad?" Libby asked.

"He was quite worried about your loyalties when I spoke to him at the party. It might be best to continue to keep him from fretting. Your welfare comes first with him, obviously, but it might not hurt to allow him to believe you are now quite over the worries of the past. I think it would grieve him to be reminded of his brother, whom he still misses. He and I have discussed the situation already." Snape knew there would be a reckoning for Evan's life, but hoped Arvid would defer payment until after the present hostilities.

"I wrote Mum already," the girl said, "and I told her what happened Saturday night. Oh, don't fuss, Charlie, I was careful! And I couldn't write anything like that to _Dad!_ But I haven't received an answer yet."

"Your mother is not as involved in some things as your father is," the Potions Master said carefully. "She has probably spoken with him about your letter, and doesn't know how to answer it. Give her time." He was nearly overwhelmed, though he did his best to hide it. He rarely opened the compartments labeled _Azkaban_ or _Evan Rosier_, though he'd been forced to look at both not long ago. _I'm surprised I haven't had a nightmare about either one lately,_ he thought. Perhaps he ought to be grateful to the sedative for that.

He looked at the time. The hands of the clock were pointing to Time for Quidditch Practice. "Well, you have some Hufflepuffs to humiliate today," he said. "I don't know if I will be at the game or not, as that depends on Madam Pomfrey. By the way, you can trust her. She won't treat you any differently than the other students, and you don't need to be afraid to go to the infirmary if you're hurt. I've complained enough about the chill of the place that she now has a store of long sleeved gowns."

He saw the relief in their eyes. "In fact, Mr. Malfoy has been serving his detentions there recently. He plans to learn some healing, so he may be able to manage some minor problems. Naturally, there are some things you will probably want to see me or the mediwitch for. I just wanted you to know that she keeps secrets, too."

Snape bade farewell to the two students. The interview had gone better than he'd hoped, though he still hated being the cause of Evan's death. Winky popped in once they'd left. "Two more boys here," she said. "Master eats first!"

He didn't argue. She fetched him more tea, one of his horrible potions, and a small tray. Snape forced it all down, and then used the facilities. He really wanted to lie down, but knew that wouldn't help his stomach. The Potions Master graded a few essays, hoping that would distract him from so many unpleasant memories. Out of impulse, he went back to his quarters for a moment and patted the Blood Broom. "I haven't forgotten," he said softly to it. For some reason, his palm tingled and he calmed down.

Snape returned to his office. His next subject was Joshua Avery. The young man was in his seventh year, and would likely follow in his father's footsteps. Once the preliminaries were over, the boy blurted out, "Is Father really going to become a werewolf?"

"I don't know. Nobody really does till their first full moon. We have about a week to find out. Unless someone has other uses for him, I will likely end up making him the Wolfsbane Potion as well as for Professor Lupin after this first time." He didn't know Avery well. The young man didn't seem quite as firm as Theodore Nott, but Snape knew it would have been difficult to keep him from taking the Mark.

"Why does he have to wait?"

"The potion is poisonous to anyone who isn't a werewolf," he said.

"Then isn't it bad for anyone who has to make it?"

Good question. "I don't really know. In my case, it will have to fight its way through the rest of the glop I've inhaled over the years." He hoped the maidenhair didn't cause him to shake the way it had before. "I am having Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger assist me this time, but if you believe you can observe without making undue comments, you are welcome to fetch and carry if you like." He wished he hadn't made the offer as soon as he said. There were many things he needed to say to the other two that Avery's presence would make difficult.

The student looked uncomfortable. Snape let him off the hook. "There are other ways you can assist me," he said.

The young man sighed. "I wish you'd been there when…when _he_ tried to help Dad out of Azkaban. I haven't had any letters from him since. He wrote me from there earlier, congratulating me on my new honors—well, he couldn't say anything about the Mark where the guards could read it—and asking what you were really up to. I was going to ask about him on Saturday, but you know how that turned out."

"I haven't heard anything about him, either," said Snape. "I will make inquiries. I think you can understand why I have not yet done so."

"I know. It's hard to believe it hasn't been that long since he escaped. Dad wrote me last summer that once he was out, I should be his apprentice and not yours."

"I should miss you if that were the case," the Potions Master said. "This is a time when I would like to see all of you hold together. If the time comes when I can no longer be useful to our Lord, feel free to seek your father's protection. But don't forget the others. You were there at Malfoy Manor when all of you together saved my life. I was told by Madam Pomfrey that I was dying that night. She said she had never seen the Mark shine golden the way it did then."

Avery gulped and looked frightened. Snape added, "Of course she knows. She simply believes that I am a spy. I must admit, she's a little nervous around me because of the rebound spell. I can't say I blame her, after she cracked her head like that."

"Are…are you going to be all right, sir?"

"I am healing fairly quickly, considering I can't use many potions because of the regimen I'm on. I would rather not fail our Lord in the future, though."

"I'm afraid of her…" Avery glanced away, as if ashamed of making the admission.

"I don't blame you," he said. "Madam Lestrange still owes me a favor, though." He allowed himself a brief wolfish grin. "I suspect she won't like it when I finally decide what it ought to be."

Joshua Avery smiled. "That's right, the Dark Lord said you wouldn't be able to use it last time. Maybe she thinks you won't."

"If I should die before I can use it, I can will it to whomever I like. Do you think I ought to give it to the Headmaster?"

The boy laughed out loud. "I'd like to see the look on her face if you did!"

Snape decided to revise his papers. If nothing else, he _could_ bestow both favors in case he hadn't used them before his death. He smiled, thinking of Pettigrew's dilemma should the rat be bound to the Boy-Who-Lived by both a Wizarding Debt _and_ one of Voldemort's 'favors'. He already knew who should have the one for Bella, though Miss Edgecombe would do well to confer with Professor Binns before she used it. It would be best not to offer it to Draco. He would presume on it, and end up smacked down for his trouble. Willing both of them to Albus _was_ a temptation.

He wasn't going to learn much more than he already had. Avery was loyal to his father, and would remain so unless something drastic happened. The only way to win the boy would be to win Zacharias Avery, and that would be difficult. _I think I may give it a try anyway. Avery Senior will be frightened of being a werewolf at first. If he sleeps through his first few transformations because of the Wolfsbane, he may never acquire the habit of enjoying it, as he easily could. His son isn't innately vicious, but could become that way with encouragement._

"Well, do you have any other concerns?" he asked.

"No…I'm just glad you're better, sir. I hope you're not punished again for a long time. Dad used to talk about the good old days, but he never says anything like…anything like this, not even with Muggles, unless he's drunk. Then it's pretty gory, but Mum usually hauls him off to bed, or sends me out of the room." His face clouded. "I know it's all right to treat Muggles like that…"

"I suggest that if you have doubts that you take care whom you discuss them with," Snape said, his voice even. "I think you will find me a safe confidant."

"Of course!" Avery said. "You proved that last summer! Goyle was an idiot, but he was still one of us." He looked away again. "It's so weird. Dad always talked about how we guarded the rights of the Wizarding World when people like Arthur Weasley and the Headmaster would give it all away to the Muggles. But it hasn't been like that." His voice dropped to a whisper. "It was mostly us who died last summer. I guess they were all traitors."

"Remember how the Dark Lord punishes those he feels have failed him."

"But you're the most loyal one of all!" The boy looked terrified.

"Thank you, Mr. Avery, for the compliment. You do realize some suspect that I have been spying _for_ Dumbledore all along, and not _on_ him."

The young man looked at him blankly for a moment, then burst out laughing. "You had me there for a bit, professor. Now pull the other one."

"As you wish. I know you mainly associate with Mr. Nott and Mr. Macnair, though he is a year behind you two. However, it is extremely important to maintain loyalty to the rest of the apprentices. Your father's influence will be helpful to you, as Mr. Malfoy's will be to Draco once he is out of prison. However, I want to this group to mean something in itself. I want you to be as loyal to each other as you have been to me."

Avery looked sober. "Dad said there's a lot of backstabbing in the Circle. I didn't believe him before, but I do now."

"We can't have that, not if we are to win. Our Lord deserves to have his followers united." _With any luck, against him._ "I want to see mine in harmony, even if you can't be perfect friends. After all, this is Slytherin, not Hufflepuff. Your survival may well depend upon it. When you all worked together, you saved my life. I can easily think of circumstances where such cooperation could save yours."

"You're…you're going to be all right, aren't you?"

"No one can see the future, not even the mad fruit bat now pretending to teach Muggle Studies," the Potions Master said grimly. _Except she has, though I could reason out my lifespan for myself._ "However, I would be unwise to think myself immortal. As I ask for your loyalty, I give my own. That means I must take care for all circumstances. There is a limit to how many times I can sustain the sort of punishment dealt to me in the past few months and still survive. I would gladly give my life for our Lord, but if it's accepted, you and the others will have to be strong. Just as in a study group, we must have no outcasts and no stragglers left to flounder on their own."

"The Weasel and Malfoy, too?"

"Mr. Malfoy is currently apprenticed to Madam Lestrange, but in a way, he is still part of you. Mr. Weasley, I am told, was also at the Manor when you worked together last summer. Miss Edgecombe is now my apprentice, despite being a Ravenclaw. You must include them all." He paused, then continued. "If I am gone, it might be best to apprentice yourselves as a group to one single member, rather than be parceled out piecemeal. Some of the members enjoy young men, so the girls aren't the only ones who would be in danger."

"She…that woman…she said she was surprised you hadn't taken any of us to bed," Avery said thoughtfully.

"Your father, for all his love of indulgence, is more careful than some in his choice of partners," Snape said. "He would be more powerful in his own right if he became the protector of so many apprentices at once. He would need to watch his use of alcohol, which is a good idea for any werewolf. Professor Lupin rarely drinks, and never just before the full moon. For one thing, it conflicts with the Wolfsbane Potion, or so I am told."

The young Slytherin took a deep breath. "Well, sir, we'll just have to watch out for you. I can just see Dad saddled with our lot, and trying to decide what to do with us. It'd be better than being stuck with _her_, but not much. After all, who's going to make his potion if you snuff it? That frizzy-haired Mudblood is most likely to learn it first, and I can't see her being so obliging, somehow. Even if Malfoy can do it, his mistress would make Dad pay for the privilege."

He nodded. "I know. I may designate a Chief Apprentice, just in case."

"Don't make it me! Ted would do it better, especially since Malfoy can't be counted on any more," Avery said. He glanced up at the clock. "Hope to see you at the game, sir."

"If Madam Pomfrey will allow it," Snape said.

Joshua Avery left, looking unusually thoughtful. Winky came in with more tea. "Master should lie down, have last boy come later."

The prospect sounded enticing. "I'll rest more easily once I'm all the way through," Snape said. Had he missed anyone? He'd spoken with Draco last night and probably would see him again at dinner tomorrow. Miss Edgecombe and Miss Parkinson had been here, and so had Mr. Crabbe. He'd seen Mr. Nott, for whatever good it had done, as well as both Rosiers and Mr. Avery just now. Mr. Macnair was the only remaining apprentice, save for Goyle's ghost. He felt better after counting them off.

The last student he needed to see walked in. Jake Macnair was similar to his uncle in build and coloring, but not, he thought, in character. The young man and Miss Edgecombe probably would have dealt with each other better than anyone thought, but it was just as well the girl didn't have to face marriage to anyone till she was ready.

"Mr. Macnair," Snape said. "You undoubtedly know by now that I have been speaking to all the apprentices. I am glad you made it safely back last week."

"Malfoy actually came for us," he said. "Nobody expected _that_. A couple of us think he's trying to be like you, but we're certainly not complaining."

"Indeed." He felt extraordinarily pleased for a moment. "I have never formally thanked you before for the role all of you played last summer when I was so ill, and you worked together to help me. I am doing so now." He didn't need to mention it was at Draco's instigation or at Malfoy Manor. He rather thought Macnair would think of that himself.

Macnair stared at the floor. "It was…it was the right thing to do, sir. It was Malfoy's idea. He told us we didn't have to be in on it if we didn't want to. Of course, we all knew he'd remember anyone who backed out."

"We are stronger as a group than we are alone," the Potions Master said. It was so true. For a long time, he thought he was better off by himself, especially when he discovered how the Death Eaters were using him. During the last few years, it had felt somewhat the same way here—just another Slytherin sacrificed on the altar of Harry Potter.

Now it was different. Now he knew he was part of a group where he was safe, and in some cases, loved. It felt extremely odd to realize this simple lesson applied to him, as well as to his apprentices. Of course, it involved actually talking to people instead of sulking in his dungeons, but thus far he hadn't minded terribly much.

"That's why we have the study groups as first year students, isn't it?" Jake asked.

"Yes. It may mean having to put up with some you wouldn't normally associate with, but that is a useful skill by itself. Since our house so often stands alone, we must stand united. I will not have my students bullied if I can prevent it. On the other hand, bullying others is unworthy of us. I personally feel it shows a lack of breeding.

"One thing I often admire about your uncle is that he normally prefers the challenge of a real enemy in preference to crushing someone he knows is inferior to him in strength. Obviously, this isn't always the case. However, in general he enjoys risking himself against beasts that could make him their prey if he isn't careful."

Macnair beamed, happy to hear praise of his family. "He thinks well of you, too, sir. For a long time, he thought you were just Mr. Malfoy's toady, but he's changed his mind since."

"We had a couple of duels away from prying eyes." He allowed himself a tiny smile. "I like to think I held my own."

"We all saw how you blew Lockhart away with just an _Expellarmius,_" the student said. "Of course, even Potty could have done that. I remember when Malfoy called up that snake and it looked like the Gryff was going to send it back after him. I wrote my uncle about it and he still laughs when I remind him about it. Of course, when I wrote him about Malfoy being turned into a ferret, I could hear him snort over it just from reading his reply. He's still kind of unhappy about the Buckbeak thing. I told him that Malfoy wasn't listening to directions and moving too fast, and anyone would end up with a bite or slash then. Hagrid said the same thing about hippogriffs that my uncle does. Nobody knows how Buckbeak escaped."

Snape did, now. "It sounds like you've learned more from your uncle about Magical Creatures than you have here. Hagrid does think highly of you. Do you intend to follow in either one's footsteps?"

The Slytherin shifted uneasily in his seat. "Well…I know enough how to manage them properly, but it's not that fun, really."

"I understand you partner Mr. Zabini in Arithmancy, correct?"

The boy's face lit up. "Yes. There are a lot of people who think I'm out of my mind, but I really like the class. Numbers don't shift around, try to eat you, or have to have their stalls mucked out. Well, there are some equations where you _could_ disappear if you aren't careful, but Professor Vector warns us about them. Malfoy, me, Zabini, and Miss Bulstrode are the Slytherins, the Mudblood is the only one from Gryffindor, there are two Hufflepuffs I don't know, and the rest are Ravenclaws, including Miss Edgecombe."

Snape signed. "I dislike the use of the term 'Mudblood', Mr. Macnair. I know it's in common use outside the school among our other associations, but it's best to leave off saying it here. The practice makes it all too easy for students from other houses to target Slytherin as the source of all evil, and that puts us under more scrutiny. We do not need that, especially at this critical time. I will have to leave another notice in the Common Room, I think.

"If the rest of the school believe we have softened against the Muggleborn, they won't look as hard to find out what we're doing. Use of this unfortunate term and behaving badly towards other students only makes my task more difficult."

Macnair looked startled. "I hadn't thought of that, sir." He chewed his lip, then spoke again. "I have to thank you for helping Uncle Walden when he was in trouble over Miss Edgecombe, though. He said he took a pretty nasty _Crucio_ and had to transfer a king's ransom in Galleons to her dowry, but he didn't have to find a husband for her. I don't really dislike her, but I don't want to marry now. An apprenticeship in Arithmancy is five years, and doesn't pay much. My uncle would support me if I followed him, but since I won't, my parents will have to come up with the fees. The stipend isn't enough for two people, and it wouldn't be fair to her to make her live off her dowry. Besides, I'd only end up with a Zabini-sized hole in my chest somewhere along the line. I don't think Professor Vector would take on a ghost."

"You might be surprised, as then you would have no distractions," the Potions Master said loftily. "However, trust me when I say Miss Edgecombe is equally delighted with her single state, although she isn't upset with you, at least not to speak of."

"The week after…after it happened, she moved so the rest of the Ravenclaws are between me and her. Zabini griped a little about it, but I can't blame her. I do look a lot like my uncle. I guess she's lucky she's one of those girls who doesn't have to beat boys off with a stick. Now, the Weasel's sister…"

"_She_ is to be left alone, Mr. Macnair. Our Lord was quite intrigued when he heard about his diary's choice in her first year. I don't suppose I need to warn you about Miss Granger. Despite her unfortunate birth, our Lord recognizes her talents. He would be quite upset if anyone from this house meddled with either one." Snape had never actually heard Voldemort deliver this command, but wasn't it part of his job to anticipate the Dark Lord's needs?

"Oh." Macnair continued on another subject. "Uncle Walden wrote me back, and said he hoped you healed up soon. He says he doesn't have nearly as much fun dueling the others, since they give up too easily. He also says if um, _someone_ lost favor, he has some ideas on what you can do with the favor she owes you, and promises to help. You…you are going to be all right, aren't you, sir?"

"I am recovering as quickly as I can. This wretched regimen the Swiss have me on limits the other potions I can use to heal from anything else. I should be able to start teaching with cauldrons out again on Monday. I wish you had decided to go in Potions, but if you are truly interested in Arithmancy, I will be glad to support you with your family. You will be able to help the Dark Lord that way, too. If equations can be dangerous handled improperly, just think what they could do in the right hands." Learning the care required with dangerous beasts from his uncle had given Mr. Macnair the correct attitude when dealing with Arithmancy at the level that Vector worked. The Potions Master generally avoided the subject entirely, preferring the hazards that he understood.

"I hadn't thought of that. Some of the stuff the professor teaches is really scary. I've asked her about some of the risks, and she goes off on the beauty and elegance of it all. She says I'm one of the few students who know enough to worry about the dangerous ones, even though she warns them about us. Last week, Madam Vector gave me a book that I think I ought to handle with dragonhide gloves."

"Then do so," Snape said. "I'm not joking. I'd rather have Longbottom work with Ashwinder eggs than deal with some of that number magic myself. I wonder sometimes if Madam Vector is so…_abstracted_, because her work has eaten part of her. I advise you to continue your extreme caution when dealing with advanced levels in the subject."

"Thank you, sir. Everyone but Zabini and a couple of the Ravenclaws think I'm nuts for being so worried. I'm used to the ragging. I don't know what the Mud—er, Miss Granger believes. She just smiles oddly when I bring it up. I think she _likes_ danger."

"That would be the part that helped the Sorting Hat put her into Gryffindor, I suppose. Does she join in the teasing when you express your concerns?"

"No. Maybe she doesn't think I'm a lunatic after all. I learned a lot from my uncle, though, and take precautions at least till I know what I'm doing."

Snape was glad he'd spoken with Macnair today. He had known little about the boy and had thought him more like his uncle. "I'm pleased that you enjoy a challenge as much as the rest of your family," he said. "Yet you must not allow outside connections to distract you from the needs of the other apprentices. I would like all of you to be one big study group, only more so if possible. You will need to hold together in the times to come."

He saw fear in his student's eyes. "Last week was frightening for all of you, even Mr. Malfoy--perhaps especially for him. He must seem enthralled by his new mistress, or face the consequences. You have seen what some of them can be."

"I'd rather resolve a level nine quantum dysfunction," the boy muttered, "without the book."

"If I knew what that was, Mr. Macnair, so would I. The others will have need of your talents and your loyalty, and so will I. I'm certain you've already been tempted to work out some derivations with…names." Perhaps if he had attempted it as a student here, he would have made different choices.

The boy grinned sheepishly. "Got it in one, sir. Could…could I show you my results? I've been afraid to talk about them to anybody else."

"Yes, I'd like to. Please do not discuss them with anybody else till I've seen what you have and think about your results. My talents in the field are not strong, but I know a magic square from a hand-basket, and know how one can go to hell in either one."

The student breathed a sigh of relief. "I've asked Professor Vector to check the math for a few of them, but nothing else. She'd think I was trying to run before I could walk, or just being silly."

"I very much doubt she would be surprised," Snape said. "You would not be the first student to attempt to apply his knowledge with an eye to the real world." He thought of Miss Granger, and her brewing of Polyjuice Potion in her second year. "If you are obtaining results that you find odd, I may be able to assist you. I suspect there are some names unavailable in general registers and in Hogwarts: A History. You _are_ using known past lives as controls, aren't you? If I recall correctly, there's also a protocol for those with more than one middle name."

Macnair blinked. "Sir, are you sure you haven't done this?"

"Not with Arithmancy, but there are certain aspects of brewing which are similar. If one wishes to create a variation of an older potion, it's best to have that one in your repertoire first. Creating a totally new potion, as one must for a Mastery, involved making sure I didn't inadvertently recreate one already on the books." He had been skilled at Arithmancy, but preferred things he could touch to those he couldn't. His life was insecure enough without that grounding, he believed. The study of Occlumency satisfied his needs for the abstract with a real-life incentive to succeed.

"Thank you, sir! You wouldn't believe what a middle name like 'Bilius' does to the Weasel—er, Mr. Weasley's Destiny Number. One projection I did showed him having two different true loves, and not having the second till he's past eighty. My equations also show that last spring brought on an inner change that won't be seen for several years and somehow involves the first true love."

Snape remembered hearing the boy had been attacked by one of the disembodied brains in the Department of Mysteries. So far he'd seen only improvement in the Weasley boy because of it. A pity he couldn't arrange for several other students to experience the same thing. "Ask Professor Vector if she has any papers or books by a Master Seldon. His work ought to give you a firmer foundation in your chosen arena. The next time your name is on the list in the Common Room for extra study, come see me with what you've done so far. I may be able to find out Miss Granger's middle name, if you haven't already." In fact, since he'd opened files for the Trio and duplicated their contents from what Minerva already had, he may well be able to find that out for the boy relatively soon.

Macnair's face lit up. "Yes, sir. I'll work on something for all of us apprentices, too."

"You had best do two sets of derivations, I fear, one that includes me and one that doesn't."

"Oh."

"And include the other Mr. Weasley as well in both sets. He was necessary the last time you gathered together without me. Let me know if you need his middle name. I have better access to school files than you do."

"Right. I almost forgot him. Is there anything else, sir?"

"No, that should do for now. You are missed in Potions, but keep up what you're doing in Arithmancy."

"Thank you. And sir? I know you think this is like what Professor Trelawney does, but there's something odd about your name's numbers and today's date."

"Obviously, your calculations _are_ off. They should have shown something for last week, in that case."

"Well, they did, but the complete line is supposed to be a beneficial above the prime."

"And that means?" Some of the terminology had changed since he'd studied the subject.

"Last week was supposed to lead to something really good for you, probably to be completed today or tomorrow. Most likely tomorrow, actually. Um…is your middle name really Septimus?"

"Yes."

"Well, I've obviously screwed up somewhere. I'll look at that one again."

Snape didn't roll his eyes, though he wanted to. He remembered the final card Trelawney had drawn for him last night. Then he thought of something. "Just in case you're doing calculations you should not be caught at, _his_ original middle name was 'Marvolo', although I believe it was self-chosen. I suggest using both sets of names for a complete picture, should you be foolish enough to attempt any equations concerning the Dark Lord. If I recall, name order is also a factor in some of your work." _I hope so, or I'm in real trouble. I should not like to die the way my father Septimus did, or at the same age. Then again, I may be lucky to live as long as he did._

"Of course the order matters," Macnair said. "I should like to leave now and work on some calculations, sir. I can do that at the game as long as it doesn't rain."

The Potions Master checked his weather gauge. The hand was pointing to Cloudy And Starting To Blow. "Perhaps you shouldn't risk it today," he said. "I'll let you go for now. However, I want to see your results before you discuss them with anybody else."

"Thank you!" The student exited the room, clearly enthused about whatever new inspiration had struck him.

He sagged back in the chair, completely done in. Snape had no idea how the beefy Macnair line had thrown an Arithmancer, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Obviously, the boy was no expert, not with his 'beneficial above the prime' nonsense for last week and today. It would be interesting to see what his student came up with, if only to encourage him to talk more freely. As with many who lived in the realm of abstract thought, Macnair might not think to count the human cost. _I know what that's like,_ he thought ruefully. When he was that age, he'd loved creating complex potions without any care as to what they would be used for and who would suffer because of them. Flitwick was like that at times as well, while McGonagall clearly fought it on a daily basis. Theory was often beautiful, but occasionally became an illusion to trap the unwary.

With that thought, he shuffled back to his quarters. He was exhausted, but had finally seen all of his apprentices. _I wish I could speak with Percy Weasley,_ Snape thought. _I suppose I had better wait for now._

Winky waylaid him with a small tray of food and a couple of potions. "Master takes potions," she said stubbornly. "Then Master sits to rest on couch or lie-back chair."

He grudgingly obeyed. A few moments after he'd complied, he began shivering. The impact of having all those lives in his hands hit him. If he allowed himself to break the way he had in the Ministry, they were all doomed, the way that Evan Rosier had been. _I'd rather take that hex Bella gave me last week than give those children up to either side,_ he thought.

"Master, Winky fixes hot bath. Please, master, warm up, feel better?" The elf looked at him with concern on her face.

"Yes, that might help," he said, and allowed himself to be lured to the waiting tub. The warmth soothed him, even though he still felt shaky inside. Once he was done, Winky had his thickest robe and nightshirt ready for him. Snape donned them and went to bed. _I should only remind them of last week if I sat in the stands today,_ he thought, and let the weight of the covers offer him comfort. His mind whirled as if on a broom, but his body gradually relaxed. _At least I managed to seem strong to them. How much longer that will last, I don't know, but it's the most I can ask for now._

He took deep breaths, and his thoughts slowed down. Eventually, he slept.

Poppy Pomfrey

She sent the note with the appointment she'd made for Severus down by way of Dobby, but wasn't surprised to see Winky come back. "Master sees students all morning," the little house elf said. "He talks for a long time. He takes potions after, starts shaking, takes hot bath to warm up. Now Master sleeps. Don't want to wake him for note."

"I don't blame you, dear. Thank you for watching over him. I'm just glad he's not going to the game. He does need to wake up and see Healer Williamson in a couple of hours at St. Mungo's." The man had been intrigued, since most of his clients were women.

"Master really sick?"

"He's much better, but I'm worried. Healer Williamson is a man, though, and there are some problems your master would rather talk about to another man than to me. It will be only an examination, so he won't be hurt." _Not for the exam, anyway._ She shied away from how the actual procedure would feel without the potions required to endure it.

"Oh, good," said Winky. "Master looks better. Last night he has pretty picture of a pretty lady to look at before he goes to sleep. I peeked." She stared down at the floor and scuffed one foot. "He smiles when he falls asleep and picture goes away. Master Shiny-Head comes back later, they talk. Boy says he wants to study with you, only keep quiet."

Madam Pomfrey blinked. "I see." She did. Lucius Malfoy would throw a fit if he knew his son wanted to learn a craft better suited to the lower orders. "I will be glad to teach him whatever he likes. Perhaps you could learn a few things, too. I know you're worried about your master, and would like to know more how to help him." She should start training more of the house elves now, actually.

"Oh, Mistress Nurse! You make Winky so happy! Winky wants to learn how to read, too, help Master better with Potions. Missy Book-Girl says she will help with that."

Poppy was amazed at the little elf. Dobby was the only one she'd ever known to have so much ambition. Perhaps there were fewer limits on what a house elf could learn than people thought. "I'm glad," she said. "From what I know of her, she'll be happy to teach you." Now that she thought of it, she felt more optimistic about Snape's recovery after hearing about the 'pretty picture for a pretty lady'. She'd be delighted if he returned from Healer Williamson's clinic all puffed up with himself.

She looked down at the elf. "Your master still needs to go see this Healer. The Headmaster will open a Floo to St. Mungo's, so he doesn't have to go all the way to Hogsmeade or Apparate on his own. You may want to see Miss Granger this afternoon, as your master will either be sleeping or at his appointment."

"Thank you, Mistress Nurse!" Winky squealed, and disappeared.

Poppy smiled as she made preparations for today's Quidditch game. Fortunately, it grew dark soon enough now that only one game per day could be played. If anything happened to members of the Slytherin team, young Malfoy would be here, ostensibly as Captain, to see to his teammates. She'd set him to work with a few minor healing spells and let him develop a bedside manner. The boy could charm birds out of the trees when he wanted to. In fact, he had been far less petulant. Perhaps being frightened for his godfather's wellbeing had been good for his character. Whoever would have though taking the Dark Mark would cause _improvement_?

Her smile faded and she sat down. Healer Williamson had been intrigued by the professor's injuries, but had asked few questions. However, he had wanted the complete medical file. She'd sent him as much of it as was relevant. Unfortunately, that included some of the other trauma Severus had undergone, since that would affect how he responded to treatment in that area. Williamson could find _his_ head cracked against the wall if he didn't approach the Potions Master with caution.

Snape would be the second or third man to be treated this way, since in the Wizarding World lack of fertility was still mostly thought to be the woman's problem. Pomfrey rather hoped the actual procedure could wait several weeks. She'd seen the panic in her friend's eyes when she'd explained it, and didn't blame him a bit. She had also sent a few abstracts about Williamson and his work to Magister Lowenstein, with a strong note suggesting that better pain potions for those in his care be developed _soon._

She sighed. Severus had endured too much already. How could she blame him for balking at yet another torture session? There were horror stories enough about inadequate pain relief. Some poor souls had even woken up in the middle of things, charmed to be unable to move or speak, but still fully conscious and suffering every pang. To go into something like that knowingly would be too much to ask of anyone. _And yet I am asking it of him,_ she thought.

Poppy nearly sent a note right then canceling the appointment, then changed her mind. After all, this was only an examination. What harm could that do?


	77. Chapter 77: A Real Family

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too.

And yes! Harry Potter is still a part of this story.

Chapter 77: A Real Family

Harry Potter

Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Ginny gathered in the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore was wreathed in smiles. "Now, under normal circumstances, we don't allow children to return home till the holidays. However, I very much believe this day ought to be considered one."

Harry thought so, too. He was going to become a real member of the Weasley family today. He would never have to go back to the Dursleys again, save for short visits to reinforce the charm of his mother's blood. Even though last summer had been much better than normal, he remembered all the past years trapped in misery there. _I wish I could have done this a long time ago. _"Thanks for letting Hermione go, too."

"No need for that. I know better than to break up a set," the Headmaster said with a jovial laugh.

"How is Professor Snape?' Hermione asked.

Dumbledore's smile faded. "He's much better," he said, but his eyes stopped twinkling.

Harry was glad he'd been working on the professor's birthday present now. He couldn't believe that _Ron_ had helped, considering what his friend constantly said about the Potions Master. He was still conscious of receiving so much while others paid. It'd been less than a week since that terrifying Saturday night, and it'd been obvious yesterday that Snape wasn't recovering very fast. _First Cedric—no, my parents first—then Cedric, then Sirius, and now Snape._ He guiltily remembered that Goyle was dead, too, though it still hurt his brain to think of the big goon as a victim. Hermione had spotted the Slytherin's ghost by the Remedial Broom practice area, but the shade had fled the moment she'd tried to talk to him.

Ron said, "Oh, good. Mum has been after me to let her know, but I didn't want to go down to the dungeons to ask."

"It wouldn't have been that horrible," Hermione said. "One of us should have. If nothing else, Winky would have told us something."

Harry knew he should have tried. _Neville,_ of all people, had had enough courage to work off a couple of detentions with Snape. But his friend hadn't said much about either meeting, except he hadn't been yelled at and didn't mind practicing with Winky.

Flames started up in the fireplace and Molly Weasley's head appeared. "Everything's all ready, love," she said, looking directly at him.

Harry was so happy he could have cried if he'd been a girl. The Weasleys were going to be his real family, for always and always. He would die to protect them.

"Can we go now, sir?" he asked the Headmaster.

"Step on through," Dumbledore said, his beatific smile back. Harry went first. Placing his own bony hand into Molly's plump, warm one made everything feel safe even though he didn't like Floos that much. A good thing that Percy had spent so much time taking him through during one of his visits to the Burrow, so he'd be better at it. He missed that Percy.

In a moment, he was standing in the parlor and scooted out of the way so the others could come through, too.

Ginny seemed sad for some reason, though Harry couldn't imagine why. All of them headed towards the kitchen.

"Well, look at the new brother for us to torment!" said Fred or George—Harry had trouble telling the difference between the two just now.

"Oh, like it's stopped you before," Harry cracked back.

"But now it's personal," the other twin said with a leering smile.

"Now Harry and I can join forces to plot our revenge," Ron said, coming up to Harry's side.

"Sounds good to me," Harry said. He looked at all the food. "Not even all of us can eat _that_ much!" The soup on the back of the stove smelled especially good.

"Stay out of that!" Molly said. "Some of this is for a dinner tonight." She left the room.

Even the twins backed away from the cook-pots when they heard their mother. One of them, though, crept forward again and reached towards the soup, only to mutter 'ow' as he touched one of the handles of the pot. "Mum doesn't trust us," he said.

Ron laughed. "Know any reason she should?"

Harry listened to Hermione and Ginny chatting in the parlor with Molly, but couldn't make out any words. "Is anyone else going to be able to make it?"

"Dad will be here in just a bit," Fred or George said. "Charlie's still in Romania and Bill's in Pakistan this week. They don't have to be here, though. Mum has a way to work around that. Besides, the two of you are the most important."

"Percy?" Ron asked.

The twins glanced at each other, looking a little angry. One of them broke the silence. "He nearly broke Mum's heart during the hearing, Dad says. We sneaked a look at the transcript—Snape could have made things a lot worse, if you read between the lines." Harry already knew that, especially after Mr. Weasley had told him last Sunday.

The second twin nodded. "Part of it is true. Mum _does_ pick up strays. And between Bill, Charlie, and us, maybe Percy ended up lost in the shuffle. But he had no call to say it like that, not in front of everybody else."

"Still, he _did—_" One twin looked smug now.

"None of that, George. We'll tell Mum and Dad later."

"I'm one of those strays," Harry blurted out. "Does he hate me now?"

"I don't think so," Fred said uncertainly. "I wish Charlie hadn't started that fight with him last summer. We've tried sending Percy notes, real ones! They didn't explode or anything. But he sends them back unopened."

"Well, do you blame him?" George said. "Maybe we were a little over the top all these years with him."

They both paused to consider the notion for a short while, and simultaneously went, "Naaah!"

Harry laughed. Then he thought of something. "Do you have a copy of the transcript?"

"The Ministry has it under lock and key."

"Dad would froth if he thought we were reading it."

Harry retorted, "So, where is it?"

"Upstairs."

"Way upstairs. Very well guarded."

Harry knew exactly where it was. "Good." He rummaged through the pantry and grabbed a preserved sausage.

"What's that for?" said one of the twins.

"I thought the ghoul might be hungry," Harry said nonchalantly. "That's where you've hidden it, right?" Ron stood beside him, grinning.

"I guess we'll have to keep him," George said. "Can't have family secrets go wandering off in the hands of strangers."

"I _told_ Ron not to let anybody know where he hides the magazines from Mum."

"Too late!" Harry said cheerfully, and took off with Ron to the bedroom. He opened the hatch to the ceiling, much easier to reach now than in previous years, and handed up the sausage. A thin stack of papers fell to the floor. Ron quickly shuffled them together and handed them to Harry, who folded them and put them in his pocket. He wouldn't have time to read them here, now that he thought about it.

He heard Molly's voice from the kitchen and rushed back. Mr. Weasley stood next to her, laughing and playing with a strand of her hair. Uncle Vernon had never been like that with Aunt Petunia, not even last summer. _Will I ever be married to someone I can be like that around?_ He knew it wouldn't be Cho. _I was so _stupid_ around her! _Kissing her had been worth listening to her talk about Cedric, but he wanted to be around someone who loved him the way his new mum and dad cared for each other.

Harry looked at Ginny, and wished he liked her as more than a sister. _Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to tell Mr. Weasley I didn't love her any other way,_ he thought. Yet even now he didn't want to kiss her the way he had Cho. _I guess I'm doing the right thing. If I really cared that much about it, I would have asked to talk to Ginny first before making up my mind._

Then Molly spoke to her husband with a fond smile on her face. "I hate to rush this, love, but the children need to go back to Hogwarts as soon as they can. Besides, Fred and George do a lot of their business on Saturdays."

Arthur nodded. Molly turned around and did something on the kitchen table, but Harry couldn't see exactly what. He understood why the blood rite had to happen as soon as possible. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had won, but that wouldn't do any good if something stopped the adoption from going through.

Harry had a sudden vision of the Burrow in ruins, with everything left charred and battered, while the Dark Mark rose over it. _No. That's one of the things I have to stop,_ he thought. _And if it takes holding my temper around Snape when he thumps me around, then I will. This is too important to whine about any more._

"There! That should do it!" Molly turned back around and beamed at him. "Now everyone can look."

The kitchen was crowded with everyone in it, including Ginny and Hermione, but it seemed right for the room to be that way. The table held a chalice, a small knife, and several dolls that looked like the missing members of the family. His new mum looked at him and said, "Now hold out a finger—oh, good, it's clean—over the chalice. This will hurt a little, though."

Harry was glad to give blood this time. Even thinking about Pettigrew and his knife didn't upset him now. He wondered whimsically if _that_ blood mean Voldie-shorts was related to him somehow. He barely felt the sharp paring knife slice his skin and watched in fascination as a few drops fell into the chalice. Ron and Ginny submitted to the same treatment, as did Mr. Weasley, and, with some reluctance, the twins. Mrs. Weasley told Fred and George not to be babies, and quickly healed everyone's cuts. Then she sliced off a small portion of each doll and put those bits in the chalice, too.

"Do you think—" Ron said.

"Percy will always be a part of this family, Ronald," Arthur said. "No back talk."

For once, Ron shut up without a protest.

Molly began chanting as she added a few drops of blood from her own finger, and then cleansed the knife with fire from her wand. "In everything but name you will be a Weasley," she said once the chanting was done. "You will be my own son as if I had carried you myself in the same womb with the others, though Lily and James will stay your parents as well. Pledge now to be a true son to me."

"I do," Harry said solemnly. He tried to force back the tears that threatened to spill.

"Be a true son to Arthur Weasley as well."

"I willingly promise to do so," he said, as he looked into the blue eyes of the kind older man. _I have finally found a home._

Arthur spoke then. "Now you must pledge yourself to be a true brother to the rest."

"That means you have to take everybody's hand, one at a time, and promise," said Ron, whose eyes were also suspiciously bright. "This is one of the best days of my life."

"Same for me," Harry said. He went to Fred first. "I promise to be a true brother to you."

"Even if I turn your bed into a pair of skis?" said the first twin.

"Sure. Because as your brother, I'm allowed to turn yours into an Acromantula," Harry joked.

"Works for me! Welcome to the family, Harry."

He went to George, a trip of about two inches. "I promise to be a true brother to you," he said.

"You wouldn't really turn one of the beds into a giant spider, would you?"

"Of course I would. Ron would help me put the skates on, too."

"Good for you! Welcome to the family."

He turned to Ron then. "I promise to be a true brother to you."

"We've been that since we met on the Hogwarts Express," the youngest Weasley boy said. "The only difference is that everyone knows it now. Welcome to the family."

Harry swallowed. He walked over to Ginny, and held her hands, which were surprisingly cold. "I promise to be your true brother," he said. "I remember the Chamber. I would die to save you."

"And I you. Welcome to the family." She didn't look as happy as the others. "I promise to be a true sister to you. That includes the part about being as annoying as possible. I understand that's part of my job description."

"Has been so far," Fred said.

Harry looked at the dolls on the table, and knew he had to make the same promise to the ones who weren't there. "Bill, you're the best older brother a bloke could have. I promise to be a good brother to you." It was probably just an illusion, but the earring on the doll seemed to shine more brightly.

He didn't mind saying the same thing to the Charlie doll. After he did, he smelled a hint of brimstone, as if one of his brother's favorite dragons happened to be nearby.

Harry started to move away from the table, at least till Molly cleared her throat. He sighed. "Percy, I promise to be a true brother to you, too, even if you're an annoying prat."

Funny. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, but when he looked around there was no one there, and his scar felt oddly warm, but didn't hurt. That only lasted a moment, though.

The twins were grinning ear from ear, as if they knew a secret. Harry looked at the doll a little harder. There was a funny stain on the doll's left shoulder. He lifted the tiny shirtsleeve, and saw it was gold, not black. Only Molly saw what he did, and nodded.

"You see why I still have hope for him," she said. "I think he's done something stupid, but it's not as bad as it could be. Arthur has a tattoo, too, but I won't say where it is. We haven't given up on him. Even if…even if Percy ended up with the wrong kind of mark, he'd still be your brother. After all, Professor Snape has the bad kind, and I hope you don't distrust him because of it."

"Yes, Mum," Harry said. Then he flung his arms around her. "Oh, I've wanted to say that for so long! Thank you, thank you, thank you…" Tears finally spilled from his face then. Fortunately, Molly's warm shoulder absorbed them and kept the others from seeing his weakness.

"There, there, dear, it's all right now." She glowed with happiness. "But it's not quite over yet. We must drink from the chalice together." Molly waved her wand over the top of the cup, and a bright light shot out of it all the way up to the ceiling. A smell like soup came out.

She drank from it first, then passed it to Arthur. He took a sip, and then spilled a little bit on each of the three dolls. Fred took the next drink, and George right after that. Ron drank next, and then Harry. It tasted to him like barley soup, though he suspected it might seem different to the others. Ginny drank last. She set the chalice back on the table, and then looked at her mother with her face all screwed up.

"I know, dear, I know," Molly said, and patted her daughter on the shoulder. "We'll talk about it later."

Harry wished he knew what was going on, but he wasn't about to pry. From what his new dad had said last week, his new sister might have feelings he couldn't match. He glanced at Hermione, and she looked away. Maybe it had been a mistake to bring her here, and make her feel left out again.

Ginny seemed all right, though, once Molly—no, his new mother—put away the chalice and brought out the food. Everyone fell on it like timber wolves, talking a mile a minute as they dove into the roasted chicken and new potatoes.

Harry noticed that Mum was careful to give little bites of everything to each doll with a tiny baby spoon. The meal was part of the rite, too. _There's a lot about the Wizarding World I don't know about,_ he thought. _Maybe Hermione can look it up._

Then he heard one of the twins talking through the buzz of conversation to Mr. Weasley. _I'll have to call him 'Dad' in my head, too. Maybe…maybe we can have Christmas here this year. _Ron had shown him what a Christmas here looked like, as a way of making up for sneaking into the Pensieve. _Funny how everything changed for them once he started school, probably because of me. I wonder if the Headmaster asked the Weasleys to let Ron and Ginny stay over because I had nowhere else to go?_

"Dad, we had a visitor this morning," Fred said. "But we have a new order from it, and wanted to know what you thought."

"Yeah, the word is someone thinks everyone at the Ministry is a bit soft and not paying attention, even after last spring," George chimed in.

Arthur Weasley snorted. "Wouldn't surprise me. Since the raid last spring happened last night, nobody thinks anything is going to bother them in daylight. But I thought you two had your wards up whenever the shop isn't open."

"They're still working just fine," George said. His face went a bit pink. "It…it was just someone we didn't expect, is all, and was a little faster with an _Incarcerous_ than we expected. We're all right, Dad."

"If there's some kind of surprise drill being planned, you're not doing me any favors by trying to warn me ahead of time," the older man said sternly. "Besides, there are certain traditions among the junior staff, and your brother is the type to follow them."

Ron grinned, and dug his elbow into Harry's side. "Sounds like the old days, when Mum would leave Percy in charge. He'd sneak up on them and wrap them up in ropes just so they'd listen to him, or stop using me for a lab rat, or something. Only fair, when it's two on one like that."

Harry nodded, wishing he could have seen it. Then he had a quick flashback of what he remembered from Snape's pensieve. _It wasn't exactly four on one, but it was pretty close. _He'd hated seeing his father like that. But last year, it had been like that, too, with Sirius Black slanging the Potions Master and Moody piling on after whenever the Headmaster wasn't around. _Not that Ron and I are much different, except we usually don't do it to his face._ He didn't understand Remus, now that he thought about it. The DADA professor had been friendly enough to Snape whenever nobody else was around, but had almost never stopped Sirius from being nasty. Piers' younger brother had been like that around Dudley and his friends.

He took another bite of boiled potatoes with butter and salt from his plate, determined to stop thinking about that now. He was here, with his new family. With any luck, he'd read something in the transcript folded up in his pocket that he could be angry at the Potions Master for. Maybe then he could stop feeling guilty over once more gaining something at the Slytherin's expense.

It was wonderful to sit here at the Burrow and know he really belonged here now. Harry finished his plate. Molly—no, _Mum_—filled it again with a smile. For once, he didn't protest. There was lots more left, not like some of the time where there was just enough for one helping each and no more. He couldn't help contrasting it with the Dursley household, where there was always more than enough food, but never much for him. Well, except for last summer. He knew it could change back at any time, though. Here there was always plenty. _Fred and George will help me figure out how to help out around here,_ he thought. _Ron's angry ometimes about my having so much money, but the twins won't mind so much. With Snake-Face after me, I might as well spend it on what I like._

After everyone seemed to be through, Arthur cleared his throat. "Well, boys, I imagine you two need to go back to your business for the rest of the afternoon. Sunday dinner?"

"Of course, Dad," said one of the twins. The other briskly agreed. Fred and George left through the Floo.

"There's one last thing, Harry," Mum said. "You need to walk with me through the Burrow. The safeguards the Headmaster put around you have to do with your mother's blood. Those can't be transferred, but you can take advantage of the ones I've put here. You will always be safe with the Dursleys even if this house isn't, so don't cut all ties with them."

Harry grimaced. That made unpleasant sense. "I don't have to go back, do I?"

"No. This is your home now," Arthur said. "Better to keep that bolt-hole ready to use, though. I hope you never need it, but better to have it than not. I should think a duty visit once a year ought to keep that spell refreshed. The rest of you need to go back to Hogwarts. Ronald, if I know anything about you, you have homework you haven't done yet. Miss Granger, I'm sure yours is done, but this is going to be fairly tedious. Once it's done we both want to talk to Harry about Sirius Black's will, and that's private. Ginevra—" His expression went soft. "Your mum and I will talk to you later. It isn't the end of the world."

His friend Ron looked like he didn't know what to say, while Hermione seemed puzzled. Well, Harry didn't blame her, since he was lost, too.

"I know some family secrets aren't for outsiders," Hermione said.

"There, lass, one of these days you'll be part of all this, and I can show and tell you everything," Molly said. "And Ginny, dear, don't look so glum."

The youngest Weasley shrugged, but left through the Floo back to Hogwarts with both Ron and Hermione.

Once they were gone, Arthur said, "Actually, you are bound to the house already. That chalice had some extras in it. The ghoul will never bite you now, and will protect you as if you'd been born here. We do need to speak about your godfather's will, though."

They moved out of the kitchen and into the parlor. Harry took tea instead of pumpkin juice. When it came to Sirius, he couldn't be a child any more. "What about the will?" he asked.

"It's going to be probated sooner than anyone thinks, now the hearing is over," Arthur said. "Snape came up with some fustian about the losing side having access to Grimmauld Place during the hearing, in case we lost and had to hide you, but that's being dropped in the final language of the settlement over the hearing. I hope the professor can find a way to blame that on the Ministry, and won't be hurt too much because of it. I plan to read the final papers carefully, of course, and have Lupin check them for any spells before Molly signs them. We both did plenty of that last Saturday, but next week will see the end of that. The house and other assets will be yours before the end of the school year, if not by Christmas. By this summer, you'll be of age and will own everything outright without even your mother's loose supervision. You have some decisions to make, my boy, and you should start thinking about them now."

"I don't know. Like what?" Was Snape going to end up in the infirmary again trying to protect him? His new dad sounded like it happened all the time.

"Well, do you still want the place to be used by the Order? Kreacher is still under the Fidelius, but he could find a way to let the location out to a blood relative like Mrs. Malfoy or her sister, if they haven't learned it already. You could sell the place for a lot of Muggle money or Galleons and have it off your back. The Malfoys would probably make the best offer."

Harry had to think. If the house wasn't going to be safe anyway, why not let it go? He didn't have many happy memories there, and neither had his godfather. "Does the Order have another house it could use?"

"Not just yet. We're working on that," Arthur said. "It's also possible that Mrs. Malfoy might give up any magical claim on the place if she's allowed some of the personal family items, in which case we might not have to worry so much. Molly's blood keeps the house from actively fighting against us, as does your own relationship with Sirius Black, both as godson and principal legatee. That might make it more difficult for Mrs. Malfoy or anyone outside the Order to find the place."

"Well, I would rather the Order meet somewhere besides Hogwarts," Harry said. Some of the people in it were interesting, but he didn't want to have to see them every day—besides Tonks, of course.

"That makes sense," Molly said. "It's a bad idea to have all of our eggs in one basket. Hogwarts could end up as our headquarters eventually, but let's not force the day along before we have to."

"I don't mind if Grimmauld Place is used, but only if it's safe," Harry said. "Maybe the Order ought to look for somewhere else while still being there for now."

"We are," said Arthur. "It's devilish, though, finding something in a good location that doesn't give us away to the Muggles or to You-Know-Who."

"I know you don't want it here," said Harry. "For one thing, there isn't room."

Molly laughed. "I'd hate to see the ghoul finding out that Moody has a wooden leg the hard way. Besides, Dung would feel so frustrated at not being able to lift anything, it'd dampen his spirits entirely. True, he always brought me back the money after pawning whatever he took from Grimmauld Place, and half the time Sirius told him to pick out what he liked, but he'd miss the sport of it here."

"As I said, it's all right with me. What else is in the will?" Why didn't they just give him a copy instead of handing out information piecemeal?

"Well, he left most of the money in his vaults to you. At least you'll have better access to them than he did. He also left a pot for dear Remus. As long as he's careful, he'll never have to worry again." Molly smiled.

"Oh, good! He'll like not being poor." Harry remembered the look of grim pride in the man's face when admitting he couldn't have paid for the pensieve. _Maybe I shouldn't have offered to help him out,_ he thought, _but what else could I do?_

"Yes, he's had a hard time of it. Sirius also left instructions for the portrait," Arthur said with a grin. "We'll help with those."

"And if you're going to keep the house for the Order," Molly added, "you need to know about giving house-right to its members. Once the transfer is complete, you'll have to walk them through a little ceremony. This protects you and the rest of us."

Harry vaguely remembered Molly saying something about the Potions Master and what Sirius had done last year. "Does Snape still only have door-right?"

"No. Professor Lupin gave him full rights—door-right, hearth-right, table-right and bed-right late last summer. However, that's only temporary and in his capacity as executor and custodian. You'll have to decide for yourself who receives what rights. I suggest that all Order members receive full rights from the start, though." The older man's face was hard.

"Why late last summer? Why not right away when Sirius died?" Harry still remembered how even _Ron_ had thought what his godfather had done was wrong, though.

"I'm afraid that Remus is uncomfortable around the Potions Master too," Molly said, her face turning pink. "I don't know how much he's told you about what he and his friends did while they were back in school. Also, I don't think he felt he ought to change anything Sirius did till…till it was almost too late. I suggested that he allow the professor full rights before he finally did. I'm glad, though, since there have been a couple of times since when Professor Snape has showed up at the safe house, well, not at his best. It would be cruel to bring back the old restrictions, especially when no one else is treated that way. Harry, dear, I know he's been cruel to you, but he's been different than he was. I hope he's changed to you, too."

'Yes," Harry said reluctantly. "It has been better. I don't know if it's the potions he's taking, or Winky fussing over him, but he is different." He paused for a moment. "I don't want to be like my dad that way."

"Oh?" Arthur said.

"I know more about him than I used to," he said abruptly, and turned his face away. "Sirius was in on it, too. Peter urged them on, and Remus…he just watched, or pretended nothing was happening. I wish I hadn't seen it!" _I wish Sirius had had a laundry list of nasty things Snape had done back, or looked more sorry about it than he had. _

"How did you find out, dear?" Molly said.

Harry looked at her, and her face was sad. "When I looked into Snape's pensieve. I was scared when he yanked me out and threw that jar of cockroaches at me. He thought I was going to tell everyone what his old nickname was and what my dad did to him, probably. But I wouldn't do that!"

Arthur cleared his throat. "Given the way everyone but Miss Granger talks about him, how would he know?"

"You're right," he said in a strangled voice. "I spent most of the summer wanting to blame him for my godfather's death." Even at the Welcoming Feast he'd been hoping to find a way to show everyone that all the Slytherins were traitors and shouldn't even be at Hogwarts. It hadn't been till he'd started talking to the Headmaster that he'd realized it. Since then he'd been wavering between hating Snape even when the git didn't do anything to deserve it, and terror that he'd end up causing the Potions Master's death. "Last Saturday night, when I went back to the infirmary because I couldn't sleep, I thought it was his fault Madam Pomfrey was hurt. Except he was really hurt, too, and nobody was there to help. I found the Headmaster, but he went off to St. Mungo's with her, and left me and Remus to do what we could. It was horrible, and I was so afraid. I was the only one who could help with the rebound spell because this scar acts like the Dark Mark sometimes."

Molly pursed her lips. Arthur patted her on her hand and sighed. "If it hadn't been for his work on the hearing, we would have come a lot closer to losing it," he said. "All last week he sat up nights helping me. He cut a few corners during it, too, even if the transcript doesn't show it."

Harry flushed, thinking of the papers stuffed in his pocket. Even the twins had said Snape could have been a lot worse. "Is that why you made the promise you told me about last week? You know, watching over some of that lot if he isn't around any more?"

Arthur nodded. Molly bit her lip, then said, "I must admit, I hope I don't have to deal with any of them. The professor doesn't think anyone would care two Knuts for them if he were gone. I think he needs to let them face reality a bit, but he is rather protective of them."

Harry was about to agree, till he remembered some of the things that had happened at school. "Some of the students think there shouldn't be a Slytherin House at all, and we, er, didn't behave at the Sorting. Dumbledore told us off first, and then McGonagall after that. Luna pointed something out to me that I hadn't noticed before. The Snake first-years always run around in little groups, like they're afraid someone is going to get them if they wander off by themselves. I said I thought it was because they wanted to beat up on everybody else. But after seeing what my father did…and, and the way we acted at the Feast…well, maybe they think they have a good reason to be afraid of the rest of us." Harry paused, then resumed. "It's so weird. Whenever I think about the Slytherin students, I see Malfoy and his goon squad. But even he's different this year. Half the time whenever he sees Crabbe, he looks over his shoulder. And then he clouds up, like he forgot that Goyle was dead again. Then I wonder what would happen if any of my friends were gone. On Monday, Malfoy was called out of class, and we all thought—well, he was really scared. He was scared Sunday morning, too," he added, unable to keep from talking about it.

"Snape thinks he's going to die," he said, hearing Malfoy's shaky voice and the Potion Master's dead one. "Or he's going to be hexed the way he was Saturday night, only forever. He thinks we're all going to abandon him to beg on the streets if he is."

"What kind of curse was it?" Molly asked.

"He couldn't talk. I tried _Legilimens_, and I ended up with images and smells and stuff, not any words. I never knew he was that scared of Remus. He was even scared of _me_. And when the Headmaster came in, finally, Snape looked up at him like the Headmaster was his father, or something. It was the first time I ever saw him smile without being nasty about it." Harry knew he shouldn't be talking about this, but it felt so good to trust his new parents and know they weren't going to yell at him.

"How were you able to listen in to the professor and Mr. Malfoy?" Arthur asked.

Harry flushed. "I fell asleep after Snape was taken care of, and when I woke up, it was all quiet. Winky was there, curled up under the bed, and then Malfoy came in. He kicked me out, but since I had the cloak I just pretended. I wish I hadn't done it, now." He should have gone looking for someone to keep watch—even if the house elf had been there after the Slytherin left, she couldn't know what to do if Snape had been really hurt. "But someone must have called for help not too long after," he said. "After I went back to Gryffindor and slept a bit, someone said they'd seen the new mediwitch there already." He was still conscious of having abandoned someone who was hurt. Harry could still see those dark eyes in his memory.

He looked up at his new parents. "I know, I should have stayed!" he said. "I should have asked about him before he came back to class on Friday. Even Neville was braver, he went down there for a couple of detentions…Snape couldn't have been that sick if he was running those…" He swallowed back tears.

"Oh, Harry," Molly said. "We put too much on you, we always have. I can guess how frightened you were, being in the middle of that. For all his bad temper, the professor's helped you a lot, and now he needs ours instead. Don't worry, lad, you don't have to do it all yourself."

He gaped, not having any idea what she meant. Arthur handed him a biscuit and he ate it. Once he was calmer, he was astounded to realize his new mum was right. He _was_ used to Snape saving their bacon no matter what. After all, the Potions Master had done it even after being knocked on the head. _I went to him over Padfoot, not to anyone else last spring, and that was after he'd thrown that jar at me. It wasn't till he didn't say anything that I went off on my own the way I did. But Umbridge was right there. What could he say out loud that would go past her?_

"Malfoy's done a lot of detentions in the infirmary since," he said, picking on some random fact to distract himself from so many thoughts.

"Well, of course," Arthur said. "That rebound spell might be used again. Maybe you ought to be happy the boy's trying to learn something. Maybe _we_ ought to be happy. Could be what he picks up might save your life if that hex is used on you."

"But that means he's taken the Mark," Harry said, "since Remus said my scar acted like one. Why is he still at school, then?" That didn't make any sense. The Headmaster would surely—then again, given the past, maybe Dumbledore wouldn't do anything at all, only to have it blow up in everyone's face later on. Maybe he ought to talk to Moody. _He_ would take things a little more seriously.

"First of all, we don't know that for certain," his new dad said. "And you're not to spend the rest of the year trying to find out. Secondly, he's lost one of his friends and could lose his godfather. I think he has enough on his plate to give over plotting evil for now."

Harry reluctantly agreed. The blond Slytherin had behaved far better this year than the last, for whatever reason. He didn't want to think what Malfoy had meant with his comments about his aunt, either. "I hate people hiding things from me! But what else is new? I thought once I really learned some Occlumency, I would be able to find out more."

Molly shrugged. "We're not told everything either. For one thing, what we don't know can't be hexed out of us. I just hope you're paying attention to those lessons this year. Remember, our safety depends on you as well as the other way around." Then her face crumpled. "This isn't right. You're still just a boy, and you shouldn't have to worry about anything more complicated than trying out a new broom."

Arthur patted her hand. "We'll manage, love. And so will you, Harry. Write every day if you like, you'll hear back from us as soon as we can."

"And mind what we said about the Malfoy boy! His lot isn't much better, not if half of what you say is true," his new mum said. "Now I have the right to send you a Howler just like I do for the rest!"

Harry grinned. "I'll really feel like a part of the family then!" For some reason, the threat reassured him. Then he turned sober. The Headmaster had told him that he'd start having lessons with Snape soon. If that was the only way to help his new family, he'd just have to suck it up the way he had at the gym when Banks had drilled them till Harry thought his muscles would scream.

"I'll do my best," he said after a moment. "Ever since I came to Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione, and then Ginny, have been like my own family. No, _better. Lots_ better. Even Percy, if you don't count last year."

He decided not to tell them about the gift he'd been putting together for the Potions Master. Even Ron had helped with that one, and he didn't want his new brother to hear from Mum about it, either.

"We've given you lots to think about," Molly said. They stood, and the plump woman folded him in her embrace. Harry felt _right_ in it as he had never felt before. He didn't know if it was the magic of the adoption or not, and didn't care. "I hate to toss you out the Floo, but I have things to do for tonight. I know Professor Snape has been awful to you, but he is trying to do better. I've been glad to hear you aren't as disrespectful to him, or to any of your teachers this year. They work much harder than you realize."

"Professor Snape has Winky to help him now," he said. "Dobby hasn't said anything about her drinking too much butterbeer, either. It's funny how she asks a question or does something, anyway, if the git--I mean, the professor starts clouding up over us being stupid again. You should see her in her lab coat and gloves. 'These not _clothes, _young master, these are _equipment_,' she says in that tiny voice of hers, but she's prouder than Crookshanks with a new collar when she wears them. We try not to laugh when she reminds Snape about something and he obeys her, but it's hard. He's nicer when she's around, though we thought we were in for it a couple of weeks ago when she wasn't there and Neville almost blew things up."

"We're all happier when we're with someone who loves us," Arthur said, a dreamy look on his face. "But lad, I'm sure you have homework, and we're having a dinner tonight at Grimmauld Place. Since Molly can't be in two places at once, the other food that didn't go on the table today will go there."

Harry remembered his own stack of assignments, and decided he'd better go before the team met without him. Ron, at least, must be wondering why it was taking so long. He left through the Floo, and wished that Percy was still part of the family. _I'd still be lost half the time without him helping me practice,_ he thought.

He stepped into the Headmaster's office, blinked to see the Potions Master sitting there, and left as quickly as possible for the Gryffindor Common Room. Ron would have left a note on the board stuck on the pillar if he and the team had gone somewhere besides the Great Hall. Then he thought of something, and found the old coin Hermione had charmed for the DA. Not much would probably come of _that_ till Quidditch season was over for the winter, but at least one of his friends should still have theirs somewhere around.

Soon the three of them were in the Room of Requirement, since it was far more private than anywhere in Gryffindor Tower. Harry told the other two about Sirius Black's will, the house, and nearly everything else. He felt bad for almost breaking down in front of his new parents, but was glad they hadn't seemed to mind. That wasn't important, though—the rest of what he'd said was, though, even what he'd heard Malfoy say.

"I remember last summer when Mrs. Weasley told us how Professor Snape couldn't even eat there," Hermione said. "Are you going to give him just door-right, too?"

"No," Harry said. "Remus gave him full rights this summer, as executor, and I'm going to leave it that way. If he showed up at Grimmauld Place the way he was last Saturday night, he couldn't even use the Floo for someone to take him to St. Mungo's or back here." Would his godfather really think _that_ was funny? Then again, Sirius had smiled when bumping Snape's head against a wall a couple of times in the Shack.

"He's still a greasy git," said Ron, but with less venom than usual.

"Well, yeah, but he's _our_ greasy git," he said. Maybe it was just as well a tiny house elf was around to stare pathetically at the Potions Master. He remembered some years when he would have been glad of someone who didn't want to spit in his face, too. "Maybe we've all been really stupid, too. This year we have a chance not to screw this up. If I don't learn what he's trying to teach me, we're toast. And I don't want to finally have a family…just to lose it." He swallowed.

Ron did, too, then stared down at the floor for a moment. "Me, too. Ok, Snape's a right bastard, but he must be in our corner or the other side wouldn't bash him about so much. I never thought I'd feel sorry for _Malfoy_, though."

"Well, if he really has to do what his aunt tells him, I'd feel sorry for a basilisk in the same position," Hermione said.

Since she'd usually borne the brunt of the Slytherin's insults, she had the right to say what she pleased about the ferret. Harry said, "So that's settled. Truce between us and Snape."

"Which means that review essay he assigned…" Hermione said with a gleeful smile.

"What _is_ it with you and homework, anyway?" Ron said with a moan.

Harry laughed, and the other two joined him. Together like this they could conquer the world.


	78. Chapter 78: Examination

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too.

Chapter 78: Examination

Severus Snape

Snape shuffled into the Headmaster's office. He felt better than he had earlier in the day, and was having serious second thoughts about this farce of an examination. But he had promised Poppy. The least he could do was to go through the motions, after all she'd done for him.

"I hate to do this to you, Severus, but there's a short Order meeting tonight," Albus said. "Have a seat while I connect the Floo. You'll have a couple of hours after this appointment to rest up before it, though."

"A good thing I have hearth-right now," he said sourly, as he lowered himself into a plush chair.

"I know. You're still not strong enough to walk all the way to Hogsmeade and Apparate from there to Grimmauld Place or back again, for that matter."

"And I am glad about the broom, but I'm certainly not ready to ride one yet," Snape said. He tried hard not to let resentment well up over last year. It was done. Black was dead, and Lucius was still in Azkaban. Lupin's sorrow when he'd laid the key to the house on the table in the infirmary had been genuine, as least in Trelawney's memory of it. "It has been different there this year," he said. Molly's warmth and care for him outweighed the bleakness of the house when he was there now.

"I know. I've seen how hard you've tried to be different with them as well. Moody swears he's going to test you for Polyjuice the next time he sees you."

"As the Muggle phrase goes, 'bold talk from a one-eyed fat man'."

Albus laughed. "I hadn't heard that one before! Where is it from?"

"I'm not certain, but I have a first year in Hufflepuff with a store of such sayings. From context, it seems to mean someone who is all chant and no wand—you know, the way Flitwick appears until you know him, and the way Lockhart actually was. It fits Moody some days, doesn't it?"

The Headmaster nodded. "He has been eating well at Molly's table, I'll give him that. I must admit, I do wonder just what he can see with that magical eye of his. I used to be able to keep up with every new change in magical devices, but I suppose I'll need to ask Arthur what he knows about it. I do know that Alastor has it changed every time a new improvement comes out. Granted, some of them haven't worked out as well as he'd hoped."

Snape remembered the time the retired Auror had gone around smiling a little too much, till a chance remark about choice of underwear had escaped. Molly Weasley had barely held back a host of pointed kitchenware, while Tonks had changed into a duplicate of Mrs. Black and shrieked at him. Moody had actually admitted nothing, but had been gone for a couple of days. Either he'd changed the settings on his eye, or spent the time recovering from the shiner on his other one. Since then, the older wizard had been more discreet. "I wonder if a magical eye would assist Healers," he remarked.

"I doubt Madam Pomfrey would be amenable to the sacrifice required," Albus said. "So far none of the devices work well unless attached to the remains of a real eye. Most of the Healers I know have both of theirs and like it that way."

The Potions Master nodded. It was only a thought. It would be interesting to be able to examine the properties of potions ingredients a little more directly than his current process, but he was generally thorough enough that he didn't miss much. He slumped in the chair.

Dumbledore raised the flames in his fireplace. "I hope this examination goes well, Severus. I still wish you could take the next week off."

"I have missed so much time already, Albus. However, I won't mind letting the clinic experiment on me for part of the Christmas holiday. I would rather spend the actual day here, but that still leaves me over a week between it and start of term during which they can dose me to their heart's content. Narcissa will give me a pass for New Year's Eve this time if I ask. I haven't been summoned while at the clinic so far." He'd like to live that long.

The Headmaster nodded. "That's probably a good idea." He threw some powder, which Snape made up personally, and said, "St. Mungo's."

The face of the receptionist appeared. "Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"Professor Snape has an appointment with Healer Williamson. Please allow him to come through."

The bland young woman raised an eyebrow, and nodded. "Of course, Headmaster."

Snape went through to the lobby, and then shook off the soot. He wondered why the woman at the desk looked oddly at him—he didn't recognize her at all. Perhaps she'd gone to Beauxbatons? He found out why she'd been surprised, though, as he went into the hallway and into the waiting room for Williamson. He was the only man in there, and quickly retreated behind the pages of a vapid magazine. The ladies all had an anxious air about them, and most of them seemed too thin. The pictures of plump mothers with smiling babies on the wall clued the Potions Master into what the Healer's specialty must be. He sank as far as he possibly could behind the covers of the November 6, 1991 Witch Weekly

Once he thought about it, he supposed this clinic made sense. Married witches were under a great deal of pressure to have children, especially in pureblood families. Fashionable ladies were supposed to stay thin. The standard methods for looking properly emaciated often affected fertility. Snape thought it probably took a Healer's authority for women to stop sacrificing themselves on the altar of the current standard of beauty, and pay more attention to their health. Also, some women were injured giving birth, and needed more healing so they could provide the requisite spare as well as an heir, even if they were lucky enough to throw a boy the first time around.

He had tried to help Narcissa a few times with his own potions, but suspected she would require more drastic measures to carry a child to term again. Lucius was often careless in his habits, as he knew from his own experience. Poppy had been careful to eliminate all the after effects once she'd discovered what he was going through for the sake of the Order. Truly, it had been a good thing she'd seen through his lies. Severus briefly wondered what Lucius had said when the physical exam at Azkaban, which he knew to be _extremely_ thorough, had uncovered Malfoy's current collection of microbes.

He sighed. The answer was probably not much. The sparse medical clinic at the prison had seen nearly everything by now, no doubt. And if someone like him was allowed to visit Lucius without a real search, it was clear Narcissa's husband had the guards well in hand.

But his wife might have caught something years ago from Malfoy's ramblings and never properly healed from it. Some problems had fewer or no symptoms in women till the damage was done. Snape hoped that Healer Williamson was tactful as well as skilled. Most of these women were bound for life to their husbands. _I hope he shows them how to protect themselves, too. It won't do much good to undergo a cure, only to become infected again._

At last his name was called. He ignored the stares and went into the examination room. Williamson nodded at him and dismissed his female assistant. He was a young man, with close-cropped blond hair and hazel eyes. The Potions Master grudgingly disrobed and put on the usual open-to-every-breeze patient gown. Fortunately, his Dark Mark was behaving itself today. He sat on the examination table.

"Lie down, please," said Williamson, "and close your eyes." The man chanted a Warming Charm on the gown and the table. That helped. It was difficult enough to relax when one wasn't freezing one's balls off. "This is just an examination, professor," he continued, "and it shouldn't hurt a bit. In fact, some find it fairly enjoyable."

Snape closed his eyes, though he was still tense. Then warmth blossomed in his belly and groin, as if he were soaking in a hot bath. For a moment he allowed himself to enjoy the sensation. _The healer's probably seen men become aroused before,_ he told himself. _I shouldn't be embarrassed to have it happen here. It's undoubtedly part of the test._

Unfortunately, nothing really happened. Though the warmth felt good, there were parts of his body that didn't respond. His balls didn't tighten, nor did his groin grow heavy. Unfortunately, his wand definitely did not rise to the occasion. Snape even thought of Molly Weasley the way she'd been on Monday during the fever spell, but to no avail. Oh, his feelings had not changed; yet it was clear his body was not going to follow through on them.

"Hmm," was the Healer's only comment.

In fact, Snape now felt a slight bit of pain as if he'd been aroused and had left off doing something about it for too long. It had been quite some time since that had happened, but no man ever quite forgot the sensation. Then the warmth faded, and was replaced by a feeling of coolness. The pain disappeared. His gown, which had been raised for the examination, now fell back on top of him.

"You may sit up now," Williamson said.

Snape opened his eyes and did so. "Blockages, right?"

"Definitely. Please dress. We'll sit down in my office and talk about it." The Healer left.

The Potions Master quickly donned his clothes and proceeded through the other door into the office, where Williamson sat at his desk. A thick file sat before the younger wizard.

"I've been in contact with the Swiss about your potions. It's clear why it's taken so long for you to recover from your injuries. Of course, that's why you're having problems now. Normally, the potions prescribed under most circumstances would heal you quickly enough to keep most scarring from occurring in the first place. However, you weren't able to use them. Also, the amount of pain you suffered can sometimes cause additional trauma to the nerves. The inflammation caused by the original injury is mostly gone, but there is scarring. As you noticed during the examination, full function is not present, at least for now. I suspect you would be prevented from becoming a father even if you showed the proper response. You probably feel the pressure now that some men do when unable to find relief."

"I know what blue balls are like, Healer," Snape said with a scowl. "What I have now is not nearly as annoying or painful."

Williamson's lips twitched. "That's not a good sign, professor. Also, the procedure must be done before your next expulsion phase. I understand you're required to brew the Wolfsbane. Magister Lowenstein suspects that will bring some version of the phase on fairly soon, even though use of the detoxicant was interrupted. The damage will likely become permanent if you delay too long."

"I was told of something nasty involving tiny snakes in regard to the procedure," the Potions Master said. "I do hope that was untrue."

"I'm afraid that part was accurate." The Healer had the grace to look discomfited. "Here, let me show you the difference between a normal scan and yours first." He raised his wand and showered lines of light on a dark screen behind him. "This is, I am happy to say, the sort of shape my works are in. When I marry, the lucky woman is going to receive the full benefit of the enthusiasm I have for her. None on the horizon yet, but I've some practical experience in keeping the darlings happy." He waved the diagram away. His wand now sprayed more lines of light on the screen. They were broken, and the design was obviously incomplete. "Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for you. As you see, the circuits aren't complete. Look while I demonstrate what my little serpents can do." Tiny dots of brighter light now appeared inside the lines, moving towards the broken bits. As they moved, they left a glowing trail behind them. Severus could just barely make out a fainter diagram on the screen, one that was complete. The dots followed the dim markings as they crossed the gaps into relative darkness.

Soon the diagram which theoretically outlined his private parts shone in perfect health. It was slightly different than the one Williamson had claimed for himself, which helped Snape believe it might actually be his, and not just a standard demonstration design. Severus still felt nauseated at the thought of actual living organisms inside. At least his potions ingredients were generally dead first!

"Here's what my little darlings look like," Williamson said. He brought down a jar. The snakes were more like tiny silver threads than the reptiles Snape was used to, as they writhed in a gray solution.

"Are you sure that isn't a Pensieve instead?" he asked.

"You aren't the first to notice a resemblance," the Healer said. "Just as good thoughts clear the head when in doubt, these will clear the scar tissue and leave you able again. You're a young man, Professor Snape. It would be a tragedy to leave you like this."

"I've heard…I've heard that it's painful…"

Williamson grimaced. "It is. I am authorized to use mandragora at full strength for patients undergoing the procedure."

"Which is on my forbidden list." He began shaking just thinking about it.

"Wait. There are other potions that eliminate or greatly reduce pain, as well as charms, though they would have to be renewed. The procedure doesn't work on someone who's been petrified, unfortunately, and being stupefied only removes the memory of the pain, not the actual sensations. Your nerves would still suffer afterwards, I'm afraid."

"Never mind." He stood up, though not as quickly as he would like.

"Let me speak with Lowenstein. I know you aren't really recovered from your injuries. But this procedure should really occur no more than a week from today. I'd like to do it sooner, before you begin brewing the Wolfsbane Potion, since the Swiss have a record of you having trouble with muscle spasms around maidenhair during your most recent stay. Please don't leave just yet."

Snape reluctantly sat down again. "Could it be done at the clinic? That way they can monitor my potions."

"That's a good idea," Williamson said. "I must admit, your treatment could have been improved the last time you were here at the hospital. Just because your injuries came from the Ministry didn't mean you deserved them." He tapped the thick folder on his desk. "Judging by the somewhat unpleasant remarks I heard from a member of the senior staff when I pulled your file, I can't say I blame you for preferring to be treated at Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey is worried about that—she's a dear old trout and thinks the world of you, and afraid you're going to come in with something she can't manage. After reading this, though, it makes sense."

"She hasn't tried to send me to St. Mungo's for years."

"I will admit that we've talked at times about the problem," the Healer said. "I like to think she's found me a trustworthy consultant. If you like, I'll have a chat with Magister Lowenstein and see what we can work up between us."

"I…I don't like the idea of this procedure in the first place," Snape said, hating the way he trembled inside. "I, I…just can't." He remembered what Bella had done before he'd passed out. He remembered what she and Pettigrew had done last summer. He remembered the Cruciatus before then, that had affected him so much more than he'd expected. He remembered the ordeal he'd suffered before the Dark Lord had allowed him to return to the Circle the summer before last. He remembered what Moody had done to his hands, though the Auror hadn't neglected the rest of him. The Potions Master started curling up in the chair and tried to stop it.

"Professor Snape," Williamson said, slightly louder than before. "Please drink this. It's only tea with sugar in it."

Severus picked up the cup and numbly sipped at it. The mild restorative helped. He wasn't surprised the young mediwizard had some ready—no doubt he was used to dealing with hysterical patients. "I must apologize," he said, once he felt steadier. "I don't normally panic like that."

"You'd be surprised how many do," the Healer said. "Here, let's find out if it'll be worth the trouble." He stood, went to a cupboard, and brought out a scrying dish. "There are some patients who can't be helped, even with my procedure. Destiny has denied them children for whatever reason. If you can't see anything in here, then we'll speak no further. We can find ways of restoring some function once your potions overload regimen is over, even if the seed ducts are ruined or completely closed off. However, you could also see what you might be giving up. Many women have sworn they've had visions of their future children in here."

Snape almost sneered at this silly form of Divination, but decided to humor the fool. No doubt many of Williamson's patients came away reassured that they were doing the right thing. Given that the procedure was obviously difficult even with the right potions, he supposed even stupid witches deserved some comfort. Besides, he knew he wasn't going to see anything unless the Healer was far better at Charms than Flitwick. _I wish I hadn't heard what Sybil had to say about my fate._

The other wizard put the dish on the table. Judging by the smell, it was full of ink, though one hoped not the sort used by the Ministry last summer. The surface of it was black and shiny, while reflections from the room rippled with every air current. Williamson chanted a brief spell. The ink stilled and went completely dark.

Severus was not surprised when it stayed that way as he first looked into it. He might have longer than he thought if his fate was to suffer from Bella's hex instead, but death was his likely fate at the end of a year and a half at best.

He bit his lip as he saw the tatty hedge and the garden he'd sometimes dreamed of. No doubt it was the remnants of his memory of the old cottage from when he had been a small child and his family had yet to move to Knockturn Alley. Yet in this vision, two round-faced small girls chased each other and a terrified gnome. The poor things were cursed with his nose in miniature, though, and their eyes were large and dark.

After a short time, the ink went black again. _Surely this is only wishful thinking, the way my dreams were—and the way that final card last night turned into the face of Molly Weasley. _So much had happened that it was hard to believe the staff party had only been yesterday.

The garden reappeared, though this time the hedge was in better order, or at least was trimmed more evenly. A small boy played catch with one of the gnomes in this scene. His nose was snubbed, his front teeth were prominent, and his hair curled loosely. Yet he had a lanky build, and his hands had long fingers. Snape recognized their proportions in his own. Suddenly, the boy whirled and smiled, then ran for someone's outstretched arms.

The bowl went dark before Snape could see whom the boy was running towards. After a short wait, no other vision showed itself. For a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy seeing the potential children of his line. Then he sighed, and acknowledged reality instead. He would have no time for a wife, this house, or those children. The only woman he really wanted was married to someone else. Why let this healer torture him for something he could never have?

"I know you aren't married or betrothed," Williamson said gently. "I know you must think whatever you saw is impossible. But if you don't have the right treatment, you won't have any chance at all. I can't blame you for shying away from so much pain. I swear by Isis and Osiris that I will find a way to make this easier for you. Just give me a few days, professor, and let me consult with the Swiss who are managing your potions."

"It seems so hopeless, Healer," Snape admitted wearily.

"It isn't, though. Many see nothing in the bowl. Your expression gave little away, but I could tell how your eyes lit up at what you found. I know the look of those who aren't so blessed."

"With this face?" Snape gestured at it. "After spending the last fifteen years making the younger generation hate me? I'll have to go further than Russia to find a bride, with less money than my father had to do it with, thanks to our beloved Ministry. Oh, yes, and I'm sure they'd find a way to disallow it, even if I did find a woman mad enough to marry me." What was wrong with him? He usually repressed the resentment he felt at his perpetual bachelor status. Most of the time he'd found nothing wrong with it, and had counted himself lucky that Lucius was too jealous to allow his favorite toy any solace of his own.

Perhaps seeing these children in his mind's eye had pushed him too far this time.

"I agree the Ministry has treated you rather badly," Williamson said stiffly. "Yet the time may come when a different set is in place."

Snape blinked. Was the Healer a devotee of the Dark Lord, or merely a brave dissenter? After all, Arthur Weasley had his supporters, too. No doubt they were greater in number now, since the man had shown himself so capable during the hearing. "I hope so," he said, as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. A headache threatened to come on. "I'm so tired of being caught in the middle."

"Your situation is certainly awkward, to say the least," the mediwizard said. "Allow me to contact the clinic and see what they suggest. I suspect it would be a good idea to spend your recovery time there as well. Madam Pomfrey has intimated that you are not the most compliant patient she has ever cared for."

"She constantly threatens me with a Body Bind," Severus said.

Williamson nodded. "Return to Hogwarts and rest. You're not fully healed yet, and won't be for a couple of weeks. I truly dread what the next expulsion phase will do to you if it comes on too soon, and I fear brewing the Wolfsbane will force it on. I don't suppose you have any unicorn blood or maenad sweat, do you?"

"You must be joking!"

"Unfortunately, I am. Just as phoenix tears and basilisk venom are natural antagonists, it's generally known that unicorn blood and maenad sweat are natural healing partners. Both of them partake of the wild forest, and are considered the meeting of Innocence and Experience. Neither one would interfere with your potions. Both together would help you mend in a more natural manner."

Snape nodded. "None of the four primal substances interfere with any potions, and are far more effective than any we know thus far." He was interested despite himself. That explained why phoenix tears no longer worked on him now that he was part of the Inner Circle. He had long suspected the power of basilisk venom, or a related species such Nagini, lay behind the Dark Mark. His had been reinforced both by the initiation of so many apprentices, and by his rise to the Inner Circle.

However, that raised another question. Did the Marks of the apprentices who were received last summer have basilisk or serpent venom instilled? That could make a difference. He would have to check on this somehow, though without revealing what he was looking for.

"I would enjoy speaking of this with an expert like you," Williamson said. "However, Madam Pomfrey would make me wish I'd never been born if I sent you back exhausted. We'll talk shop some other time."

The Potions Master acquiesced. He still tired easily, no matter how much he rested. It was annoying. "You were the one who ran my blood profile for her last summer, weren't you?"

"Yes. She was my sponsor when I first took up the healing arts. I plan to send her an owl with the results of this exam. We had some nice chats when she was in here last week, too. I tried to look in on her whenever her friend wasn't here. There have been some unpleasant rumors lately. That poor Auror who died last year might have been better off with a member of his family with him."

That reinforced Snape's determination to have nothing done here in hospital. "It would be terrible if healers couldn't be trusted," he said, suddenly remembering that the Dark Lord had obtained the results of his blood profile before Poppy had.

"I don't like it that they've come under attack," the other wizard said. "I think you're quite right to have this done at the clinic in Switzerland. I've had to put extra wards on my files and I'm thinking about putting them on the entire office. The cleaning people have chased a rat away from here a couple of times, and really, you'd think the anti-vermin spells would hold up better than _that_."

Snape knew at least one who could likely make it past anybody's wards, except possibly his own. He stood. "I appreciate your examination. I still don't know if I'm going to go through with this procedure."

The Healer rose as well. "I hope you decide to. I'll confer with Lowenstein as soon as possible to see what can be done to reduce the potential trauma. For one thing, the tension produced interferes with the snakes and extends the recovery time, even if I were the sort of person who could look upon such agony unmoved. Trust me, professor, I am not." Williamson escorted him to the hospital's Floo. "I know you saw at least one child in the basin. You owe it to your line to let that potential live."

Snape pressed his lips firmly together. It was hopeless, and he couldn't explain why. He turned his face to the flames, called out "Hogwarts, Headmaster's office," and stepped through. His apprentices would have to carry his memory forward instead of any imaginary offspring.

Dumbledore sat alone at his desk, bent over the ever-present stack of papers. The Potions Master didn't remember the last time he'd seen the surface totally clean.

"Have a seat, Severus," Albus said as he looked up.

He gratefully accepted, and let himself slump in the chair.

"Care to talk about it?"

"No. I suppose I will anyway. I was examined, found to be…damaged, and if anything is done, it must be completed before my next expulsion phase. I looked into a basin, saw what I was likely expected to see, and currently remain undecided. Williamson is going to speak with Magister Lowenstein about having the procedure done at the clinic, and about making it less…less painful." Snape took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I hate being a coward about this. But what is the _point_?" He hated how his voice rose, and waited a moment to regain some composure. "I'm sure it was a charm in the basin to allow my imagination to fill in the blanks. I've always said that the only use for children was as potions ingredients. It shouldn't bother me this much."

"Was it a gray basin with golden stars around the edge?"

He opened his eyes. "Yes. What does that have to do with it?"

The ancient wizard's eyes were full of anguish. "I have looked into that basin over a dozen times, and I have never seen anything but darkness. St. Mungo's guards it carefully, and lets only those such as Williamson and those in his specialty judge who ought to look inside. It is no fraud. Could…could you tell me what you saw?"

"If you wish. The first two I saw were from my own brain, I'm certain. I've dreamed of them before," Snape said briskly. "Twin girls, both with my nose. I always see them running in a yard with a hedge around it, though I know there's a garden in back with better wards, since that's where I grow some ingredients. The gnomes are terrified of the girls, and few of them show up any more. I wasn't really surprised to see them." He paused a moment. "It was blank for a short while after that, and then I saw a small boy with dark curly hair and a snub nose. He had long fingers in his hands, though, like those in my family. I don't understand the second vision at all. It doesn't really matter, Albus. I don't have time, even if I knew a woman insane enough to want to marry me."

"There is more than one definition of darkness, Severus."

"Who would wed a madman trapped in a hell with no words?" he said bitterly. "If I got a woman with child while in that condition, I'd be a monster and _should_ be locked up. Given what I've done, given what my family was like, perhaps it's just as well if my bloodline passes away."

"I still envy you," Dumbledore said quietly. "I've dreamed of children, too, but I have never seen anything in that basin. My third wife and I adopted a couple of infants, and they grew into strong young men. Grindelwald killed them. And her."

At that moment a bewildered-looking Harry Potter came through the fireplace, nodded at both of them, and left, most likely for his tower.

Severus gripped the arms of his chair before he shrieked with rage. Then he deliberately forced himself to relax. James Potter hadn't lived long enough to see his son grow up. It was his own fault he hadn't made the boy his own. _Besides, I have had Draco all these years, even though it always seemed that Lucius undid in two months what I tried to do in ten. Given the boy's progress this year, it's obvious he hasn't succeeded._

"Harry knows now how much he owes you," Albus said, his face sober. "Even you have to admit he tried to help a week ago."

"Yes," Snape admitted.

"Perhaps this is a good time, then, to let you know that I am assigning each Head of House an assistant once Quidditch is over for this part of the year," the Headmaster said. "And in order to foster inter-house cooperation, each one will be from a different one."

The Potions Master picked up his tea and wondered what new disaster the old wizard was planning. _If he thought to distract me from the results of my exam, he's succeeding._ "Who will the assistants be?"

"Miss Bones for Minerva. The girl has a great deal of energy, and Minerva needs someone who will fuss over her. With your permission, Mr. Zabini for Filius. No one will think that odd, and he will have an excellent excuse to be in Ravenclaw more often, thus aiding contact with Miss Edgecombe. Miss Padma Patil for Pomona, as I understand the girl spends far too much time at her books and needs more physical exercise."

"And for me?" Snape raised one eyebrow. He knew it would be a member of the Trio.

Albus sighed. "Mr. Weasley."

He thought things over. "How very economical. More Remedial Potions for Mr. Potter, brewing lessons for Miss Granger, and now this. I wondered how you were going to work it out so I could look after the other member of the Trio. Any others you'd care to add to the list? I already have a Ravenclaw, and if things go the way I believe they will, I am likely to have a first year Hufflepuff show up for Sunday hot chocolate soon. I must admit, Winky will enjoy trying to feed that bottomless pit of a Weasley." He already knew it was hopeless to attempt communication with the boy till food had been shoveled in his direction.

The older wizard had the grace to turn pink. "He is to be a help to you, not just another burden. I do worry about him being left out of things and turning resentful because of any glory the others manage to garner. He plays chess exceedingly well, and that's something you can do when you aren't…aren't feeling your best. Winky is devoted, but there are limits to what she can do. Mr. Malfoy has many demands on his time already."

"I shall have to keep them from tearing each other's throats out," Snape said, who was having trouble seeing any advantages with this new program.

"You could hint how disgusted you are with this blatant attempt to plant a spy on you and on Slytherin," Albus pointed out. "Mr. Weasley needs it rubbed in his face about some of the sacrifices you are making. Mr. Potter is more aware now of what is really going on, while Miss Granger will be once she's helped you brew the Wolfsbane. She has already asked after you. I did consider her for the post of assistant, but…"

"No, you were quite right," the Potions Master said. "That would not do at all. I still think this idea of yours is going to blow up the way Longbottom's cauldrons did last year, but I suppose things could be worse. It's better to try it out now than when things are worse." He didn't want to mention that the Weasley boy's coloring was more like Molly's than Arthur's, or why that would make teaching the boy easier. "He will enjoy being singled out, though I imagine being captain this year has helped. No, your plan actually makes sense this time, though I still don't think it's going to work out as well as you hope." If Flitwick was right about the timing of his death, it wouldn't matter that much anyway. Nothing did. He gazed down at the floor.

"Severus…"

"Yes, Headmaster?" He didn't look up.

"After this, I'll stop pressuring you. It is truly your decision about this procedure. It's just that I would risk it for myself _now_ if I thought it would do any good. But then, I wouldn't have to face the same ordeal that you do, so it's not really fair of me to say that."

"I'd make a terrible father," Severus said, and forced himself to sit up straight and look Dumbledore in the face.

Albus smiled gently. "Not as bad as you think. If you haven't strangled Harry or poor Mr. Longbottom by now, you're not likely to do it to your own. You've been a better parent to many of those Slytherins than their own."

"_That's_ not hard!"

"You gave Harry a better summer than I ever have. There aren't many who could have seen that Mrs. Dursley was the key."

Snape grew thoughtful. "The situation wasn't as bad as it could have been. She really wanted things to change, but just didn't know how. I've run into families where both parents were convinced they were doing the right thing, and those are much more difficult."

"The point is that you knew what to do," Albus said. "I obviously did not. The best I could do was to threaten her, which even I knew would make things worse."

"You ought to be head of Slytherin for a year," Snape said. "The Sorting Hat gives me the purebloods who know it's the best house, but I end up with the damaged ones who want revenge as well. The first years tell me things that would break your heart."

"And yet you say you'd make a terrible father. The first job of one is to protect them, and I can't think of another Head of House who manages that better. Why, you even shield them from me."

The Potions Master stiffened, hearing it put that way. "Headmaster, I have never meant any disrespect…"

"We know my biases. Even I realize them by now. Don't think I know how much of this situation I've created? I've noticed how your first year students never go anywhere by themselves. Every year since Harry Potter began here, I've made it worse. I talk unity, but when it comes right down to it, my actions say Gryffindor always comes first. The fact that Harry is necessary to winning this war only gives me more excuses."

Snape didn't know what to say. He'd long believed it, but was startled to hear Dumbledore agree. "It's better than it was last year," he finally said. "However, I still worry about my students. I worry about what's going to happen to them when I'm gone. Professor Sinistra is the only other Slytherin on staff, and she's more of a recluse than I am."

"I must admit, a stranger would have grave difficulty with managing those students, since he or she would have no real idea what was going on."

"If I really wished to be cruel, I'd stick the wolf with the job," the Potions Master said, only partly joking. "His being a Dark Creature would gain him more respect among certain elements in my house than he would lose by being a Gryffindor. I am not the sort who mistakes his manners for softness, and it wouldn't be long before he took the measure of the purebloods. Given his penchant for the underdog, so to speak, he'd soon discover that someone like him is needed, especially by the youngest students. If he could manage Black for a year, I very much suspect he could deal with the Malfoys and their like. Clearly, his style is far less confrontational than mine, but he somehow manages to be pushed around into taking exactly the position he wanted to in the first place. Besides, he's already let the wolf show a few times this year when one or two of my idiots decided Lupin _was_ weak. They won't make that mistake again."

"Again you have surprised me, Severus. I hadn't considered Remus at all. I make the same error others do, apparently. He has shown more backbone this year, but I am surprised you saw it."

"He's totally without his pack now Black is gone," Snape said. "Wormtail was always at the bottom in rank anyway. Lupin is highest of those who are left, since Potter and the other two are still cubs when you think in the language of wolves. That means he's left to be the alpha. Obviously, he's still adjusting, but from what I heard he was the one who coordinated the pack during the raid on Azkaban. Lucius is still frothing about it, according to Narcissa. I believe if Lupin were a Head of House, he would realize it and act accordingly. Now that I see things more clearly, I think he acted as a pack member, and not solely out of desire to see me used as a washrag by his friends."

The wolf's behavior made so much more sense now. One did not judge goblins, for instance, by centaur standards; therefore, it was foolish to judge a werewolf by human ones. Lupin _wanted_ to be human, of course; but he was often very bad at it, though still better than the dogfather.

"You're serious, aren't you?" Albus said, looking stunned. "You really think he could make Slytherin his pack?"

"I will not be here. I want my children in strong hands before it is too late. I know you probably feel that way about Hogwarts itself, but you already have McGonagall as your deputy." His voice was flat, as he held despair back by brute force. "Besides, you'll listen to the wolf more than you ever did me."

The Headmaster nodded. "I'll think about Remus. I simply had not considered matters as thoroughly as you obviously have. Of course, if switching houses becomes all the rage, perhaps young Mr. Malfoy might do well some year as Head of Gryffindor."

"The little dunderheads would never know what hit them!" Snape could just imagine it. "I'd have to come back as a ghost just to watch the fun."

The room fell silent, but in a peaceful way. He was content to drink his tea. Soon he would return to his rooms, rest, and perhaps eat a little before the Order meeting.

He thought of something else. "Everyone likes Lupin, but no one cares much for his wolf. Perhaps that's why he tries to suppress it so completely. Some of those in Slytherin would worship it. He might like that better than he would care to admit." He took another sip of tea. "Maybe Sirius Black loved the wolf. That would explain a lot."

"I never considered that aspect of it," Dumbledore said. "And it's an extraordinarily apt revenge, since it would put him into the position of fighting for the rights of students that he looked down on before. And yes, the parallel with you and Harry is duly noted."

"The potions are helping me, Albus. I am _thinking_ about things instead of merely reacting. Now that I look back, my constant anger was more Gryffindor than anything else. I kept expecting something I thought I deserved, and was always frustrated. A Slytherin ought to know better. Instead of being disappointed in others, I ought to arrange things to suit myself without making a huge fuss over it. My problem is that I haven't been Slytherin _enough_. Of course, now I'll have to Obliviate you for revealing far too much, but it's certainly taken me long enough to figure this out." Really, he should have been an adult about many things before now, instead of bawling like a toddler deprived of a lolly.

The Headmaster laughed, and then became sober. "I wish you had more time, Severus. I wish I had not been such a fool about so many things. I have made so many mistakes…"

"Without your interference I would be a particularly twisted bit of gorse in the Azkaban graveyard," Severus snapped. He recognized wallowing when he saw it. "If I had really wanted to leave Hogwarts any time in the last decade or so, I would have. There is more to the world than Britain, but Ministry Aurors rarely leave its bounds. I would have become a low priority for them after eluding them for a few years."

"I am glad you think so. I never meant to be your jailor." Dumbledore looked down at his desk. "You did try to escape a couple of times, but I could not bear to let you go."

Snape was embarrassed to have those moments of weakness brought up. He knew what the old wizard was really talking about. "I could not do what I must if I had a wife and family. Nor could some of the others. Albus, it does not help to make me long for what I cannot have." He put down his cup as a wave of anguish surged up inside. He must forget about those two little girls and the smaller boy. He was better off not knowing about them.

"I should know when to leave things alone," said the ancient wizard.

"One cannot miss what one never had," Severus said. "But I did it to myself. I joined them in the first place, and then wasted what time I had afterwards in bitterness and self-pity. Headmaster, when is the meeting? I would like to lie down till then."

"In a couple of hours. There will be dinner with it. I hope you don't have trouble eating there. It will start and end fairly early in the evening, though. You're not well yet, and I fear I've inflicted another trial on you."

_I'll down every bite if Molly's there,_ he thought, but knew Dumbledore didn't really want to know that. "I asked for this one. I said I would pretend if they would. If I can manage Narcissa's parties, I can deal with this. You didn't invite Minister Umbridge, did you?"

"Merlin, no!"

"See? Already it's an improvement. I've managed Moody before, Albus. I do appreciate knowing ahead of time. Now, if you'll excuse me?"

"Of course. I'll send a note when it's time. Oh, and one last thing. I know you don't want to think about teaching Harry more Occlumency, but he has reached the end of what I can give him. If the two of you could have a short discussion tomorrow over it, would that work out? I know you're not healed yet, but time is passing."

"Just before lunch, then," Severus said. "I should be able to manage a few of the standard tests without too much effort. Even I have to admit his attitude's improved."

He departed before Albus could come up with any more tasks. The Headmaster was right, though. His expiry date could be in less than two months. _No doubt I will have to schedule in more infirmary time as well,_ he thought. As he made his way back to the dungeons, he fought back dread. Then he realized how foolish it was. The boy could have done as he liked a week ago during that dreadful night, but had chosen to help. _I'll have to bury those memories, or convince the Dark Lord somehow that having the Boy-Who-Lived think me less strong than I am is an advantage. Trust is easier to betray than hostility, after all. If Mr. Potter's walls are so weak that I can break through them even this way, then I will return him to the Headmaster posthaste. _

He felt better having made that decision. Snape collapsed on the soft couch once back in his rooms, wishing he had the strength to attend what might be the last Quidditch game of the season. Or his life. _At least there were hardly any Slytherin-Gryffindor games this autumn. Hooch juggled the schedule to put most of those in spring. Oh, I hope I live to see them. I hope everybody does._

Winky fussed over him, as if catching the tenor of his thoughts. "Master not go anywhere tonight! Master sleeps and sleeps instead!"

"I'll rest in bed most of the day tomorrow," he said. The prospect sounded better than it normally did just now. "You can fetch and carry for me to your heart's content."

That settled her down. He ate a small dish of blancmange, downed more potions and left himself drift as he imagined the tiny elf's joy at chasing after the children of his dreams. He allowed himself to add their images to the cottage out the back door of his House of Memory. In a fit of insanity, he added Molly Weasley to the place as well. _I will have to make certain _nobody_ is allowed back here!_ he thought as he closed his eyes. _Potter would certainly not understand, while Dumbledore would understand all too well. Now, it's time to stop thinking for just a bit…_He felt himself smiling as he slipped into sleep. _Perhaps for once I will have happy dreams._


	79. Chapter 79: Surprise Party the Second

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too.

Author's Note: I am going to work diligently towards finishing this by The Day, or shortly after. However, I do have to warn you now that it's going To Be Continued—first with a bridge story called "In the Watches of the Night", and then the novel (you thought this sucker was long) called WIDOW'S WALK. Between the finish of this work and the beginning of the others, unfortunately, I do feel obliged to go back to working on original universe material. I hope you won't be disappointed by the end of this one. I'm typing as fast as I can! G 

Chapter 79: Surprise Party the Second

Severus Snape

Winky gently awoke him. "Master should eat now, rest, then sleep. Master not go out."

He agreed with her, but he had promised to attend the Order meeting. He now knew it would be a party--yet if it turned out as well as last night's gathering had, he had little objection to it. "I won't be gone long tonight," he said. Severus dressed in somewhat better clothes than usual, though not the fancy dress robes. That would give away how much he already knew. He would play tonight by Malfoy rules, though, and selected a bottle of wine to give to his hostess. Molly deserved the same consideration that Narcissa did, if not more. He realized that today's Quidditch match must still be on, as the halls around his quarters appeared deserted.

Snape noticed he had a little bit of time, and decided to ask Poppy if Healer Williamson had sent her the results of his examination already. As he slowly approached the infirmary, he was surprised to see so much activity. He noticed one of his first years, and asked Mr. Andreas about the commotion.

"Oh, the Snakes and the Badgers really got into it this afternoon!" said the boy. "There was a huge collision in the middle of the field after some fights. MacMillan went after Malfoy over the Snitch, the Chasers from both sides joined in, and after that the Beaters flew in with their clubs swinging."

"Where's the rest of your group, young man?" Snape asked.

"We scattered like crazy when someone hit all the brooms in the middle with a no-fly spell, and everyone fell towards the ground. Professor McGonagall started transfiguring most of the grass on the pitch into pillows all over the field, but not everybody landed on them."

"Go back to your dormitory, Mr. Andreas, and try to find the members of your group along the way. I'll go see who's been hurt and find out more about what happened." He hadn't heard of anything like this since the Manchester Steamers and the Wimbourne Wasps had ended up in a group aerial duel, and both teams had been grounded for the remainder of the season. _I wish someone had told me,_ he fumed.

The Potions Master saw Madam Hooch in the hallway just outside the infirmary doors. "What happened? Is everyone all right?"

"A few broken bones and bruises, I think, but nothing drastic that I saw," the coach said. "I wish I could have thought of something besides a no-fly spell to break up that donnybrook, but I haven't seen anything like it since '85."

"How did it start?" After the mention of two Seekers and a Snitch, he could guess, but wanted to hear from someone on the scene. He leaned against a wall, listening for the answer.

Hooch threw up her hands. "It was the Puffs this time. MacMillan went after Malfoy for the Snitch, and even Pomona was not amused by how he did it. Frankly, it's the sort of thing I expect from—"

"Yes, yes, I've seen Marcus Flint with blood in his eye," he said.

"But yours have been a lot more civilized this year. I suppose there's so many fouls to go around, and if one team straightens up, the others have to pick up the slack. But MacMillan! I have no idea what his problem is, but I bet Sprout is going to find out. Well, Malfoy was holding his own till Mac actually rammed him, and then the wands came out. Your two Chasers came over to help, and then so did theirs, and so on. Sweet Merlin, that Bulstrode can throw a punch! Hagen's ears will ring for a week. Of course, she was knocked back a bit when someone else came in, and naturally, Mr. Crabbe took offense, and well, I'm just glad Minerva was there to soften the landing. Wish you could have been there, but we all know how sick you've been."

He took a deep breath. "I'd better go see who is hurt and who's going to be hurt when I am done with them."

"Good luck. And they've been playing so well this year, too."

Snape entered the infirmary, which was full of chaos. Poppy was dealing with the mob one at a time, but several students waiting in a corner didn't look as if they'd been sorted out yet. The Potions Master took a quick look at each one, pulled out two girls with head injuries sustained when stray brooms fell over in the stands, and sent them straight to Madam Pomfrey to be seen right now. With the rest, he wrapped bandages around the ribs of several and had them sit up straight to make it easier for them to breathe, and healed a few more on the spot. Those went back to their dormitories to clear the numbers out a bit. As he went, he heard scraps of how the fight had started, assorted accusations, and had to put one student in a Body Bind because the angry Hufflepuff clearly wasn't done. Between him and Poppy, they worked through everyone in less than an hour.

"You're supposed to be a patient," Pomfrey said, when she was finally sat down. "I have the file Williamson sent me, and I swear I'll look at it tonight."

"I'm going out for a little while this evening," he said, as he joined her in his office. Everyone who filled a bed was being _very_ good just now, especially after being glared at by both Snape and the mediwitch. "Would you find Winky helpful? Most of the troublemakers in my House are here already."

"Yes, I would. Dobby, too, if he isn't too busy when I summon him. I haven't had a mob like this in my infirmary since last spring, and I must say, I don't miss it. I'm glad you came along and helped to sort out people. I was trying to do that at first, but it's hard when I see something I can fix right away."

"You need a real assistant," Snape said, "and not just student helpers. I can imagine how this place could be even more crowded."

"So can I," she said in a low voice. "But you should stay in tonight. It's not—"

"No, just a quick Order meeting. The Headmaster said it should be over early."

"Well, I hope so. You look tired."

He shrugged. "I should be on my way, but I need to have a little talk with my Slytherins first. It sounds to me that they became a little overprotective, and it escalated from there. Unfortunately, by tomorrow morning everyone will think it's all their fault."

Poppy smiled faintly. "I know. It's just that there have been so many times when it was."

"True. Perhaps if I threaten my little darlings loudly enough, some of the Puffs will own up to their faults, too. They are an honest group, by and large."

"And if they think the Snakes are going to be punished by their own Head, they won't complain too much when Pomona lands on them."

Snape let a small laugh escape. "You know me all too well. Time to put the fear of the Big Snake in mine, though."

"Have fun. Try to stay out of trouble tonight. I had to put those two girls with the head injuries in the private room so they'd have some quiet."

"I'll do my best." He strode out of the office and into the main ward. He glared down at those patients that were, unfortunately, his. "Malfoy. Bulstrode. Crabbe. Mr. Rosier. Rookwood. Brown. I am not pleased. Malfoy, what happened?"

Draco had his left arm in a sling and looked pale. "I was going after the Snitch when the other Seeker started flying by my side and bumping into me. Well, I could manage that, Potty's good at it, too. But when I tried to fly off on a new course, he nudged me right into a Bludger. That hurt, and I said a few things to Mr. MacMillan. Both of us began behaving badly, and right now I couldn't tell you who threw the first hex. Both Rosiers saw the fuss and flew over to help. A couple of the Puffs followed them, and then our Beaters came in. I tried flying out of it, but by the time I was free of the mob, we were all falling. Mr. MacMillan landed on top of me, and that's what happened to the arm."

Snape nodded, and then glared at the tall Beater off to one side. "Miss Bulstrode. I am extremely surprised to see you in the middle of all this."

"But Dinny Hagen kicked Crabbe in the–" Her face turned red.

The others had similar stories. Snape watched the Hufflepuffs, in their own little group, out of the side of his eye while he listened to them. Most of them looked thoughtful, with few expressions of protest against the tales told by his own.

The Potions Master scowled at his students. "I am deducting one hundred points from Slytherin and we will forfeit our next game. Is that clear?"

There were faint murmurs of protest, but Draco nodded. "I understand, sir."

"I hope you do. It is indeed a good thing to help protect one another, but in Quidditch there are rules, and Madam Hooch attempts to enforce them against everybody. In this situation, all of you clearly overreacted. Had you remained involved in the actual game, you could have turned the situation to your advantage. There is a reason you are supposed to practice penalty shots. I will speak to you later, and each of you will tell me what you could have done instead of what you actually did. Now," he said in a voice that was less harsh, "go to sleep and heal. Any team meeting will wait till tomorrow at the earliest." Then he changed his voice to his silky 'you are so doomed' mode. "No fighting or hexing any of the other patients while you are here, or you will wish you had stayed quiet instead."

All of his injured Slytherins nodded. He continued. "I will return later this evening and check on you. I had best hear that you have been behaving yourselves." He walked out, hoping the dunderheads would listen to him. He did not envy Madam Pomfrey a roomful of combative Quidditch players from rival teams. However, he knew they would probably behave around Winky, whom he quickly sent for in case Poppy forgot. She had settled _his_ temper at times merely by looking pathetic. He also told her that she was allowed to offer bribes of ice cream to those behaving themselves if Madam Pomfrey allowed.

Snape went to the Headmaster's office, the bottle of wine still in his outer robe pocket. He gave the password for the safe house to the Floo, briefly glared at Fawkes who still wasn't happy in his presence, and went through. He brushed off the soot, and was glad he'd worn better clothing than usual when he saw everyone else dressed well. The Headmaster smiled, and then waved his wand at the Floo to close it at both ends for now. Moody nodded briskly at him, and Lupin greeted him cheerfully. Miss Tonks had been ensconced well away from anything breakable, but seemed glad to see him as well. Even Shacklebolt and Fletcher were here.

He heard Molly humming to herself in the kitchen, while his nose informed him something delightful was going on out there. The Potions Master held the bottle of wine and quickly went to see what could be on the stove. Cabbage soup was part of the menu, but other marvelous smells emanated from the oven.

"Mrs. Weasley," he said, proffering the wine. "I don't know if this will go with the food properly, but you can keep it for your own cellar if it doesn't."

She turned after setting the spoon to keep stirring the soup, and smiled at him. "Why, thank you, professor. You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," he said, and put the bottle on the table. Molly's face was slightly flushed from the heat, while small tendrils of hair had worked themselves free of what might have been an elaborate coiffure. He barely restrained himself from smoothing her hair back down. In fact, her dress was more low-cut than usual. It was really all he could do not to lick off a small gravy spot on top of her plump boson. No, it was for the best if he didn't go back to Williamson. His desire for another man's wife would definitely land him in trouble otherwise.

She stepped forward and picked up the bottle. "I have no idea of what kind of wine goes with what food. I'll just open it anyway, and I'll wager nobody turns down a glass. Now go sit down and rest. It's nice to see some color in your cheeks for once, but we all know you won't be all the way better till the Swiss are finally done with you. Dinner won't be ready for a little while anyway, and you'll have time to catch up with the rest."

"Of course," he said, reluctant to leave. He forced himself to do so anyway, and went back into the parlor. A seat by the fire was empty for a change. Had the others left it for him? Despite his usual wish to hide in the shadows, he sat down on the warm chair by the hearth and tried to enjoy himself.

"Well, Severus, did you find out what happened with that Quidditch game?" Albus asked, clearly trying to start the conversation rolling.

"More or less. Both Seekers were headed towards the Snitch, became overexcited, and began hexing each other. Two of my Chasers went to help, and it escalated from there. I took a hundred points from Slytherin and called the next game a forfeit."

"You do realize next week's match was going to be against Gryffindor," Lupin said. "That will put my team ahead of yours in the standings. It's pretty close to the end of the first part of the season, too. You might have given up the Cup."

"Only temporarily. I think my Snakes will gain it back in the spring when the next half of the season starts." He wanted to complain about the Hufflepuff team's unusual behavior, but decided to let it go. The truth would come out fairly soon anyway. "I realize, of course, that Quidditch is life and death and so on, but there really are more important things."

Moody looked up from his snifter. "I never thought I'd see the day when I heard you say that," he growled.

"You may thank the Swiss and their potions," Snape said, too tired to argue with the retired Auror. He still had to fight back a few unpleasant memories after speaking with the Rosier twins that morning about their Uncle Evan, but he wanted Molly to see him at his best tonight. "I'm sure it won't be the first time the clinic has heard the gratitude of those who must live with their patients. After all, I'm not the first Potions Master they've done their best to poison. A pity _you_ have no such excuse, Moody."

The older wizard snorted in disdain, though Snape noticed smiles creeping around the room on the faces of the others. Yes. He should have remembered how Lucius could quietly manipulate a conversation to advantage years ago. Not all the lessons he'd learned from Malfoy were bad, and this time one of them was proving quite useful. He'd allowed Black and the others to provoke him for too long.

The Potions Master sat back and tried to look genial after drawing a cup from the common teapot. At least here he would not be forced to imbibe anything that might really make him lower his guard. He knew how badly that would end for him.

Albus beamed happily at everyone, clearly having something extra in his tea. Well, why shouldn't the Headmaster enjoy an evening off? _At least I don't normally have to deal with the Ministry, or why Fudge is still alive. I don't understand how Lucius was able to avoid using an Unforgivable on the Minister last year. I'm sure Narcissa became as bored as I did at the way her husband shrieked about the man._

Was Fudge truly that stupid, or only much better than anyone dreamed at acting the Dense Hufflepuff? Snape considered the matter, and remembered a few things he'd seen during the hearing that argued the second rather than the first. Surely, Dumbledore must know, or suspect, what the Minister of Magic was actually like. Then again, that might drive anyone to drown his sorrows!

Snape quickly caught the teapot before it tumbled over as the ever-clumsy Tonks attempted to refresh her cup. She murmured an embarrassed thank you, though one would think she would be used to this sort of thing by now.

Her hair was an especially fluorescent shade of bright green tonight. The Potions Master decided he could make conversation and satisfy his curiosity at the same time. "Miss Tonks," he asked, "do Muggles really dye their hair that color?"

"Not all of them, but enough so I don't stand out as much I do here," she said. "Although given the hexes flying in some of my old classes, nobody noticed a little thing like hair color as much as you might think."

It was gratifying to see that she could speak without cluttering it up with slang. "That reminds me of a Potions class several years back," he said. "This was before I realized just what the Weasley twins were capable of, though I never quite believed in their innocence routine. We were working on a Healing draught, and the first thing I knew, half the class had turned into birds of various species. The twins swore they had nothing to do it, of course, which I did not believe. Not much later, they came up with their first Canary Creams and were trying them out on students all over school. At least the effects of their jokes don't last very long, even those loathsome Skiving Snacks."

That started a round of stories about the twins, and Snape didn't have to talk for a while. Even Dung Fletcher had a contribution to this part of the conversation. He'd stolen an Extendible Ear, though to hear him tell it, he had somehow just found one in his hand one day, and ended up having to let it go once it had transformed into a small snake and wiggled away. "But that gave me a thought, Guv'nor," the thief said, turning towards the Headmaster. "That might be a good way to sneak a few of them into places I can't actually plant them. Someone could have a word with the boys and work out something. If the Ears can turn into snakes, maybe they could turn into something else and not be noticed so much while still working."

"That's a good idea, Mr. Fletcher," said Dumbledore. "And since they're new, spells used to detect other ways of listening in might not find them, at least not yet. I would also like the boys to think of other methods. If these are discovered, I'd like to have a backup plan."

Snape was in favor of anything that gained the Order information with less risk than their current system. One of the things he regretted about knowing he was going to die, if not this year, then the next, was that Draco would probably endure the worst of spying for the Order. If those idiot twins could make his godson's life easier or longer, he was all for it. _I should make up a small potions kit for him to carry, and make sure he knows how to brew any replacements._ He mentally added that to the staggering list he already had. _I'll have to sit down sometime tomorrow and make a formal one,_ he thought. _Flitwick was right about concentrating on what I need to do, rather than wallowing_.

As the conversation moved on, Tonks stood and wandered over to look at a bookshelf. Snape gestured at Fletcher to join him by the fire. "I have a young Slytherin student this year. Mr. Andreas was an apprentice to old Mr. Bartholomew before he received his letter, and will probably go back to Knockturn Alley this summer. I've half a mind to let the boy continue his studies there."

"Mr. Bartholomew?" Fletcher's eyes lit up. "They say he still uses the suit of bells for his final test."

"I wouldn't know. I imagine Mr. Andreas does, and I shall ask him. It seems to me that you might be able to teach the boy a few things as well. He knows the Alley, but not much magic yet. You use more spells than people think in your work."

"Ah," said the skinny, middle-aged man. "Not many figure that out. You're a downy one, and no mistake there."

"I lived several floors up from Nora's, across from the gin shop." Odd that they had never met till they'd started working together in the Order. Or perhaps they had, and never known it.

"Oooh, aristocracy then!" Fletcher said with a laugh.

Snape inclined his head. "I know. Better than sleeping out, even with the place like an oven in summer. However, we're talking about the boy now. You'll have to clear it with both me and the Headmaster, but this coming summer I think it wouldn't hurt to have him accompany you on a few patrols and see what it's like."

"They don't put me on Dursley watch any more," the thief said mournfully.

"Mr. Potter is not going back there unless he must, and then only for as short a time as possible," Snape said. "He's an official Weasley now, save for the name."

"Oh, right. The hearing and all. Word was you were roasted something fierce for losing it."

"Word was right. But that doesn't matter. My line of work is risky anyway. One of these days my luck will run out, and the Order will need information anyway. Will I be able to count on you to look after Mr. Andreas? I've already spoken to Moody, and he's not against it."

"It'd be right fun, training up someone new," Fletcher said. "Especially since he'll know half the drill already. Wish I could have 'prenticed under someone like Mr. Bartholomew, though. See, magic is all well and good, but when it comes right down to it, skill counts for more in a pinch."

"Why not arrange for some private lessons from the gentleman?"

The other man blinked. "Never thought of it. Mind, the old bastard charges the moon and stars for a bit of a brush-up…"

"Then I will contact him myself and arrange things while I talk to him about the boy," Snape said. "However, you are to teach Mr. Andreas everything you know in exchange." Even a first year Hufflepuff knew better than to give Dung Fletcher money directly. What did he _do_ with it all? The skinny thief had no known vices, save kleptomania, and yet he always seemed broke.

"Fair enough. They still call you the Long Man in the Alley, you know. See, some there end up rich, but hardly any of them makes it _out_ the way you did. Not many earn the money you do, and none of them legally. It's not like any of them have their pictures on the front page of the Prophet unless it's a death-box, either."

Snape blinked. He knew about the nickname, but didn't think it was more than just a handy tag. "Well, that's nice to know. I'd have a lot more if the Ministry didn't steal three-quarters of it."

"Truth is, Guv'nor, they think you're rich as a Malfoy, but live and dress the way you do to hide it. The only part of the Ministry they see is where someone from the government is cracking down on honest working folk for a handout. If they knew how much the blighters took from you they'd think you were insane to keep on the right side of the law at all."

"Don't tempt me!" He laughed, but without any humor.

"Oh, yeah, nearly forgot. This was supposed to be a birthday party to make up for the one Mad Bella threw you, so I brought a bit of something." Fletcher pulled a grubby package from one of his voluminous pockets.

"How long do I need to hide it, and whom from?" Snape asked, not quite joking.

"You wound me! In honor of the occasion, I actually _paid_ for this!" the thief said with a grin. "I might have nicked something on the way out, but…"

"Did they faint?"

"Near enough. Now open it up."

The Potions Master took the paper apart. It held only a few bits of silverware, but ones with the family crest on them, a stylized serpent with a couple of lines for wings. "Where—where did you find these?" he asked, swallowing hard. He knew it was a waste of time and money to put together the few remains of his family heritage, but he couldn't bring himself to stop the effort entirely.

"Some little hole in the wall three blocks past the wand-man," Dung said. "I told them you'd pay well for any more like these. You might want to have a look round the next time you're near the place."

"I think I will. Not only do I want to talk to Mr. Bartholomew about lessons, but I'm thinking about using some of the boys who run the streets for information."

"I've done some of that already. If you pay off the old man, he'll probably let you borrow his lads, too." Fletcher yawned. "Oh, and you'll want to hear this. I wandered by that Muggle gym where the Potter boy and his fat cousin worked out last summer. Your old friend Macnair was using the place. I left fast enough, I don't think he made me, but I thought you'd like to know. Since the lad's not going back, the huntsman will find the place a dry well soon enough, but I thought you'd want to know. Already told the Headmaster, of course."

"Thank you." It felt odd to have such an interesting conversation with the scrubby little man. In some ways he was less impressive than Pettigrew, but stranger things had happened already. He hadn't dealt much with Fletcher in the past; he reeked too much of Knockturn Alley, and Snape had worked too hard to escape the place. Tonight it was comfortable to talk with someone who didn't play Order or Circle games, and who knew where Nora's was without making a sour face over it.

He looked down at the few pieces of old silver, barely a place setting, then wrapped them up and put them in an inner pocket of his robe. Winky wouldn't mind cleaning the set and putting them out on the Head Table for him. In fact, she'd love being asked to do more.

"So, how's Moldy Oldy these days?"

Snape blinked. He didn't remember _that_ bit of rhyming cant, and hoped it wouldn't stick in his head or pop out at the wrong moment. "If you're talking about _him_, there's speculation about Mad Bella with the usual bad jokes about snakes. Out of earshot, naturally, no one's quite that stupid. I didn't see much of him last Saturday, and I was too busy screaming not long after he left to notice much about her, either."

"Ah. Heard there was a new hex out and about." Dung glanced about nervously.

"Two of them. One to blank out a mind and the second to bounce spells off, unless there's something special on your arm. I'd…I'd rather take another _Crucio_, even where _she_ put it, than the first one again." Severus took a deep breath.

"Nasty business, that." Fletcher looked into the fire. "Good to see you better. The Alley has to hold up its end in the war, too. Moldy Oldy wants to meddle in everything, bad for business or not."

"Tell me about it." Snape finished his cup. The smells from the kitchen were driving him mad. That couldn't be a proper pot of _schchi_ in there—he'd found one Muggle place that almost made it right, but not quite.

The smaller wizard smiled. "They said the weird potions you're on made you more human. I told'em that wasn't possible. Glad to see I was wrong."

"It's one of the side effects they warned me about. I plan to write the manufacturer with a complaint," the Potions Master said blandly.

He ducked as Fletcher brayed with laughter and sprayed whiskey along with it. "Plan to write the manufacturer! Give him an Order of Merlin along with it!"

Snape was about to scowl and dose up some more sarcasm, when Molly stood in the entranceway and called everyone in for dinner. He noticed that even Mad-Eye seemed pleasant tonight. Clearly, he had stepped into some sort of alternate dimension. No doubt they felt the same way about him, judging by the thief's comments. Well, he'd enjoy it as long as he could.

The cabbage soup was as close to _schchi _as he could remember, quickly followed by a dish of sour cream set out to go with the fried pies that smelled of meat and vegetables. Of course, the recipe for _piroschki_ had always been somewhat flexible, at least when his mother had made them, but sour cream always went with them. He took a bigger bowl of the soup than was probably wise, and eagerly spooned the sour cream on top of one of the pies.

"I wondered what the sour cream was for," Molly said, who sat at his left hand.

"I don't know where you found the recipes, but things look like they turned out well," he said. The Potions Master glanced around the table. Dumbledore was in the position of honor, which was the way it ought to be. For a brief instant, a memory of Sirius Black hovered there, like a malevolent ghost. He let it pass. Everyone was pretending tonight not to be the way they had been last year, and so he would pretend right back. The smell of the soup was comforting, and made him feel safer than was probably true. Besides, sitting next to Molly Weasley on one side and Tonks on the other distracted him so much that Black could come back from the dead and it still wouldn't bother him…much.

He found some Swiss ale in his glass, but drank it anyway. If he really wanted to be true to his mother's heritage, he ought to have some peppered vodka, but he had more sense than that. Karkaroff had forced some on him a long time ago, and he'd never liked it.

The Headmaster kept the conversation going with Molly's help. Snape interjected an occasional comment merely in the interest of passing the Quaffle, so to speak. Even Moody appeared more mellow than usual and ate his fill, no matter how loudly he complained about foreign muck.

Somewhere in the process, Severus realized he'd actually eaten everything on his plate. That hadn't happened for a long time, at least not without concentrating on it. He knew he'd better refuse seconds, though, no matter how wonderful everything smelled and tasted. "Please don't be offended, Mrs. Weasley, I enjoyed every bite," he said, after she'd offered him more food. "In fact, I enjoyed it so much I would rather keep it down. That might not be the case if I had too much."

She patted his hand. "That makes sense," she said. "I'm just so used to the scavengers I normally see around my table. If there's anything left, I'll wrap up the dishes for you to take back to Hogwarts."

"I'm afraid that Winky will be mortally offended if I do," he said, though there was nothing better than _schchi_ the next morning.

"Oh, dear, you're probably right. I did write out the recipes, though, and how I changed them. Maybe she wouldn't mind that."

"She'd be delighted to have a new excuse to play in the kitchen," he said. "Thank you."

"Well, I need to clear," Molly announced to everyone, most of whom were done with their food as well. "Professor, you just sit right there. Nymphadora, dear, see if you can find the cards out in the parlor. The rest of you, please leave for a bit till the table's ready for the game."

Snape didn't know if he was really up for anything like that tonight, but decided not to complain. It was still quite early in the evening, and he didn't want it to be over. It was worth it to have Molly to himself for a while, even if he felt like a cad sitting while she worked.

Once the others were gone, he allowed himself to nurse a second glass of the ale. _After all, it's helping to settle my dinner. Surely, there's no harm in that._

"I wish you could lie down, professor, but Poppy told me that only makes your indigestion worse," she said, as she spelled the plates and silverware toward the sink.

"It does," he said. "I'm fine right now. I haven't had a meal like this in years. There are a few Muggle restaurants that serve Russian food, but I haven't been to one in a long time." He quietly belched into a napkin.

"Well, then. I know you don't like it with too many people around, so if you don't mind _my_ company, we can talk while I'm doing these up."

"Not at all," Severus said. If he had any real reason to let Williamson torture him with those wretched little snakes, she was here in the kitchen chatting with him. Even though his body wasn't reacting the way it had in the past around Molly, he still warmed his soul next to her as if she were a hearth in the dungeons.

"I never knew your mother was a foreigner," she said, all the while filling the sink with soap and water. Her hair curled slightly as she stood by the moist heat. "Narcissa didn't say much about her when I asked." She clapped one hand to her mouth. "And she said not to talk about her, and I forgot."

"That's all right, Mrs. Weasley," he said. It was more like being home here, and now, than it had ever been for him since he was little.

"That's Molly to you, and don't you forget it!"

_Molly_. The word felt like honey and milk on his tongue as he let it roll around his mind. He tried it out for use. "Of course, Molly." The taste was even better using her name openly. "But really, I don't mind talking about my mother, at least not to you. She was sick a lot, but I learned how to help. When she was able, she put together meals much like this. My memory makes them banquets, of course." Especially when he had been much younger, before they'd had to move. Marya Snape had become much worse in Knockturn once it was clear there was no going back to the cottage again.

"Whatever happened to them?" she asked. Her face was turned away, and her arms elbow-deep in the sink.

"They're both dead, and have been for some years," he said. "I…I don't want to talk about that part." It was quite possible, and indeed likely, that she didn't know. There had been so much else going on during those years. Given the ages of Bill and Charlie, no doubt she'd already had plenty on her hands at the time. In fact, now that he counted back, Percy had been born just a year or perhaps less after his parents' deaths.

"Oh, dear," she said, turning her head back towards him. "I did step into it that time. This is supposed to be a pleasant evening for you, and here I go with my foot in it again. I—I hope it wasn't the Ministry, or anything like that."

"No," he said. "It was a long time ago, really. It doesn't bother me as much as it used to." After all, what chance did his old memories have against newer ones? He'd never thought anything could be worse than those old rooms in Knockturn Alley or the gin shop across the street. He knew better now.

She rinsed the dishes, and then stacked them to dry on their own. "There. Now I know you don't drink much, and I can't blame you, not with your responsibilities. Surely you can have a cup or two of punch tonight? I will admit it's stout enough to curl hair, or in little Hermione's case, straighten it, but the Headmaster or Remus will help you home if it hits you a bit harder than it ought to."

"That's a smaller amount than you think!" He almost laughed. "The last time I had more than a teacup's worth of Firewhiskey, Hagrid had to clean the floor of his hut."

"Which I'm sure it could have used anyway," Molly said briskly, but with a smile. "This punch tastes as mild as mother's milk, even though it isn't. I'm sure it'll set much better than that vile Ogden's."

He reluctantly allowed her to cajole him into trying a cup after she levitated the bowl out from the shelf where it had been steeping, a cover over it to keep dust and whatnot out. Snape sipped the punch carefully. It didn't taste strong, but he could tell right away that he should be careful with it. "Made from apples, I should think," he said after the first swallow.

"Yes, and it's easier on the pipes than Nanny's scumble. That would eat through Mad-Eye's flask, hit the floor, and keep going for China." Her eyes were brighter after she had served herself. She called the others in, passed around the cups, stuck the ladle in the bowl and told them they were on their own.

Tonks brought in a deck of worn cards. Molly took them and began shuffling them. "This is an Exploding Snap set, but is there anyone here who doesn't know the other version?"

"Snapdragon, Molly?" Albus asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, we have one at the table," Tonks said recklessly, who had already drained her first cup of punch. "I mean, either exploding or a dragon, but I don't know which tonight."

For once, the silly comment didn't bother him. "If I had a Knut every time I've been called Exploding Snape, I could afford to bribe _Malfoy_," he said. "The game should be called Exploding Longbottom."

That one garnered a few laughs. Moody even smiled a little, while the Headmaster beamed like a roomful of wands, all doing _Lumos_.

It was easy to stay calm with Molly on one side and Miss Tonks on the other. For one thing, he felt safer when he knew precisely what the young Auror was doing. After all these years watching idiots melt their cauldrons, he preferred keeping the clumsy ones close. Granted, with Molly there, it didn't really matter who else was in the room.

Lupin cleared his throat. "Before we start the game, I have a little something for you, Severus. I meant to give this to you last night, but the owl carrying it didn't show up till this afternoon." He pushed forward a small package.

"Thank you, Lupin." Snape opened it, and it was from the same confectioner who made the Headmaster's lemon drops. These, however, were cinnamon. He inhaled the overpowering scent with ill-concealed pleasure. Of course, the wolf would know what Molly smelled like at times. He detected the under-notes of vanilla and something that was almost buttermilk, but not quite. A pity that the wolf was so allergic to silver—clearly, he would have made an excellent brewer in his own right otherwise. "I shall enjoy these."

"There's a reorder slip at the bottom if you want to send for more," Lupin said. "I hope they managed to meet my specifications."

"Yes, they did." He tasted one. It was spicy rather than sweet, and even the aftertaste was pleasant. No doubt, his own change of odor around Molly had given him away.

"Well, as long as we're doing the presents now, here's one from the two of us," said Shacklebolt. The tall, dark-skinned Auror pulled out an envelope while Tonks leaned over eagerly.

Snape opened it, too. The gift was a certificate stating that he had an appointment to show up at the Ministry just after Christmas for the Practical Test. "I'm a little confused, Shacklebolt. I thought I was supposed to avoid the Ministry. What test is this paper talking about?"

"I know they'll never make you an Auror," the other wizard said. "Tonks and I thought it would be fun to run you through the Practical and see you throw a spanner into the curve. If you had gone through the standard training, you'd know it was a maze to pass through during a minimum amount of time. You would have also heard a dozen lies and half-truths circulating about it, too, but you're probably best spared those. Now, Dora, here, made it past one obstacle by tripping over a tree branch and finding the only safe passage through those fallen logs…"

"Well, some of us have to use our minds," she retorted. "_Other_ people ended up with a broken leg because _they_ thought it wouldn't be that hard to go over a wall instead of around it…"

Shacklebolt blushed nearly purple, but continued. "Oh, and try to remember your name is Perseus Evans that day. Tonks thought it would be best to try you after Christmas so you'd be rested up for once. I know you're used to unfair odds, so this ought to be a walk in the park for you. She and I plan to retire on you making a new record."

Snape allowed a brief smile to appear on his face. He wondered how well he'd do on that particular test. "Am I allowed to bring a broom?"

"No," Tonks said, though she looked regretful. "I thought of that, too, and it was confiscated at the gate. But you know, people have been known to transfigure things during the test, or they're better at sneaking them in than I am."

The Potions Master shook his head. "Not my strong point, except rather small things." Then he smirked, thinking of how that could be useful. "Perhaps I ought to practice transfiguring _very_ small things."

"Why would that make a difference?" Fletcher asked. The small wizard's nose was quite red by now.

"If you could change dragon's blood into soup, I suspect the dragon would not be terribly pleased," Dumbledore said, clearly following the train of thought.

"Or motes of dust into tiny knives," Moody said. "But the caster would breathe them in at the same time unless he took precautions.

"I hadn't thought of that one," Snape said, hoping he would remember this later. "I was thinking more along the lines of changing fleas into somewhat larger fleas and watching the fun." _Dances with wolves, sleeps with fleas…_he thought.

"I remember a Muggle story about Merlin where he used his Animagus abilities during a duel," Albus said. "Of course, the tale had him and his opponent changing into all sorts of animals, but the kind that won the fight was a germ, which apparently replicated _very_ quickly, and made his opponent so sick that he was declared the winner."

"I wonder if there are any witches or wizards who become that small when they change?" Tonks asked. "I can't change into anyone much smaller than I am, or much bigger either. I can _look_ different sizes by changing my proportions, but I can't change my actual weight that much."

"Professor McGonagall's cat form is much smaller than she is," Snape said.

"Yes, and fancy my terror when I found out that Skeeter can become a beetle," Fletcher said. "Made me terrified of my own cloak for a while."

"Well, if you cleaned it more than once a year, it would help," said Moody.

The Potions Master remembered that Frank Longbottom had been able to change into a hamster, which was even less useful than Wormtail's rat in many respects. Yet the man had shown absolutely no fear in human form, which had led to his and his wife's present condition in St. Mungo's. He remembered how their son had cherished the gum wrapper from Droobles'. Perhaps it was the only way the healers could persuade them to take their medication.

_Or anything else._ He was going to have to mention this possibility to Albus. Perhaps he ought to run a lab on analyzing some commercial sweets once he was through teaching the Wolfsbane Potion, or offer it as a project to the seventh year students as a 'treat' to take their minds off the NEWTS for a few days. That way he could find a baseline on what the standard gum was supposed to contain, and see if Mr. Longbottom could fetch a sample or two of what his parents were ingesting.

"I suppose I should give you this," Mad-Eye growled, and set a small parcel on the table.

Snape opened it cautiously. The old Auror sometimes had an exotic sense of humor and enjoyed finding out who actually _practiced_ "Constant Vigilance." Once he had worked his way through three boxes and more wrapping paper than he cared to mention, almost none of which exploded, he found what looked like a small, blank piece of paper. _Right_. The Potions Master waved his wand over it to reveal what was written.

All he found were a few lines at the bottom. _The bearer of this paper has done what was done by the order of the Ministry. Cornelius J. Fudge, _complete with signature and seal.

"Are you quite certain you want me to have this, Moody?" Snape was stunned by the enormity of the gift. He could write quite a lot with the right kind of quill in the space above the signature.

"Wouldn't have given it to you if I hadn't," the Auror said with a scowl.

"You realize, of course, what a fearful temptation you have posed me."

"I'd be disappointed if I hadn't."

Severus knew he dare not carry this on his person. The time might come when he would have to use this, but it was not now. "Then I hope you don't mind if I transfer it to the Headmaster for safekeeping," he said. "I should not like this to fall into the wrong hands."

"Everyone knows Albus has a soft spot for you," Moody said, with grudging respect in his human eye. "You're wise to do that."

"I thought you might see it that way. Headmaster, if you would be so kind?"

Dumbledore gravely accepted custody. "I shall use it for your welfare alone," he promised.

Snape believed him. However, if he didn't survive Christmas, the Order would have another weapon against the Ministry if need be. Molly smiled at everyone, clearly enjoying her own punch, and he was gratified to see how even Moody melted under her benevolent gaze.

He took up his cards after the first shuffle, and wondered how to improve his hand. Cheating was not only allowed in Snapdragon, it was almost encouraged. Since the forfeits involved were usually more intimate than at some parlor games, one's position at the table was most important.

_Albus may be sitting at the head, but I have the best seat. Perhaps it was planned that way. If so, I'm not complaining. _He was surprised that Moody was on Nymphadora's other side, rather than Shacklebolt's, but the other man hadn't said anything so far. _With Molly on my left side and Miss Tonks on my right, I should be the happiest man here._ He was glad to pretend all this was real, especially when Molly took the fewest tricks and kissed him on the cheek for the loss.

Maybe in some strange way it was.

Alastor Moody

He took another swig of whiskey from his flask and chased it with a cup of Molly's punch. His magical eye had told him it was harmless, at least to those with hard heads like him. The sour Potions Master looked far sweeter tonight, as if so much goodwill directed at him had turned his head. Or perhaps it was the punch. Moody could tell how strong the stuff was under the mild taste. Between the ale Snape had had at dinner and this punch, the younger wizard was probably in over his head. He knew their spy had good reasons for not indulging much, but not being in practice could have consequences on a night like this.

Mad-Eye had been surprised at the Slytherin's lack of foul humor. Of course, it did help that Black was no longer around. Why Dumbledore ever thought the two could work together was beyond him. It would have been better to keep Snape away from the rest of them entirely, as far as he was concerned.

Yet, there had been times last year when only questions from him or Shacklebolt had brought out information that the Order had needed. The Headmaster didn't think of everything, despite his reputation for omniscience. _Even I could see the dog was telling the Boy-Who-Lived the wrong things. Wouldn't he roll over in his grave if he could see how we're making up to his favorite chew toy tonight! And in his house, too!_ Moody wasn't sorry about the gift, though. Handing it over to Dumbledore in front of everyone had been clever enough.

_Why didn't I think of that?_ he wondered. _Why didn't I give it to Albus directly?_ Then he remembered why. He wanted to see what Snape would do with it. _So, the bastard's passed another test. Of course, he would do that with everybody watching,_ argued the part of him that would never trust a Death Eater. Oh, he'd never be fool enough to doubt Percy Weasley; the boy was as much his as if he wore an Auror's tattoo.

Alastor drank more punch. It was good to feel safe. It was good to see the space around him, to know he wasn't still trapped in that chest with only Winky and his own mocking face on Barty Crouch, Jr. to keep him company between long stretches of suffocating darkness. It was good to sit in the light of this kitchen, pick up cards and pretend he didn't have nightmares of that appalling year.

Moody felt part of his brain fuzz. That felt good, too. Maybe that was why Snape was allowing himself a second cup of the stuff himself. The Potions Master was doing a very good job tonight of fooling everyone into believing he wasn't the monster that Mad-Eye knew he was. Even Molly Weasley, whose family was in the most danger, was laughing and smiling at the dour wizard as if he was a favored suitor. The man was playing his cards just right, and not just the pasteboards on the table, either. Granted, his magical eye detected the sleight of hand Snape used to force his tricks so he would end up being kissed by the player on his left, and sometimes the younger girl on his right. Tonks didn't even look disgusted, though she knew herself just how bloody the spy's hands were.

_Stop it, you idiot, you're just jealous._ He didn't know whether it was seeing Molly kiss the spy or Tonks being so blatantly affectionate that drove him mad the most. Fortunately for Kingsley, the somewhat drunken Auror was also making kissing noises and little hand waves at her lover as well as at Snape. _And I have no one._

Moody wanted to kick himself for wallowing so much. At least he'd been married, and so had Albus, which was more than most of the people at this table could say. Grindelwald and Tom had ruined several generations of witches and wizards when he thought about it. _Snape's line isn't the only one tailing off like this. The male line of the Blacks is gone, the Malfoys only have Draco, the Goyles have just daughters left after this summer, and that lunatic Aberforth is the only one who managed to spawn among the Dumbledores. At least I have several cousins to carry on my family. _Then he remembered that Harry Potter was the only one left in his clan, too, and half Muggleborn at that. _Who knows how many Weasleys there would be if Arthur had married Arabella Parkinson the way he was supposed to? Molly's only a pureblood by courtesy, though there's said to be enough witches in her mother's line to fill a tapestry of their own._

_Gah! I'm worse than the Longbottom woman, who's eyeing half the Gryffindor girls and wondering which one she ought to snatch for her Neville! There's another line nearly gone. If it weren't for newcomers like Ted Tonks and Miss Granger, there wouldn't be a Wizarding World left by now. Of course, I used to think things would be a lot better if all the great families fell. More fool me._

He sighed, and looked at his cards, couldn't make anything with them, and glanced back up at the scene around him. It was true that Snape wasn't pushing his luck by trying for more than he could manage. The strange, shy light that shone in the Slytherin's eyes for brief moments almost made even Moody believe that the Potions Master didn't quite believe what was happening either. Dumbledore was beginning to turn uncertain, as if he wasn't quite as thrilled with the situation. Alastor had heard about the fever spell earlier in the week, but he knew that Albus would have removed the compulsion before it had a chance to take root the way it had in him. _Oh, I made a right fool of myself for a few weeks,_ he thought. _The Headmaster was right to smack me around and set me straight. Snape's going to be harder nut to crack, though, since he had it bad for the woman before any spell. Albus will have to take the whole heart out of the man to make any change there._

Moody thought of something. _Maybe the Headmaster hasn't removed that part of the spell yet, and is wondering if he should before it's too late. Oh, hell. I promised not to make a fuss when Remus figured it out. I'd be pleased enough if any woman was kissing me._

Then he realized that he really had had too much punch, and had better rid himself of some of it. He levered himself to a standing position with a sigh and hand from Tonks. He tottered down the hall to the loo, said farewell to used-up drink and dinner, and headed back to the kitchen. He met Snape coming the other way, no doubt on the same errand.

"I ought to test you for Polyjuice and the _Imperius_," Mad-Eye snarled. "Where is that bastard Snape and what have you done with him?

"I learned a _few_ manners when I lived with the Malfoys, Auror. I simply chose to remember them tonight," the Potions Master said in a silky voice.

Moody tried not to notice how the man's hands trembled slightly. Surely, it was only the punch. Snape just couldn't handle drink. "That's right, I keep forgetting it's all an act with you."

"Sometimes a pretense becomes a reality," Snape said. "Sometimes I even pretend the Order gives a damn about me. I don't understand why you gave me that piece of paper if you think I'm a fraud."

"I knew you'd give it to Dumbledore for safety's sake. Since he's the only person keeping you out of Azkaban, he's the only one you would trust it with." He didn't understand why he was so angry. He remembered last summer, and the bit of gorse he had put on the table for the man in front of him. For a moment, his fury subsided.

"I'm surprised you don't think I would hand it straight to _him_," the other man said with a sneer.

"With all of us watching? You're trying to convince us you're different this year. I must admit, you're doing a good job of it." _For one night, with that game of three truthful answers, you almost had me fooled, too._

"Perhaps I should have restrained my real feelings long before tonight," Snape said in a soft, menacing voice. "I might have convinced even you if I managed the charade for long enough."

"I doubt it." Moody noticed the contrast between the set, hard face of the wizard in front of him and the way Snape's hands curled up out of sight under the long sleeves of the robe. _Part of him is still afraid of me. Good._

"May we continue this conversation later? The food and drink are quite good tonight, but I seem to be digesting them. You are standing in the way of the process."

"Well, pardon _me_. I suppose I am being rude. Wouldn't do to show my manners any worse than yours." He stood aside while Snape passed. Once his former prisoner was out of the way, Moody checked his pockets. Well, well, well. He _did_ have some Veritaserum on him tonight. Wouldn't it be interesting to see what happened? Sometimes he had better results with a smaller dosage than with a standard one, especially with someone like Snape who had been soaked in it for a long time. The beauty of the stuff was that any obvious symptoms could be blamed on the punch. It might be fun to watch the snarky bastard alienate everyone the way he did last year, especially after all the trouble Snape had gone to show off his manners for the past few months. The old Auror smiled to himself, thinking of how Molly Weasley would stop beaming and look sad the way she had last year when the Potions Master had been around.

As he entered the kitchen again, he realized it would be difficult. Tonks and Molly were sitting right next to Snape's empty place and would notice anything out of the way. He'd have to wait for just the right moment to put a drop or two into the punch-cup.

The Potions Master returned, though he looked a bit pale. Now it would be almost impossible to reach across Tonks without anyone noticing. Even half a sheet to the wind, the spy paid more attention to his surroundings than half the veteran Aurors that Mad-Eye knew.

The game started again. In the middle of one hand, Tonks had to excuse herself. Her flushed face and bright eyes showed how much punch she'd had, too. All he needed now was a good distraction.

It came a few minutes later when Snape played a card on the pile in the middle and claimed his forfeit from Molly, even though the kiss should have come from Tonks' direction. Alastor knew he was, technically, the player on the right just now, but waved off the distinction. He'd hop on his wooden leg for five minutes if need be instead.

Just as the plump witch leaned forward and planted a hearty salute on the Potions Master's cheek, Arthur Weasley walked through the kitchen door and laughed. "See what happens the moment I'm gone? Molly dear, trying out my replacement?"

Moody splashed in the Veritaserum under the guise of being clumsy with the ladle while refilling his own cup. He'd probably end up with some of the stuff himself, unfortunately, given he'd placed the drops of the drug on the ladle, but it was worth it. Everyone was too busy looking at Arthur, including the Headmaster.

Molly blushed as red as her hair, and even Snape colored up. "Oh, Arthur," she said, "we were just being silly. Move over, everyone, someone fetch my husband a chair."

Snape shifted his seat once Moody scooted over to the right and pulled Tonks' empty chair with him. Mad-Eye carefully gathered cards together as the Potions Master morosely drank from the cup of doctored punch.

Arthur Weasley sat down on Molly's right, thus planting himself between him and the Slytherin. "Deal me in, sweetheart, if kisses are going round," he said cheerfully. He didn't seem upset, but Dumbledore seemed quite unhappy now. Snape had his head bent a fraction, while his hair fell in front of his face.

"Saved all the best ones for you, love," Molly sallied back, not looking a bit discomfited.

"Well, I should hope so. Wish I hadn't had to work late, and on a Saturday at that." Arthur glanced to the other side and spoke quietly. "Snape, this party was supposed to be for you. If Molly wants to light a few birthday candles, I'm not going to be upset."

The spy looked rather less like a whipped dog, then, and straightened up a little. "It wasn't my intention to cause trouble, Minister."

"I can't see where you have. Now it's my turn to try my luck at the game."

Molly dealt and everyone picked up their cards. Tonks returned, cheerily greeted Arthur Weasley, and fanned herself with her spread.

Moody could tell when the Veritaserum began affecting Snape, as his facial muscles relaxed a bit more than could be attributed to the punch. _I just hope I don't drool the way I did when I drank some during my final entrance exam,_ he thought, beginning to feel the small dosage he'd apparently ended up with as well. Every Auror had to be tested with it, of course, and their reactions noted in a file. _I still think it was a bit much to make me watch myself from a Pensieve—damn if I didn't look silly!—but it's necessary, probably. _

Yet in the next two hands, the Potions Master merely became subdued, as if all the fun had gone from the evening. Tonks lost the second one so badly she had to kiss both Snape and Moody, though Alastor could tell the Headmaster wasn't too concerned about that.

Just after, though, Snape laid down his cards and said, "Headmaster, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, it has been a pleasant evening, and I hate to leave it so soon. I am very thankful to be at this gathering, and I appreciate the gifts. However, I am quite tired and would like to return to Hogwarts. Is there any actual business tonight?"

"None that I know of, Severus," said Albus, who looked relieved.

_Well, he should. Arthur could have kicked up a fuss, Snape fall into a fit, and I would have enjoyed myself immensely. What a waste of good Veritaserum! He'll just spend the rest of the evening whinging to that little Winky, who'll believe every word. I wish I hadn't bothered now._ Moody nodded his head briefly in farewell.

"Of course, Headmaster." Snape slowly stood up, weaving just a little. "Mrs. Weasley, I must thank you for arranging this for me. This is the most pleasant time I have had here."

"I am so glad you were able to come," Molly said, standing as well. "Oh, I almost forgot! I made up some healing balm for you. It's good for um, really bad bruises and suchlike." She went back to the pantry and brought out a round, wide jar with a lid. "I hope it helps," she said as she handed it to him.

"I do, too." For a moment, the man's heart was in his eyes. Alastor hoped neither Dumbledore nor Arthur Weasley had seen it. _Merlin, I've been an idiot tonight. Maybe I should have another talk with Albus and make sure I'm not carrying anything left of that stupid fever spell compulsion myself. _

Then the Potions Master's face became a mask of horror as he dropped the jar, which Molly caught. He clasped his left arm. "No!" he howled. "Oh, Merlin, no!" He started banging his arm against the cupboard behind him. "No, no, no!"

"Severus," Albus said in a soft voice. "You know what you have to do."

"Not again!" Snape screamed. "What are they going to take from me this time?"

"Stop it!" Dumbledore commanded. "The rest of you, leave."

Molly left, still holding the jar, while Arthur followed her. Her mouth gaped open in shock. Alastor herded the other two Aurors, Lupin, and Fletcher out the door, and then slid back to the doorway to listen in.

"Sit down, Severus. He will think you're still at Hogwarts and will give you a little time."

Moody heard the scrape of chairs, and then sound of broken sobs. The last time he'd listened to those from Snape had been in Azkaban, over fifteen years ago.

"I know it's not right or fair for Tom to call you now," the ancient wizard continued in a soothing tone. "It never has been. You have never deserved what he's done to you, or what we've done to you either. You have to decide how much you can endure. I won't make you go."

"I have to. It hurts…" Snape spoke between gasping breaths, obviously trying to regain self-control. "Those idiot apprentices of mine…sometimes I can tell if they're being called, too, but I don't know tonight. Oh, I hope it's only me."

"Then finish up your cup and go. As soon as you do, I'll go back to Hogwarts and send out Hagrid to keep watch for your return. I'll have him keep an eye out for the others as well. They're my children, too."

Alastor stepped into the kitchen. "Here's a fresh cup," he said, quickly moving the tainted one aside and filling one that hadn't been used yet.

"No," Snape said, his face red and blotched. "I'd better take a potion so I don't show up there reeking of drink." He fetched a small vial from a pocket and drank it. Then he turned nearly green and left the room for a moment. When he returned, he was pale and smelled of sickness, but looked steadier. "I'm ready now. I'll take the Floo back to the school and go from there."

"Are you sure? Apparate from outside to some other location, then follow the Mark. I don't want you punished for being late." Albus looked worried.

"I have to find my mask and cloak," Snape said tonelessly, "and perhaps round up the others so we'll go as a group. I must leave now." He departed through the Floo in the parlor.

Alastor gave the punch in the fresh cup to Dumbledore, who drank it straight down. "I don't know if that's one of the nicest things you've ever done or the nastiest," he said.

"Both, I think." The Headmaster sat down. "I have probably sent him off to his death. I suppose you're going to tell me that he's only acting terrified and that he has me completely fooled."

"No," said Alastor, pouring a new cup for himself as well. "It was quite sincere."

"What did you put into his cup, anyway? Don't think I didn't notice you gave him a fresh one just now."

Moody's tongue was loosened enough to admit the truth. Besides, the Order had to know. "Veritaserum. Less than a normal dose, and I ended up with some of it, too, I think." Damn. He always started off by babbling.

"Why, Moody? _Why?_"

Mad-Eye had rarely seen Dumbledore in a fury, but knew he was going to face it tonight. "Too much punch on top of the Firewhiskey, I suppose," he said with a shrug. "I knew he couldn't pretend to stand us much longer, and I wanted to see him tell us what he really thought of our precious Order." He barely bit back his jealousy over the kisses from Molly and Tonks. Apparently, he really was that petty.

The Headmaster's blue eyes, usually so benevolent, became diamonds of focused rage. "He could die tonight because of your stupidity, Moody. Even if you don't care about that part, you and the other members of the Order could die, too."

"He puked up almost everything with that Sobering Potion, Albus."

"Veritaserum is absorbed quickly, as you well know. I saw the way you were watching him, and I didn't know why until now. He's already been affected."

"If it's any consolation, he can fight or talk his way around it better than anyone I know, Headmaster." Mad-Eye knew that despite the pain from his leg, that he had better remain standing. He needed to do anything he could do to show that he did take this seriously.

"You had better be right. Are you trying to _force_ him into becoming a traitor just to take him prisoner again?"

"No!" Moody said. Then he sighed. "Crap. I don't know. He said something about practicing his Malfoy manners here, and I wanted to know how far they'd stretch. I mean, it'd be easy for me to smile with Molly or Tonks kissing my cheek. I thought it'd be interesting to see how much he showed when off his guard. I must admit, you did glower at him nicely. Arthur coming in when he did was just a bonus."

The Headmaster sighed. "Now you know why he almost never drinks."

"I know, he must have thought he wasn't going to be called either. I also know I'm going to spend the rest of the night changing the wards on this place."

"At the very least," Dumbledore said sternly. Then his hard expression fell into an exhausted one. "Did I really glower at him?"

"Oh, I thought you were going to drag him out of the room and read him a lecture, if it weren't that Molly would ram a Howler up your arse if you did. If Arthur's not making a fuss, then why the hell do you care?"

"It's my turn to say I don't know." Albus drained his cup and filled it again. "I remember, now. I saw you having trouble with the ladle when Arthur came in, and wondered if you were going to stay the night after the party was over. You must have put the stuff on the ladle itself, that's why you ended up with a little bit yourself. You don't normally tell me everything up front, either."

Moody nodded. Even at his age, there were no flies on the Headmaster's ability to observe.

Dumbledore continued. "Don't ever whinge that Snape doesn't trust us in my hearing again. If…if he's still alive…" He paused a moment. "There should be a guard on the Burrow tonight—that, or the Weasleys should stay here. Snape doesn't know the wards on this house, but they should still be changed anyway."

"That was deliberate, I expect." Moody really wanted to sit down now, but knew he didn't dare.

"It was his idea. Damn it, Mad-Eye! What does he have to do to prove he's loyal?"

Alastor sighed. "I don't know. That reminds me. Why did he say, 'what will they take from me this time?'"

"You may as well know. Some of the effects of his injuries could be permanent unless he undergoes a truly horrific procedure extremely soon. He won't be able to take the pain potions he needs for it, either. And I am so petty that I would deny him a few kisses from Molly Weasley."

Moody felt smaller than he ever had in his life, since he'd heard where Bella had put that _Crucio_ when she was tormenting the Potions Master. He looked out of the entrance to the kitchen and noticed the others were carefully not listening. _No doubt they've heard every word,_ he thought glumly. He was certain of it when Dumbledore led them both to the parlor.

Lupin, Tonks, and Shacklebolt were studiously gazing at the fire, while Fletcher morosely played with a saltcellar that Moody could have sworn had been up in the attic only yesterday.

He also heard soft noises from a room nearby. _Molly Weasley, crying over that poisonous bastard?_ The old Auror moved his attention back to the parlor as Dumbledore spoke.

"You probably heard. Someone please tell the Weasleys that I am going back to Hogwarts to make what preparations I can. I All the codes are to be changed _tonight_, and if possible, in the next couple of hours. Auror Moody will change the wards on this house. I strongly advise Molly and Arthur to stay for the night while we set up new protections around the Burrow."

"No, Headmaster," Arthur said, as he and his wife came back into the parlor. "Harry had his adoption rite there this afternoon. We _must_ sleep in the Burrow tonight. We'd appreciate anyone you can spare to help keep watch, of course, but I'm sure you understand how important this is."

Mad-Eye nodded, knowing how such things worked. Both members of the couple had a lot of relatives, some living in places unknown even to him. All those links could help keep the Boy-Who-Lived out of trouble. Well, as much as anything could.

Molly looked miserable. "If only I hadn't pushed so much punch on him. I keep forgetting he isn't used to it."

"Moody, why don't you tell her what you told me?" Albus said.

_I deserve this,_ he thought. "Mrs. Weasley—Molly—it really isn't your fault. I thought I was going to have a bit of fun with Snape, and put a drop or two of Veritaserum into his cup while he was distracted. That's the real problem, you see."

Her lips trembled. "Why—why would you do a thing like that? He has so many secrets he has to keep, or he'll die. You put something on the table for him when he was dying. I saw how you helped him the time he was so sick from that terrible meeting, you know, where he became a member of the Inner Circle. I don't understand it."

He would rather have faced a dozen Howlers fueled by the rage that only Molly Weasley could summon than face this bewilderment. "I don't know either," he said in a low voice. "I wish I hadn't done it."

"Molly and I are going home now," Arthur said with authority. "Come on, sweetheart. He'll make it. He always has before." They left through the front door and Apparated away.

Dumbledore went up to the fireplace. "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office," he said, and passed through.

Lupin came up to Moody, his light brown eyes burning gold. "Was it worth it, Moody? _Was_ it? I was used to this kind of thing from Sirius. I'm almost glad that Snape couldn't eat or drink here last year, because I'm sure my friend would have thought your prank was funny. But I thought _you_ were an adult. The Headmaster may forgive you eventually. I've noticed he's in the habit of doing that with people who hurt Snape, including me. However, you might want to remember that nobody else is trained to make the Wolfsbane Potion for me yet. You had better stay indoors during the next full moon."

Mad-Eye was taken aback. He'd never seen the mild man like this, even when Black had been enough to drive a Hufflepuff mad. "I see," he said, and was afraid he did.

"Good," said the wolf. He left out the front door.

Tonks turned to Shacklebolt. "Well, we'd best be off to the Burrow," she said, and drank from a small vial of her own. Her hair turned several colors in succession, while a couple of freckles chased each other across her face, but then she settled down. "Glad the Sobering Potion doesn't make _me_ puke." The two Aurors departed.

The only other person left was Dung Fletcher. "Now you know what it's like," said the thief, sadly shaking his head. "You looked at me like that when that Dementor almost kissed the boy. All I did was to nick off for a bit, not steal Potter's wand from him or anything like that. Guv, why'd you _do_ it?"

"Because I was stupid," Moody snapped. "Well, since you don't have another duty post tonight, you can help me change the wards."

"Oh, wonderful," Mundungus said. "For once I behave myself and I still end up with punishment detail. Are you sure you want me to know about the new wards? After all, I'm scum of the earth, too."

"Probably not. But if we want them changed by dawn, I can't it do it all myself as much as I wish I could."

"All right, but you do the basement. It still smells horrible, between where Buckbeak lived and Lupin's old cage."

"Done," Moody said sourly, though he really hated stairs. He knew this little task would be the least of his penance. If Snape died, it was possible Dumbledore would see to it that _he_ ended up in Azkaban.

He would deserve it, too.


	80. Chapter 80: Don't Like Spiders, Snakes

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too. Any errors in phrasing are mine alone (darn it!).

Author's warning: this chapter contains explicit and awful magical surgery (yes, I foreshadow for a reason…). Feel free to page down through the icky parts.

Chapter 80: I Don't Like Spiders and Snakes

Voldemort

The Dark Lord sat in the parlor of his ruined mansion. Bella had been temporarily banished from his presence for excessive good cheer. He contemplated the letters he'd received during the past week, now lying on his desk. He read the latest of that number, which had come only this morning from Lucius Malfoy. The man clearly had several guards in Azkaban in his pocket.

_Most precious Lord,_ it began, and went on for several paragraphs of inane flattery. Then it went to the heart of the matter. _I have heard that Professor Snape's recovery from his much-deserved punishment is likely to be complicated. As he is still on that hideous regimen from the Swiss clinic due to Ministry regulations, he was unable to use the proper potions to heal from Madam Lestrange's imaginative efforts. In fact, I have been informed that he may suffer permanent consequences, ending his family line, because of his ordeal. I am certain you are aware of this, most puissant Lord, and have consented to it. However, should you change your mind, I understand there is a treatment for his condition. I have investigated this procedure on my wife's behalf, but I fear it is said to be extraordinarily painful. I hesitate to recommend anything that would cause the professor further agony. However, the specialist who developed it is said to have uttered opinions not favorable to the current Ministry, and may be sympathetic to our friend's plight. It would be sad to see such a famous line end, especially since he is still a member of the Inner Circle, though in temporary disgrace. _

That was followed by several paragraphs of blatant sycophancy, and the work of art that was Lucius Malfoy's signature.

Lucius Malfoy. Mrs. Goyle. Arvid Rosier. Mrs. Crabbe. Those were only the ones brave enough to put pen to paper and inquire discreetly about his Shadow. Even Walden Macnair had wondered out loud just how badly Snape had been hurt—he'd heard some gossip from his nephew at Hogwarts. That didn't count those who had sent cards to Madam Pomfrey while she'd been at St. Mungo's. His informant had spotted them when chatting with the dear woman. Obviously, letting Bella use _that_ hex had been a serious error. The entire younger generation that had gone to Hogwarts knew and generally liked the old mediwitch. _She must be much nicer than old Madam Hannigan. Of course, the bitch always hated me because she knew I was the one who told everyone where she kept her bottle. Apparently this Madam Pomfrey is truly dedicated. My informant was clear that if healers were going to be hurt, that none would help anyone associated with me._

He had forgotten how Snape couldn't use potions to heal any more. Oh, he'd seen the effects the regimen had had on the dour Slytherin, but hadn't really thought things through. _I am too close to driving him into rebellion. It would be all too easy for Severus to spy for the Order for real, even if they still hold him in contempt._

Tom tapped his foot. The wizard was late, even allowing for him having to leave Hogwarts for the Forbidden Forest in order to Apparate here. The call of the Mark should allow him to come even if he was too ill to manage the task normally. Yet on that account, it should take him longer to leave the school. He had been late because of the Swiss potions already.

He decided to wait. It was possible that Snape was too terrified to come, and had fled the way Karkaroff had. In that case, it could be a long time before anyone found him. He suspected some of his own would look the other way if the professor decided to disappear.

_I shouldn't be surprised to find out that my Shadow has advocates of his own now. I have been gone much longer than I should have been._ The Potions Master had been teaching for most of that time, and could easily have gathered a Circle of his own by now, if he had wished to do so. _Maybe he has,_ Voldemort thought. _Maybe Lucius isn't the only one with his own cabal. Or perhaps Snape is really a member of the Order, and his isolation a charade for my benefit. The old fool thinks a decade ahead, at least. If I am to learn to become immortal, I must do so as well. I do have time, despite this deteriorating body. I have much more time than Albus Dumbledore does, in fact. I should remember it more often._

He looked down at the letter again. _I should also have remembered how influential Hogwarts has always been in our world. Why else would I bother recruiting untried students such as Snape in the first place?_ The tall, gawky boy had not failed of his promise, but had become a powerful wizard in his own right, and still favored by Lucius. _I certainly never expected _that_ relationship to last this long. In fact, only Malfoy's personal guaranty kept me from executing Snape for disloyalty last year. It was amusing watching Snape kill Karkaroff, though I was never in doubt about the result. Both of them knew far too much about each other, and so naturally one must be silenced forever. _The headmaster of Durmstrang had lived soft in the years of his Lord's absence, while it was clear that Snape had not. Those who survived Knockturn Alley knew in their hearts that no matter what happened, something might take it away and dump them back on the streets again. Also, Snape had been far more prepared for some kind of fight—he'd quickly inhaled something from a vial as soon as he arrived, and had remembered old gutter skills honed by fighting over dustbins as a child. Such things were never forgotten. He'd showed the same kind of raw endurance in his supposedly private duels with Macnair.

Voldemort sighed, and moved his chair closer to the fire. For every one who wrote, there were undoubtedly ten who felt the same way and were too frightened to speak.

_Everyone has a weakness, and mine is Bella._ He had allowed her to direct her anger over the raid and the loss of her husband towards Snape, rather than let her spend too much time thinking about whose fault the failure really was. The few prisoners who had escaped were not terribly pleased when they'd heard how badly Snape had been hurt, oddly enough. He shouldn't have been surprised. During the First War, healers who would help wounded Death Eaters had been scarce on the ground. Many times, the boy had concocted something to help those who'd been hurt, even if not regulation healing potions. Avery was terrified at the thought of being a werewolf, and was anxious about receiving the potion that would help him through his future transformations.

He looked over at his guest, who had been sitting quietly with his tea this entire time. Wise man. "You had better drink the Polyjuice now, Healer Williamson. Professor Snape should be here soon. I admit was I surprised to find you were willing to do this."

"Better me than Mr. Pettigrew," the wizard said, looking down at his cup. "It is technically possible for a complete amateur to administer the treatment, but I should hate to see it done. I am still quite concerned about the pain. Professor Snape is at risk for somatic nerve failure, given his ordeals in just the past few months. His recovery time from that is likely to be measured in months. I still believe he was going to schedule this treatment at the clinic."

"I very much doubt it," Voldemort said. "I've known him much longer than you have. It will taking a _Stupefy_ and a Beater club to make him do this." He was not looking forward to this either, given what he'd need to do to help his Shadow with the pain, but it was necessary.

They heard the small pop of someone Apparating into the antechamber. The Healer went into the kitchen to drink his potion, and from there to prepare the bedroom.

Voldemort sent Kreacher, borrowed for the night, out to escort their guest into the parlor. Of course, the elf had his orders should the guest be someone else than Snape.

However, it was the Potions Master who walked in the room, dressed in proper mask and cloak. The rim of the silver mask gleamed with gold still. "Remove all that, Snape," the Dark Lord said. "It is only us tonight."

His Shadow complied. He looked terribly pale and ill. "As you wish, my lord," he said, and went to his knees.

"Rise." He was glad to see his minion show such respect. "Rise, and sit with me." He gestured towards the empty chair where Williamson had been.

"This is a great honor, my lord."

Voldemort saw the fear in the other wizard's eyes and was almost insulted, till he realized that Snape had good reason to be afraid. _I have let Bella hurt him too much while I stood by,_ he thought, _even after saying I would not. Why should he trust me?_ He remembered the Potions Master when he'd been only a boy, all raw emotion behind the mask he had already been cultivating.

The Hogwarts teacher eased himself down into the seat. His shoulders drooped, while his head was bowed.

The Dark Lord called Nagini to him, and had his serpent wind herself around his Shadow and sniff him properly. She then flowed over to him and whispered what she'd found. "Where were you when I called you, Severus?"

"At a dinner with the Order, my lord. They wished to celebrate the results of the hearing. They assured me, of course, that they did not resent my representing Mrs. Malfoy." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Apparently, they don't trust you as much as they pretend to," Tom said. "My lady snake told me she smells Veritaserum on you."

"Moody thought to trap me into admitting the truth, my lord. I think he gave it to me not long before I was summoned. You have saved me from a very unpleasant evening, I suspect."

Was it his imagination or did Snape looked even more fearful? "I must admit, it's quite a temptation to ask you a few questions just now. Yet why did you purge yourself before you came here? Did you think to erase the potion's effects?"

"No, my lord. I did not want to disgrace myself. Mrs. Weasley urged several cups of punch on me, and it was stronger than I thought." A hint of color spread over the other man's face. "I didn't want you to find that I'd been weak enough to accept such hospitality."

Considering some Death Eaters had shown up in the past blind drunk, Voldemort appreciated the consideration. Then again, Snape had seen what happened to them, too. "Perhaps it was for the best. I am sorry you had to make yourself ill when you've suffered so much."

"I lost the hearing, my lord. I expected punishment."

"You have more friends than you think, Severus. Several have been concerned enough to write to me. I have arranged proper treatment for you tonight. Pettigrew has managed to obtain the little serpents from St. Mungo's through our contact there, and you will have the healing you deserve." Snape could not be allowed to know who the real healer was, of course. Williamson's identity had to be kept secret.

He was unprepared for the fear on the Potions Master's face. The younger wizard pulled himself out of the chair and went back on his knees again. "My lord, please don't. Not if it's _that._ Please, lord. Please."

"It is necessary, my Shadow. I would not like it said I took that much away from you without need, especially when I can do something about it."

Snape began sweating, clearly terrified. "If you think I deserve death, my lord, then kill me outright. As a member of the Inner Circle, I may ask a boon from you. I can't—I can't bear any more pain. I learned what the treatment was like only this afternoon. Don't force me to go through this, I beg of you."

He'd never seen the other Slytherin like this. "It will be for your own good," Voldemort said. "I know this will not be easy for you, but you will be much happier afterwards."

"I could bleed to death or lose all feeling altogether if the snakes aren't properly guided," Severus said. "It could take hours. I can't do it!" The deep voice rose into a scream. He stood up and began backing away.

The Dark Lord stood as well. He should punish such disobedience, but it was clear that his Shadow thought he was about to be tortured to death and had nothing to lose. He drew his wand just as the other wizard reached for his.

Fortunately, his spell arrived first. "_Imperio!_" he cried.

The tall Death Eater gasped for breath, and even took another step backwards. He shuddered as the spell finally took effect. His eyes were calm once more, and he looked at his wand, appeared puzzled, then resheathed it.

"Sit down, Severus," Riddle said. "I'm not done talking to you."

"Of course, my lord." Snape obeyed.

Voldemort was tempted to ask more questions. Between the remains of Veritaserum in the man's system, and the Imperius spell, he'd likely receive more interesting answers than usual. _I am making the same mistake the old fool did, _he realized. Scraps of purple light had shown that Dumbledore was using the same sort of magic. _And yet he proclaims his moral superiority. Oh, yes, Great Bumblebee, tell me again why the Order is so wonderful._ Then he gleefully gave in to curiosity and spoke anyway as he sat down.

"Snape," he said, "precisely what were you doing at the dinner tonight?"

"Play Snapdragon. Drinking punch. Being kissed by Molly Weasley and Miss Tonks." For a brief moment his Shadow looked happy. Then his expression darkened. "That was probably when Moody put the Veritaserum in my cup. I should have been more watchful. I should know I can't trust them."

"And how was your beloved Headmaster taking all this?"

"I knew I'd end up with a dressing down as soon as we returned to the school, especially after Arthur Weasley walked in. Her husband passed it off, but Albus won't. He'll have one of his little _talks_ with me when I return." For a moment his eyes seemed lost. "If I return. He didn't like it when I stayed out to visit the entertainment you arranged for me. I think someone else was talking to him, he changed his mind rather quickly to allow me to go."

"Does he know about your illness, your injuries, and the trouble you will have?"

"Yes. He says he won't nag me to take the treatment. He says I shouldn't be forced to endure too much pain."

"That's what he _says,_ Shadow. I think he'd find it more convenient if you didn't seek a woman's company at all. Wizards that are too old for joy often begrudge that of others."

"He gives Flitwick trouble over it, too," Snape said without prompting.

"You see? It's not just you. He can't get it up, so he resents anyone who still can. I was curious about something, though. Who did the woman look like the night you visited her? Which hair did you use?" It would be interesting to see find out if Snape could lie under the Imperius. He'd follow that up with a question about whose kisses at the dinner tonight his spy enjoyed the most. Voldemort normally didn't interfere in his followers' personal affairs, unless they threatened to affect strategy, but this was important.

"Molly," the other wizard said. His voice was so deep and melodious with that one word. Riddle was immediately envious of anyone who was so dearly loved. "Molly Weasley," Snape repeated, his tone less happy now. "I can't have her. Not really."

"Who in the Order knows the way you feel about her?" Such things never remained secret, neither in the Circle or anywhere else.

"Moody. The Headmaster. Lupin, I think. No, I'm sure. The wolf can smell anything. _She_ smells like buttermilk and vanilla and sometimes cinnamon. Her lips are soft. I wish I could kiss her back. She had a spot of gravy on her breast this evening and I wanted to lick it off. But I can't. It wouldn't be right. She doesn't love me that way, she only loves Arthur. She was so kind this evening, I didn't care till her husband arrived. I was wrong. I should be punished."

"Perhaps you should be," the Dark Lord said. "Perhaps you lost the hearing for her sake."

Snape's face twisted into a familiar scowl. "Oh, of _course_ I want her to have that puling brat dragging at her skirts along with the rest of them. It's not enough that all of Hogwarts fawns over Potter, she must join their chorus. I am weary of having to share. I will never have a woman who loves only me. Lily chose James Potter. Narcissa—she only wants revenge on Lucius, not me. It doesn't matter what happens tonight. I will die, or be hexed into perpetual silence. I only wish you wouldn't use the snakes, my lord. I would rather it was quick."

_He really believes this,_ Voldemort thought. The situation was far worse than he thought. "I must admit, I am surprised that Narcissa didn't do her duty and choose a proper bride for you during the time I was away."

"She tried. Lucius didn't approve of any of them. Neither did the Headmaster." The Potions Master voice was dull and toneless.

"Why should it matter if the old fool cared for them or not?" He knew the real problem, of course. Lucius was _very_ possessive. No wonder Severus was tired of having to share.

"He holds my parole from Azkaban," Snape said, cringing in the chair. "I must appear to obey him. He threatened me last summer with losing my freedom if I didn't make up to the Boy-Who-Lived. I found out later he inflicted a nightmare hex on me."

_We are all lucky he hasn't collapsed into a coma,_ Voldemort thought. "I remember seeing the threat in your mind earlier this year," he said. From all appearances, the Slytherin had nothing to gain from either side any more. _Both of us have used the whip entirely too much on him. Dumbledore will toss him back to prison, no doubt, should the Order win, while Snape is right to fear for his life and that of his apprentices here. _

He remembered what it was like to want a woman he could not have. Before his rise to power, he'd observed the gilded pureblood ladies from his lower station and had known the same frustration that Snape undoubtedly felt now. _I promised him Lily years ago, and killed her in my rage despite it. If I hadn't, her brat would be dead and the sacrifice of her lifeblood would not have wounded me so severely. I must find some way he can have what he wants. After all, I can always use his apprentices to keep him in line, as I have used him to crack the whip over Lucius._

He renewed the Imperius curse on the Potions Master, and was please to see trust and warmth renew themselves in the large, black eyes. "We have wasted enough time," he said. "You are to be healed tonight, not murdered. I will keep as much of the pain from you as I can. When it is over, you will forget the ordeal. In less than a month, I shall arrange another visit to the woman you saw before. I suspect you'll be able to find another hair from Mrs. Weasley before then. Come with me."

He and Snape went to one of the bedrooms, which had been aired, warmed and cleaned. A large fire burned in the hearth, while an elaborate candle-holder provided more than enough light. The Healer, masquerading as 'Pettigrew', and his jar awaited them there. _At least Bella has the sense to make herself scarce,_ Riddle thought. _It would require_ _a squadron of Aurors_ _to restore order even with Snape under the Imperius._

"Please remove your clothes," 'Pettigrew' asked.

"It is safe, my Shadow," Voldemort reassured Snape when the younger wizard balked. "We are not playing any silly games tonight."

The Potions Master disrobed. Countless scars marred his skin, and he moved slowly, as if in pain, while ribs and hip bones showed how thin he was. He stood naked, and awaited orders.

"Please lie down on the bed face up," the disguised Healer said. "Soonest begun, soonest ended."

Snape laid down and shivered. Voldemort chanted a quick Warming Charm, but Severus still trembled. _I am probably lucky the Imperius is working at all—violent emotion can sometimes block it, as it clearly did when I tried the spell on the Potter brat._

The Dark Lord sat in a chair by the head of the bed. "Severus, you have nothing to fear and much to look forward to. I wish it would be so easy for me to regain my former self. Once this is done, I shall not summon you till after Christmas. Someone you trust will convey the token you will need to visit the young woman you saw before. However, you know the way, so you need not wait that long if you heal quickly enough.

Snape's face relaxed with that assurance. Riddle had a good idea what it meant. He was extremely close to driving the wizard into the arms of the other side. Only their stupidity and cruelty had kept it from happening already. He told the Potions Master to close his eyes, as he was still terrified beneath the façade of the Imperius curse. "You are safe here, Shadow. Let your mind drift downward, inward. What will happen, will happen, and you will be well afterwards. I will not let you fall."

He observed the other wizard's growing relaxation as he obeyed the suggestion, backed with some Legilimency. Voldemort nodded at 'Pettigrew'. "Begin."

"We don't do a Paralysis Charm with this procedure, or why I prefer to use potions," the Healer said. "Blood flow is usually reduced too much with that spell. I must ask you to pay close attention to the professor as matters proceed."

Tom nodded, and tried not to show his impatience. He watched as 'Pettigrew' first cast a spell that lay a network of lines on Snape's lower abdomen, still discolored by his previous injury. Voldemort checked one of his pockets for a vial, and set it on the bedside table. It might not be needed, but if it were, he dare not waste any time looking for it.

He averted his own face when the Healer opened his jar. He didn't especially want to see how the man introduced the tiny snakes into his follower's body. The patient opened his eyes and gasped for breath. "There is no pain, Severus," Voldemort commanded. "There is no pain. At most you will feel a slight tickling sensation. There is no pain." He hoped the strong suggestion would be enough. "Close your eyes again and rest."

Snape did as he was told. For a little while it worked. Riddle watched in fascination as little dots of brighter light wiggled along the framework illuminated on the patient's skin. "This is a tracking spell, my lord," the Healer said in Wormtail's voice. "It would not do for them to end up lost inside his body. It…it will be painful for him when I remove them, since a man's body is designed differently than a woman's."

Surely it was worth one night of torture to regain what had been lost. He had endured much to live in a body again, and would do anything to become fully human. He never knew how much he had enjoyed being the handsome Tom Riddle till forced to exist in this mockery of human form.

His Shadow's face was tense. Then he jerked in one long spasm and moaned. "Sorry, my lord…" he said in a whisper, his eyes still closed.

"If he moves too much, the snakes could lose track of where they're supposed to go, and could destroy nerves or blood vessels. He must lie perfectly still."

Obviously his command wasn't working. Voldemort almost tried _Imperio_ again, but decided to try something else. He cast _Legilimens_ instead, and found himself inside Snape's mind, structured as a replica of Hogwarts. He was in the younger wizard's memory of the Great Hall just now. "Show yourself," he said, hoping his previous curse would enforce obedience.

The tall wizard appeared in school robes, walked up to him, and knelt. "My lord, how can I serve you?" Even here he looked worn.

"We shall go for a walk," the Dark Lord said. "Take me to the most beautiful part of this place."

"Of course, my lord." Snape rose and strode away, leaving Tom to keep up. _I've been here before, but it looks different now—stronger, brighter...something good has happened to him here for once. I should be happy for him, I suppose._

He followed the Potions Master along a hallway till both stopped at a door. "This is the room the centaur uses to teach Divination," the younger wizard said. "For one day, though, there was a replica of the Headmaster's garden, along with a day of summer out of season. May I show it to you, my lord?" His face was lit by a rare smile.

"Yes, my Shadow. Lead on!" Someday Hogwarts, and everything in it, would be his.

The room somehow became a part of the Forbidden Forest in late spring, all green leaves and dappled sunlight. Snape seemed at home in it. There was talk of a minor strain of satyr blood in the Sorcerer of Russia, whose bastard granddaughter had been the Potions Master's mother. The rumors about Marya Snape had been the sort that confirmed it—few knew that satyr and maenad were not separate species, but only male and female of the same one. Severus did spend a lot of time in the Forest, if only to gather potions ingredients.

Then Voldemort saw the garden, sprouting up in the middle of a clearing. Beautiful trees and shrubs bloomed inside it, reflected in a crystalline pool in its center. _How clever of the old fool to create such a lure for someone who needed peace as much as my poor Shadow does! _He followed the younger wizard into it.

Once over the threshold, Snape looked younger and better fleshed, the way he should at his age. The black teaching robes were replaced by those in shades of earthen brown and spring green. Tom took a deep breath. Ah, how desirable the man was just now!

Then Snape looked away from the flowers and back at him. He knelt again, and said, "My lord! You look like yourself again!"

Voldemort didn't believe it, but gave his follower extra points for the sincere way in which he said it. "Now, Severus, there is no need to flatter my looks."

"There's a small pool over here—take a look."

Riddle walked over to the still water. His reflection showed how he appeared the way he would have in this year, if a minor thing like death and a botched resurrection not interfered with his progress through time. Oh, his image was not young any more; no wizard past seventy was. His hair was black—yes, he had _hair_ again!—touched with gray, while a few wrinkles only made his face firmer and more dignified. His skin was truly human again, with no hint of scales anywhere. Even his eyes were their natural dark brown, instead of the red gleam that had dominated them before the Boy-Who-Lived turned him into the Wizard-Who-Didn't.

Oh, if only he could stay here. If only the garden wasn't just a mix of memory and wishful thinking in his Shadow's mind.

"My lord?" Severus asked, almost timidly. "Have you found any hairs from when you were younger?"

"Ah. I have tried Polyjuice using some of them already," Riddle said. "I do not care to repeat the experiment till I can be certain it will actually work. I don't have many left." His current body simply wasn't human enough to sustain a proper transformation.

"I am sorry, my lord. At least you can dream of returning to what you were. I am cursed to be what I am." For once the deprecating remarks were without bitterness.

"Anyone who knew Lucius Malfoy as a young man would despair," the Dark Lord said. "You have your own grace, believe me."

"So I am told," Snape said, with no emotion in his voice.

"You must stay here for now," Voldemort said. "I shall return to see to your welfare in the outside world. You will know when it is time for you to come back."

It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done in his life to leave this place. He felt his body twist and change as he resurfaced into reality. At least he knew now what he ought to look like after his long absence from humanity.

He opened his eyes. The little bright lights were making slow progress through the framework laid out for them on Snape's body. The wizard's eyes were closed, and his body much more relaxed.

"I don't know what you did, but it worked, at least for now," said the Healer. "I am glad you're back, though. Some wretched woman stood looking over my shoulder, and wouldn't leave till I told her joggling my elbow could have consequences for her as well as for my patient. She's the one who injured him, isn't she?"

"How did you guess?" Riddle said.

"We meet a few of her sort in our work from time to time. She…oh, I don't know, she _drank_ the pain as if it were fine wine. People like that try to join our profession occasionally, for the opportunities it gives them. Fortunately, most of them are detected fairly early in their training. Unfortunately, such people are often recruited for prison work." 'Pettigrew' frowned. "I fear many such are still there, judging by Professor Snape's file. I've run into other patients from time to time with some of the same history. Seeing how the Ministry abuses those in its custody is why I was willing to speak to your representative in the first place. I must say, I am not pleased to run into more of the same here."

"She spent twelve years in Azkaban, with Dementors guarding her night and day. There are rumors about what happens to women in the Special Section, and judging by her nightmares, they are true," Tom said quietly. "I fear that few prisoners walk out of there sane." He wasn't about to mention what she had been like _before_ her capture.

"I see."

Voldemort hoped Williamson saw only what he wanted to. He sat back with a sigh. It would be at least an hour yet before the procedure was complete.

Severus Snape

He'd known by the prickling in the back of his throat that someone had added Veritaserum to his punch at the safe house. That was only one of the reasons he'd lost control when his arm had begun aching, though. Part of him, a very small part, had remained unaffected by either the potion or the repeated _Imperios_, and had allowed him to offer twisted truths to the Dark Lord. Anything was better than being questioned about Order secrets.

Now he sat in the garden. It had been shock to see Tom Riddle again, and not Lord Voldemort, standing by the pool looking at his real face. He'd glanced at his own, of course, and even in the best of health he was so terribly ugly. No wonder everyone despised him. Perhaps it was just as well that Trelawney had seen his death, or worse. How could he bear to live for another century so hideously alone?

The garden grew brighter with a light not of the sky. Even his pale skin glowed when he looked at his hands, and his reflection in the pool.

Then he saw the unicorn dragging itself towards the water, dripping with blood. The light darkened as the beast lowered its horn. As it lapped from the pool, he tasted something cloying and sticky in his throat, and gagged.

_I must be dying out in the real world. The Dark Lord lived in unicorn blood during Draco's first year at Hogwarts. He must have acquired more somehow._ Snape opened his shirt and knelt down before the sacred animal. "Finish me off," he pleaded. "I am better off dead than the murderer of such innocence. I will not live at this cost." The dark soil of the garden began to turn into sand, and he could hear the crashing of waves in the distance. He was likely going to see that dreadful not-beach he had been on last summer, only this time there would be no rescue as there had been then.

The unicorn turned into a woman, the woman with red hair and broad cheekbones who had been his sacrifice. "You have before," she said as she stood before him. "You will this time as well. Remember the penance prescribed you."

"At least with you I made it quick!" he cried. "I put a _Stupefy_ on you as soon as I could. You died almost not knowing what happened to you. Why must I continue to live if my every waking moment is pain?" He stood.

She looked down at the ground. "You are right. I am showing you less mercy than you did me. You still must live, and this is the only way." She transformed into Madam Pomfrey, holding a vial. "Now, Severus, I know you don't like this medicine, but you must drink it anyway. The Headmaster needs you. We all do. Molly will think it's her fault if you die tonight, because she wanted you to enjoy yourself for once and urged the punch on you. It didn't take her long to work out that Moody put the Veritaserum in your cup while she was kissing you. She'll blame herself if you don't come back."

He almost obeyed out of sheer habit, then shook his head. "I was the one who was weak, Poppy, the way my mother was. I shouldn't have given into temptation. I _knew_ I could be called any time, and I still drank."

The mediwitch looked sad. "She'll still think it her fault. We _do_ need you, dear. Who is going to protect your apprentices if you're not here? Mr. Malfoy is much too young to manage it by himself, while poor Miss Edgecombe doesn't trust anyone but you."

That was hard, and true. He sighed, and accepted the cup. The contents were warm and slightly salty, and he wept as he forced them down his throat.

Madam Pomfrey changed into Molly. Snape knew this was purely wishful thinking now. Part of him still wanted to live, and to have her someday, even if he knew it was quite hopeless.

'Molly' smiled at him and patted him on the cheek as the two of them stood in the ruined garden. "Don't forget to use the balm I made for you. I owled it, and the recipes I told you about, to that little Winky of yours. I know better than to trust the Headmaster about some things now, and so do you. Don't worry if he fusses. Poppy told me how little time you have left. Don't waste it fuming over things that can't be helped. I wish…I wish all my sisters weren't married already, well, except for Shirl, and she's running with Mum out in the woods. So give me a kiss and we'll say no more about it."

He gave in. Here, he was strong and healthy, and could embrace her without fear or shame. Molly's soft flesh and softer lips cushioned his bones as nothing else could do. Severus couldn't help uttering a sound of contentment when he held her in his arms.

She gazed up at him. "That's all right, dear. Now you have to go back. It'll be dreadfully hard, I know, but you're strong enough to manage it. It'll turn out all right, you know."

She disappeared. Once more he was alone in the garden, but it wasn't beautiful any more. Some giant wind had flattened the flowers and torn the shrubs, while a dead unicorn smeared with blood lay on the ground near the murky pool. From the muddled reflection, his face and body had returned to the way it was in reality.

He knew how to go back, now this dream had gone awry. Snape faced away from the ruined garden and felt the weight of his teaching robes fall on him again. He slowly walked out the door, into the 'hall', and out of Hogwarts. Once past its gates, his life would begin again.

Voldemort

The Dark Lord left the bedroom for a few moments while the Healer worked. He summoned Bella and Wormtail to the parlor, watched them go to their knees before him, and spoke. "I realize that both of you feel a strong rivalry with Professor Snape," he said. "It has to stop. I am unhappy that I must point out that the two of you still owe my Shadow a favor to be specified by him. If he dies without using it, he is allowed to will it elsewhere. If he dies before making such arrangements, there will be a magical penalty involved. It's not quite the same as violating a Life Debt, but it's still rather unpleasant."

Pettigrew turned pale. "Maybe we ought to come up with something and just do it for him? I know, it won't be the same, but would it work?"

"I don't know. Magical jurisprudence has never been my long suit." He watched Bella, who remained unrepentant. _Yes, my dear, you were obeying my orders both times, but you are still the one who stands to suffer the most from your ill-considered enthusiasm. I should know better than to let you administer punishment without supervision. That is a debt that _I _owe our sour Potions Master, and tonight barely a down payment._

"My lord, you know I never would have raised a wand to him without your word," Bella said, clearly too brave for her own good.

"Yes," Riddle admitted, and was rather pleased by the stunned look on both their faces. "Yet our numbers are few, though fortunately free from treachery after last summer."

"Snivellus was affected by your spell," Bella said boldly.

"I have since read more about his regimen," Tom said. "The spell was released at the same time as he was approaching his first expulsion phase. The Swiss noted a distressing tendency towards self-destruction during that stage of treatment, or why they wanted him in residence. He is also linked more strongly to his apprentices than most of the Inner Circle. I suspect that Goyle was not the only student who had doubts, but they seem quite loyal and disciplined. They behaved quite well on Saturday night." Ah, what differences in his Circle! Lucius took only one apprentice, and that to exploit him. Bella had one who was neglected, but had taken her replacement to her bosom—quite literally. He didn't know how closely Wormtail was linked to the Weasley boy, though.

"Stubborn little bastards," Bella muttered.

"Now, now, my dear, almost all of them are highborn purebloods. Let's not make unwarranted assumptions. I suggest you concentrate on strengthening the link between you and your nephew. Wormtail, what have you done with yours?"

"Red hair's not my type, my lord," Pettigrew said. "That was a joke. We talk once a week away from everyone else. It may not seem like much, but it makes a difference. I don't have much feeling in my Mark from him, though. Your touch is so much stronger that I think it overrides everything else."

The dark-haired witch laughed. "My little dragon certainly feels it when _I _use my mark."

Voldemort knew that both were right. When he'd Marked Pettigrew, he'd done it more heavily than on anyone else, even Lucius. The smaller wizard probably felt it as a permanent Imperius Curse, or why he took refuge in his rat form so often. Bella's Mark and her husband's had been put on at the same time, and far more gently. It was possible she and Rodolphus had linked their Marks from love, or to increase their mutual strength. Other couples had done the same, such as the Goyles. Snape had received his brand as Malfoy's apprentice. Even though the Potions Master was part of the Inner Circle, Lucius could still wield influence once out of Azkaban. It remained to be seen if that link had been severed, or if the obnoxiously ambitious blond wizard would have even more power than before once he left the prison, given that Snape now had apprentices of his own.

No wonder his Bella was half-crazed now. Having her husband taken back to prison shortly after their escape had possibly torn part of her Mark away, while his death had made the loss permanent.

He continued to let them kneel while he sat. "Even though I modified the brand from the kind Grindelwald used on his followers, I still don't know everything about the Mark." He felt his as a heaviness or a lightness in his chest sometimes. Once he had felt it as a sharp blow from a dagger. _I still haven't quite forgiven my Shadow for that, no matter how he was provoked. No doubt that is why I have been so careless with his life. I must stop that, or he will die, and most of his apprentices will be lost. _It was rare for anyone to manage such a large group through the Mark, and rarer still to have the group work together the way those provisional members had when they'd gathered together to help their Master. _I suspect neither Pettigrew or Bella have any idea that Snape has some control over their own apprentices. It will be interesting to see if he learns some of the techniques I have developed myself. It took me time to learn how to summon those who follow me, and to gain the strength I needed to Apparate them to me at will. The golden vine imagery my Shadow currently uses is closer than I like to think to the interlocking network of serpents I use for my visualization._

"My lord, please come," said a voice from the bedroom. "Please, my lord."

"Wormtail, show yourself around St. Mungo's, but don't allow yourself to be caught," Riddle said quickly. "Break into the office with the fertility rune on the door, near the maternity section, then leave. Bella, stay here in the manor, but don't go into the bedroom till I say so. I must speak to you once Snape has been healed." He suspected he knew the reason for her inordinate good cheer, especially once she spoke of her little dragon.

He walked to the bedroom. "What's wrong?"

"He's in shock. He isn't conscious, but his body still suffers."

Voldemort increased the light in the room. Snape was ashen gray and panted for breath. "Did those wretched worms eat into a blood vessel?"

"I don't believe so, my lord. Part of the reason I use the potions I do is to shield the body from the insult of this procedure. Also, it should have waited till next week when he would be stronger. He has no reserves, my lord. Muggle surgeons used to have this problem before they developed their own methods of anesthesia, and even now some patients are lost in surgery."

The Dark Lord opened the vial on the bed-table, lifted up the younger wizard's head, and poured the contents down the ailing man's throat. "Don't worry about this conflicting with any other potions," he said. "It won't."

The false Pettigrew looked appalled. "Is it—"

"Yes. This body of mine is not sturdy. There are times when the balance between human and serpent is an uneasy one. I certainly don't live on the substance the way I once had to, of course. The unicorn herd in the Forbidden Forest has had several years to recover, and at most I take one a year. I harvest all the blood from one, and put it in vials with strong Preservation spells to keep it fresh. Much less wasteful, really."

The healer gulped and bent his attention back to Snape. Voldemort sat down and rubbed his thumb down the Potions Master's throat to encourage swallowing. At first it appeared he might choke on the blood and vomit it up. _The first time is always the worst,_ Tom thought. _I was horrified, too, but I needed it so desperately. I remember what was left of Quirrell's mind fought me then…_ "Keep it down, my Shadow," he murmured, stroking the limp hair. "I would be quite angry if I went to all this trouble and you died on me anyway. I can't blame you for being frightened of me, I must admit."

Snape's eyes opened for a moment, and gazed at him in bewilderment.

"Go back to the garden, Severus," the Dark Lord commanded.

"It's ruined now," the younger wizard said in a whisper.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope it will be whole again the next time you visit it." He paused, and began a spell in his mind. Tom withdrew his wand, but kept it out of Snape's sight. The magic from it would strengthen him as he prepared to take some of the burden. "I know it hurts now, no matter what I said about it. Concentrate only my voice, and look into my eyes. Yes, that's right. You're exhausted after a long day, and for once, all your students are quiet. You don't need to go anywhere. Why, you're even caught up on grading! See yourself in your bedroom, and lie down. It's warm inside the covers…"

"Winky charms the bed for me," Severus volunteered.

"Yes, and if I know anything about house elves, she'll be happy when you're asleep. Now you're resting under the blankets and your pillow is just right. You're closing your eyes now, knowing you will sleep with happy dreams. You're going to sleep….now." He quickly chanted the charm. Voldemort hissed as he felt the pain in his chest. _Better there than where my Shadow has it! All right, that is just about as much as I can bear…Severus will have to manage the rest, but with any luck it shouldn't kill him now._

Snape smiled faintly as his face relaxed and his eyelids drooped. Soon he was snoring.

"Sleep, my Shadow, sleep, and let others worry about things…"

The Potions Master's color looked better and his body went limp as the unicorn blood finally began working properly. "He should make it through the rest now," Voldemort said.

"And a good thing. The snakes are almost to the finish line, and I must make sure all of them are out. I would rather you didn't observe at this point, my lord."

The Dark Lord almost smiled at such regard to Snape's modesty. Well, he had plenty to do between bearing the pain and keeping his will bent on Severus to keep him from waking up.

The Healer talked as his worked. "Here you go, my lovelies, back into the jar so you can rest up. You've done a marvelous job, really, nice and clean. Now there should be ten of you—one, two, three," the wizard said and kept counting. "Number ten, where are you, dear? Can't stay inside no matter how well you like it there. There you go, little sweetheart. Now a quick spell to make sure none of you left anything behind. I know where you like to lay your eggs—aha! Just as I thought. There we go. One last sweep to make sure down through the whole diagram…out, out, out into the jar now. Oh, dear, I hope that didn't hurt too dreadfully, but I'm afraid it did. Men just aren't built the same. My lord, are you all right? You're not looking well."

Voldemort nodded grimly. One jolt had not been pleasant at all. Then the pain had stopped entirely, and for a moment his chest felt numb. No, the younger wizard was still breathing, and in fact looked more at peace than he had during the entire evening. "What happened just now?" he asked, as he severed the pain-bearing link through his Mark.

"He's going to be paralyzed for a day or so, my lord. I had to remove an egg left behind, and in the process hit a nerve. Now there's one approach I hadn't thought of…I shall have to experiment, and find out if my snakes could manage the procedure if the patient had something like this done first. The recovery period from the Mandragora is close to a day as it is, and it really is a good idea for the patient to remain quiet afterwards…"

This was going to complicate his follower's return to Hogwarts. Then Tom smiled, remembering what Snape had told him about Molly Weasley. He doubted the woman actually returned his Shadow's affections, but was notoriously soft-hearted when someone hurt was in her hands. The poor man would be in less danger of catching a chill if left near a house rather than in the Forest.

"You must awake now, Severus," Riddle said.

"My lord?" Snape said in a weak voice.

"It's over. You will have to go back, but you will be found quickly. Go back to sleep and rest. You are free of pain now, and there will be no more tonight." The younger wizard sighed, and closed his eyes once more.

"He should stay here for at least an hour before he's moved," said 'Pettigrew'. "I can sit with him if you have other things to do. As soon as I return to my office I'll wreck up the place if it hasn't been done already. I'll come in tomorrow or Monday for some reason, discover I've had a break-in, and complain about my little darlings being stolen. You will take good care of them, won't you?"

"I'll have Wormtail leave them on the front step of St. Mungo's on Monday night," Voldemort said. "You can spend the day canceling appointments and cursing Death Eaters. Your supervisor will trust you more after that. He probably doesn't at this stage, if you've complained about the Ministry's treatment of my people."

"Thank you, my lord, you're quite right." The Healer put a Warming Charm on a light sheet and blanket, and laid them over the unconscious patient. "As soon as he awakens I'll make sure he has some hot fluids."

"You should have another dose of the Polyjuice first," Tom said. "It's been nearly two hours since the last one."

"Time goes so quickly during one of these procedures. I quite lost track." Williamson made a face and drank from a nearby goblet.

"I do have duties I should attend to," the Dark Lord said. "I shall return shortly." He gently moved one lock of hair off his Shadow's face. "When you are well again, you will forgive me for this. I hope." Of course he planned to _Obliviate_ the wizard, but Madam Pomfrey was said to be highly skilled, and might reason out what had happened.

He left the bedroom. Bella sat in the kitchen, drinking some tea, but stood when he entered the room. "I couldn't help hearing some of what was going on, my lord. And you think _I_ hurt him too much?"

"It was necessary to repair the damage that you caused, my dear," Voldemort said as he sat, and helped himself to a cup out of the pot. "One would think you were so jealous of any others that might enjoy him, that you wished to eliminate the possibility. He was quite eager to receive you a week ago. Why didn't you take advantage of it, instead of nearly killing him?"

"That damned little dragon of mine." She sat, but only after the Dark Lord gestured to her to do so. "I wanted to put one over on Lucius, too, once I realized the boy knew what his father had been up to. It's not like Snape uses that wand very often, if he's not making use of any of his apprentices."

"Clearly, the boy pleased you," he commented. "You have been happier this last week than you have for a long time. In fact, you seem especially cheerful tonight, and not just because my Shadow was hurt again."

"Well, my lord, women do have their secrets." Bella simpered.

"No doubt. Perhaps it was just a coincidence that someone made a Fertility Potion in the basement and didn't clean everything up not too long ago."

She smiled broadly then. "Don't worry, my lord, nobody else has any idea. Even I know better than to hint at any such thing to Narcissa! She nearly jumped through the Floo to throttle me when I bragged of what I did to Snivellus. Too bad he won't give her what she wants, either."

"As we saw when we observed the whore, he doesn't want either of the amazing Black sisters," he said. Snape had to be telling him the truth about Molly Weasley, however unlikely.

"True. Unless he suspected we were watching him," Bella pointed out.

Tom kept his own knowledge to himself. Arthur Weasley had shown himself quite competent at the hearing. A few more instances, and the man would be touted as a viable alternative to Fudge. Something might have to be done about that—something that would leave Molly Weasley an unprotected widow holding the guardianship of Harry Potter. Even after the brat became of age, his blood connections to the Weasleys would still allow the woman some control over the boy. If Snape exerted himself in Molly's bed the way that Riddle knew he could, then all manner of things could become possible.

"He probably thought _someone_ was watching," the Dark Lord said, in reply to Bella's last remark. "The mirror behaved quite oddly. But let me guess what has put the sunlight back into your eyes. Could it be that your potion worked, and you now carry the dragon's seed?"

She beamed at him, so happy that he nearly reconsidered his decision, and nodded.

"Pity. I find it inconvenient for you to be pregnant at this time. I have few loyal people just now, and we still don't know for certain if Avery is going to become a werewolf or not." He extended his wand and chanted, _"Abortus._"

Bella's face twisted and her hands flew to her abdomen.

"You have nearly destroyed my plans because you love the pain of others so much. Now learn what it is like to suffer as well." Voldemort stood. "Retire to your room for the night. Be glad I did this so early, or it would have been much worse." In fact, if she had remained quiet, she could easily have miscarried the next time she received some discipline. Even a light _Crucio_ had been known to loosen children still in the womb.

She fled the kitchen, her face white with shock. Tom sat down, suddenly weary, and hoped he hadn't made another mistake. Yet there was such a thing as _too_ pure a bloodline. He'd heard all the stories about stillborn babes and Squibs in the more closely-knit families. Narcissa Malfoy had suffered many times to bring Lucius a brother to Draco just in the present day. It was simply annoying how lines such as the Zabinis, who out-bred on a regular basis, seemed to spawn healthier children—never mind the incredibly prolific Weasleys. Given Molly Weasley's odd origins, she was considered a pureblood mostly through her father's side, though her mother's line had a plethora of witches. The Snape line favored foreign witches, and had still dwindled to nearly nothing.

He tried not to listen to Bella's weeping. Some trick of sound and house construction allowed the noise to carry. Child-hunger was a drive so strong, in some witches, that any intelligent wizard stayed out of the way. How could he give her the baby that she clearly wanted so much? Tom remembered the odd conversation about Polyjuice he'd had with his Shadow while standing by the garden in Snape's mind. He only had a few hairs of his own from that past left, and those carefully guarded.

Perhaps Narcissa had picked up the right end of the wand when she'd said that Mudblood children ought to be removed from their families at birth, and Squibs sent into the Muggle world. Both would grow up with the attitudes proper to their station, and everyone would be much happier. The Wizarding world would receive the new blood it required, but without the terrible Muggle beliefs that had killed so many witches and wizards during the Burning Times. Bloody Jeffreys and his kind had murdered so many innocents only a few centuries before. Memories were longer in this world, though Cromwell and his like were only vague historical figures to the short-lived Muggles. The Ministry had grown out of that terror, as the need for organization had finally made itself clear. _Never again,_ he thought.

He would, of course, enjoy eliminating the Muggle world entirely. _I'll have to conquer the Wizarding one first, though. _Riddle finished his tea and returned to the bedroom.

"How is he?" he asked the Healer.

"Not bad. I wish we didn't have to move him at all tonight, actually."

Voldemort considered it. "You won't be able to stay that long," he said. "We don't have enough Polyjuice, for one thing. Besides, you know how competent Madam Pomfrey is. She'll see to it that he's taken care of."

"I suppose you're right. I'm just worried about the transport issue. If he's exposed to the night air, he could catch a chill. In his debilitated state, he could become quite ill."

"Allow me to worry about that." He was fairly certain the Weasleys had a Floo connected to Hogwarts. Obviously, it wouldn't be used often, or the secret would be given away. The children still took the Express to and from school. It would be like the Headmaster, though, to offer the family an escape route. It should not be too difficult to Apparate Snape and gently place him on the doorway, then disappear. Not only would that be the safest route for his Shadow, it would demonstrate his power to reach the Weasleys any time he wished.

Now they would all wait till the real Pettigrew returned. Just before they moved the professor, he'd administer the _Obliviate._

Molly Weasley

She wearily made ready for bed. She'd have to go over to the safe house tomorrow and wash up. None of the others would bother. She hated the thought of all that grease turning solid before she could deal with it, but that was what magic was for, she supposed.

At least she and Arthur had finished the rite for Harry and the house. A few sprinkled drops of 'soup' left over from this afternoon had been placed in every room, even the ones downstairs, and had completed the spell. Even as she'd done it, though, she'd been reminded of the soup she'd made for the professor. _I'm glad I owled the balm and the recipes to Winky,_ she thought. _She can't read, but she's bright enough to find someone there who can. Hermione would help any elf that asked for it, and the Malfoy boy would do handsprings if he thought it'd help his godfather._ Molly still wasn't pleased with Arthur's promise, but knew it was only fair. _Then again, it might be fun teaching those spoiled darlings to do chores. A bit of gnome-tossing and mucking out might be the making of them._ The thought of Draco Malfoy feeding the pigs cheered her up immensely, then saddened her as she remembered what would have to happen first to make that come about.

"He'll be all right, love," Arthur assured her yet again.

"And we'll keep on saying that right up to the day he isn't," she replied, brushing and braiding her hair for bed. "Was it too much to ask for him to have one night to enjoy himself?"

He came up behind her and kissed her on the neck. "I know. I hated the way he looked when I walked in. Then I saw the Headmaster's face, and realized why."

"After what that horrible witch did to him, it's not like Snape was planning an assault on my virtue." She turned around and embraced her husband. "He was almost happy tonight, at least for a little while. First time I've ever seen him like that, really. Then _he_ had to ruin it all, and Moody, too."

"One good thing will come out of this, sweetheart," Arthur said, as they both sat down on the edge of the bed. "We all know he's telling the truth about how much he hates being summoned, now. Even Black would have found it hard to make fun of it."

"He would have tried," she said sourly.

"Well, you're probably right about that. As far as that goes, Sirius would have preferred fighting to protect Harry to any other death. Maybe Snape is like that for the children he's protecting, too. I will admit I still don't understand why Dumbledore thought it was a good idea for the two of them to work together. Everyone could see _that_ wasn't going to happen!"

"This is so idiotic! I still miss him!" Tears fell down her face. Arthur gave her a handkerchief and she blew her nose.

"He was still your cousin," her husband said gently.

"Half-brother, let's not mince words. To look at him and all those other Blacks, you'd think the maenad blood was on their side, not mine!"

Arthur smiled. Then his face turned white and he shuddered.

"What's wrong, love?"

"Gnome walked over my grave, I suppose." He took a deep breath, and some color came back to his cheeks.

"I remember, you took a turn like that not long before that awful Nagini bit you."

"I lived through it, love, mainly because of you." Arthur leaned into her side a little. "I think tomorrow I'll have a little talk with Moody."

"Better leave that to me!"

"No, we still need him," he said with grin. "By tomorrow you'll be ready to pull off his wooden leg and beat him to death with it."

The two of them went to bed. Molly tried to sleep, but had a hard time of it. Arthur's little snores relaxed her. She'd hated it last year, when they'd been separated so much. Everything ran so much easier now they could spend some nights together. The Order could manage itself.

She heard some muffled sounds from downstairs. Molly picked up one end of the Extendible Ear she'd bullied out of the twins and listened. "Someone's at the front door, but they're trying to be quiet," she said, waking her husband.

Arthur threw a robe over his pajamas and held his wand. "I'd best go check," he said.

"Not without me," she said, and was glad her nightgown was thick wool.

They both crept down the stairs, wands at the ready. Arthur opened the door cautiously. Molly peeped out. "Oh, Brigid!" she whispered. "It's Snape!"

There was no mistaking the long-legged man lying across the stoop. She pointed her wand, ready to levitate him inside. Arthur hissed, "No magic, love! I don't want you thrown back against a wall the way Poppy was. I'll take the head and shoulders if you pick up the legs."

They both scurried outside, wands in their hands, and scouted around. Someone who was obviously Tonks appeared out of nowhere. "They Apparated in, laid him down, and disappeared before I could do anything," she said. "I'll keep guard while you carry him in. Kingsley is on outer perimeter and needs to stay there. Sorry for not helping."

Molly nodded, and took the Potions Master's legs, though she still had her wand in her hand as well. She knew Arthur was carrying most of the weight for her, but her burden was surprisingly light. They settled him on the couch, though his ankles hung over one end. He was unconscious, but at least he was breathing.

"Start up the Floo, love, we need to talk to someone at Hogwarts," Arthur said.

He was right—a simple Patronus message wouldn't be enough. The fire had been banked for the night, but it was only a matter of a minute or two before Molly stirred it up. She pulled out the small can of powder which had been specially formulated for one hearth only. "Hogwarts, Headmaster's office," she said, and hoped someone would be there. It wasn't quite midnight yet, and Dumbledore sat up late whenever the professor was called away.

His face appeared in the flames, looking terribly worried. "Mrs. Weasley?" he asked.

"Someone left Professor Snape on our doorstep. We haven't used any magic on him yet, and brought him in by hand. He's unconscious, and his breathing doesn't sound good. I'm afraid we might have hurt him by moving him, but we couldn't leave him out there, not with it setting on to rain before morning."

"He's alive," the ancient wizard said.

"Well, so far. What do we do now?"

"Lupin," croaked a deep voice behind her. She glanced at Snape. His eyes were open, but as far as she could tell, he was only partly home.

"I heard that," Dumbledore said. "He helped take off the rebound hex that hurt Poppy. I'll send for him. Once we know it's safe, then we can move him through the Floo without its magic setting off anything."

Molly fetched Snape some water. That couldn't hurt. He was barely conscious, but drank it eagerly. He glanced around the parlor, but she guessed he didn't see very much. A good thing she'd given him full house-right to the Burrow last year.

It wasn't long till Remus took Arthur's hand and came through the Floo. He had all three of them back away, and cast a circle of protection around them. Then he attempted a minor spell. "It's not there," the werewolf said. "At least not that one. Let me check him for any other curses. To be honest, I'm glad. I would have to ask Harry or send for young Mr. Malfoy to actually remove the rebound one." He chanted some more spells, and shrouds of purple light floated up from the Potions Master and dissipated in the air.

"Well, he's had _Imperio_ on him tonight, and he's still under a strong _Obliviate_," Lupin said when he was done. "But it's safe to use magic to move him. Since he said my name, at least they didn't use that horrible other one."

Molly hadn't thought of that. "Let me do some quick tests first," she said. The poor man could be dying, and no one the wiser. She moved her wand over him quickly. The professor was exhausted, and well he should be, and there was more trauma to his abdomen. "Oh, dear, what did they do to you this time?" she asked out loud. She continued the examination. "He's in pain, but there's something wrong with his nerve channels. Professor, can you move your foot? Either one will do."

Snape took a deep breath and was clearly concentrating, but nothing happened. Molly bit her lip. This wasn't a good sign, and she wasn't skilled enough in healing to tell how long the condition would last. "He'd better see Poppy as soon as possible," she said. She conjured a stretcher and carefully levitated the Potions Master on to it. Remus stepped into the Floo holding one end of the stretcher, and Arthur followed him with the other.

Her husband returned just a moment later. "They're taking him to the infirmary now," he said. "At least he's alive, love. For a moment, I thought they'd left a corpse for us."

"So did I," she said, as she sat down on the couch. It was still warm from Snape lying there. She felt better, too, knowing that Tonks and Shacklebolt were outside watching over them. Molly looked at the clock. "A busy evening," she said. "Just now striking midnight."

"We'd still be out somewhere yet when we were younger," Arthur said fondly. "I remember when Bill was old enough to watch the rest of the children, and we would dance till it was almost light some nights." He sat down beside her.

"And look at us now. We're the old people now."

"I know I am, but you're as fresh and pretty as ever."

"You _do_ need glasses!" Molly said with a laugh. "Here I am, fat and wrinkled all over."

"At least you're not going bald like I am!"

"Well, true. A fine fix we'd be in if I started that." She leaned her head on his shoulders. "You're not really angry about tonight, are you? I only meant to cheer him up a little." She knew Arthur would understand what she was talking about.

"How could I? I wish you wouldn't do it any more, though," he said, wrapping one arm around her waist. "He's the kind who might take it seriously, and it wouldn't be fair to him, not with so much on his plate already."

"I know. Too bad that Tonks and Shacklebolt are already involved. There aren't many witches his age who aren't married already. He really needs someone to love him the way you do me. I don't know how I would have managed all these years without you."

"Same here, sweetheart. How did we ever end up so lucky?"

On that that thought, they returned to bed. Molly thought this time she would be able to sleep. _Whatever is wrong, is wrong, but he is alive. That was more than any of us expected. Poppy will be able to deal with it._ She laid her head on her pillow and closed her eyes.


	81. Chapter 81: Recalled to Life

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too. I am trying rather hard to finish this up before or on The Day, but may not succeed. I have a little over 60 pages of first draft left. I'm certain my betas will hate me before it's over… G

Author's note: this chapter contains description dreamlike and voluntary sexual activity. Enjoy!

Chapter 81: Recalled to Life

Poppy Pomfrey

She was glad they brought Snape to her so quickly. With the place so crowded and lacking in privacy, the mediwitch put a screen around his bed. She glared at the Slytherin contingent, and wished she dared put a Body Bind on all of them to keep them in their beds after their Head of House was carried in.

Once he was settled and the screen in place, Poppy stepped around to them and said. "I'll do my best for him, but you mustn't interrupt, especially you, Mr. Malfoy." Then she threw a _Muffliato_ around the area so she, Severus, and the Headmaster could speak without being interrupted, as Albus entered the infirmary and followed her behind the screen.

Her patient struggled towards consciousness. Fortunately, he waited till he was in a proper patient gown to reach it. His eyes became more focused, but he was still quite weak. He looked up at Dumbledore. "Headmaster?" he said. "What…what happened? We were at the safe house…Molly…I mean, Mrs. Weasley…were you angry?"

The ancient wizard looked heartbroken at the implied accusation. Poppy would like to know precisely what Molly had been doing with Severus, but knew she'd be able to find out.

"Yes, I was, but I would never do this to you, I swear. You were summoned, and became quite upset over it. I can't say I blame you. I sat with you a moment to help you calm down before you left." Albus took a deep breath. "You don't have good luck with birthdays."

Snape blinked, clearly trying to search his memory. "Something…something in my cup. Back of my throat felt odd."

"Moody put Veritaserum in it," the Headmaster said. "He ended up with some of it, too."

"No…_he_ knows everything now! Why am I still alive?" The Potions Master's face crumpled in sorrow.

"I hope we can find out. I've sent for Professor Flitwick. He's very good at breaking Memory Charms. Since you were likely only partially conscious when this one was put on, Filius may be able to dig things out. Now rest, and let Poppy take care of you till he comes." Albus left.

Pomfrey examined Severus. There was more inflammation in the abdominal area, but not the sort associated with most hexes. "Can you move your feet or any part of your legs?"

He grunted with the effort, but couldn't make anything below the waist budge.

"Can you tell if you need the jug or bedpan?"

"No." Snape's face went pink.

"Never mind, there's a spell for that, too." She placed a jug in position and stimulated his bladder to empty. The bowels could wait till tomorrow morning, if need be. Her patient turned his head as she removed the full unit and covered him up. The contents looked normal, though she kept a small sample to be analyzed later. Once she returned, she summoned a house elf and ordered some tea. "Please find Winky and send her here," she added. To Snape, she said, "Your Slytherins were behaving well enough that I let her go back to the dungeons to keep an eye on the other students. She'll want to know that you're here, though. Nobody told her, but she somehow knew you were in trouble, and she worries dreadfully."

The tea and Winky were both soon inside the barrier of the screen. Poppy made sure her patient had plenty of milk and sugar in his. "I know you don't like it this way, but you need something to pick you up, and those Swiss have limited my options." Winky helped her master drink it, as his hands trembled. He finished his cup as Flitwick arrived.

"Now, don't take too long with this," Poppy warned him.

"Lupin said he thought it was a simple _Obliviate,_ though complicated by a fairly heavy _Imperio,_" the tiny wizard said. "Still, I doubt you were fully conscious, which will make it easier for me to recover at least some of the memories. What is the last thing you remember?"

"I was at the safe house…we were playing Snapdragon…"

Poppy hid a smile. She hadn't forgotten how to play that version of the card game either, though it had been decades since she had. _I can just imagine how Molly plays it! _Then she felt sad, knowing how Albus had undoubtedly taken the inevitable by-play of the game.

"Good, that will help," Filius said briskly. "Give me the exact incident you remember most clearly. I need it for my starting point."

"Molly Weasley kissing me." The gaunt face flooded with color.

"I shouldn't have trouble tracing _that_," Flitwick said with a smile. "Any wizard would find that memorable enough." He raised his wand and began pulling out a thread of memory, but stopped halfway, as far as Poppy could judge. The small wizard chanted something odd, then said, "That should help form a proper chain. I'll have to hold it here for a moment to make sure it becomes a good anchor for the rest. I don't think you'll mind, really."

Severus obviously didn't, considering the half-smile on his face and the happiness that peeked out of his eyes. Then he scowled. "I _was_ summoned."

"Good. The next link is forged. Once two or three of them are stuck together, the rest should come out with them. I'm going to put them into this vial, take them to Albus so we can look at them in his Pensieve. Whatever happened couldn't have been pleasant, but we do need to know. I will also check for tampering. For one thing, the way the thoughts curl around each other's ends changes with any modification."

"Yes, of course. Even if it's how badly I've betrayed you all." Snape looked lost in despair.

"Once we know exactly what was said and done, we can take precautions. I really think you're going to have less trouble with the rest of the Order now, if you reacted the way Albus said you did."

"If the Dark Lord knows I'm a spy, I won't be able to help any more. I should be examined for any deep-seated commands or suggestions."

"Of course. Professor Lupin found none, but the Headmaster knows more what to look for, given his superior experience with your memory structure," Flitwick said.

"I for one refuse to be sorry if it means you won't be hurt any more," Poppy interjected.

Severus attempted a ghost of a smile. Then he looked unhappy again as the Charms Professor pulled out a thought that was chained to the first one. "The Dark Lord," whispered the Potions Master.

Poppy couldn't think why Albus wasn't here for this, though the area behind the screen was already crowded. Could he really be so upset at Snape's assumption that he might have had something to do with all this? Surely both an _Imperio_ and an _Obliviate_, coupled with the wrong suggestions, could easily excuse any wayward thoughts her patient might have.

The small wizard eased an entire chain of thoughts wrapped together out of Snape's mind through the center of the forehead and placed them into a vial. For a moment, her patient looked curiously empty.

"Here," said Flitwick. "You may as well keep the one with Mrs. Weasley. I'd hate to lose a memory like that myself." He wrapped one grayish strand around his wand like a noodle around a chopstick, and gently laid it on Snape's forehead, where it immediately burrowed into the wizard's mind.

The Potions Master blinked and looked pleased, then turned sober. "Please let me know what I said," he pleaded. "I have to know."

"Of course. The Headmaster and I will look at them right now. One of us will come back and tell you."

"I'll need to know more about how these injuries were incurred," Poppy said.

"That, too," the Ravenclaw said. He put the vial in his pocket and left.

Then it was just her, Winky, and Severus. "It's going to be all right," she said automatically, though she worried about his current paralysis. He was in danger of somatic nerve failure, and that could take quite some time to recover from. She was glad the house elf was here. _He should be moved, though. We can't hide who goes in and out with this mob, and with the private room in use, he won't have a moment's peace and quiet. Albus won't be able to conduct a proper debriefing here. I have a few things to tell him that he won't want an audience for, either. Severus won't be able to sleep here, not even with a _Silencio_ to ward off the noise._ _His students here are quite anxious. If Filius needs to do any more memory work, we'll all need more privacy._

"Winky, dear, I think your master will sleep better in his own bed. Bring the green chaise longue he used last summer and we'll take him there. I want you to watch and tell me if he becomes ill in the night. I haven't detected any more bleeding, and I intend to keep his charmed book with me." In fact, she should check it right now. She'd added a few more useful words and phrases in the past few days.

When she checked the drawer where she usually kept it, though, it was gone. No doubt the Headmaster was comparing it against the memories that Flitwick was showing him. She chewed her lip for just a moment. There was something about Snape's injuries that fell into a pattern. She had spent the few moments of peace tonight looking over Williamson's exam results, and right now she had an odd feeling she knew what had happened. "Winky, stay with your master just a moment. I need to talk to someone." Snape was mostly asleep, and barely twitched at her words. Fortunately, most of her other patients were at least pretending to ignore what was going on.

She opened the Floo in her office and called, "Front desk, St. Mungo's."

The receptionist blinked. They'd known each other for years. "Poppy? Are you all right? Everybody said you should have stayed a couple of more days."

"I'm fine, Sheila. I know it's terribly late and on a Saturday night, too, but I need to speak with Healer Williamson about a patient he saw earlier today. You know I hate bothering them at home, but he ought to be used to it, in his specialty." The man was one of the few wizards some witches trusted to bring their babies into the world. "I can talk to him later if he's busy in the delivery room, or something."

"Funny you should mention him. Someone broke into his office this evening. One of the security wizards thought he saw some little rat of a man hanging around the back and chased him off. When the wards were tested, the ones around Healer Williamson's office were broken. We owled him to let him know, and he was in just a little while ago. He was really upset when he discovered someone had taken those horrible little snakes of his. He said he could find more, but it'd take a few days at least, and he had a couple of procedures scheduled for next week." The receptionist made a face. "If he's still here, I'll have him go to the Floo in the west wing. Wait just a moment—"

"I think I know what happened to those snakes," Poppy said. "But I've never been around any of the patients he's treated, so I'm not sure what to look for, or how to manage the recovery process if I'm correct. I hate to bother him, but I need to make sure I'm on the right broom."

Sheila rolled her eyes. "At least once they're past my desk I don't have to worry about them. Oh, well, at least it's not a full moon." The receptionist closed her connection just as someone who'd splinched after too many drinks was brought in pieces to her.

Pomfrey sighed, and wished this wasn't taking so long. Severus didn't seem to be in any danger, and Winky was there to watch and to provide comfort, but the infirmary held several of his Slytherins who would be tempted to take a look to reassure themselves.

She opened up her Floo again, and hoped Williamson had had time to go to the staff Floo where they could talk with a little more privacy. Fortunately, he was there.

The Healer looked unhappy and harassed. "Madam Pomfrey?"

"First, I was sorry to hear about the break-in. Second, I think I know what happened to your little pets. I have a patient here with abdominal trauma in addition to what he's already suffered, and some paralysis in the area as well."

"How high?"

"I don't think he has either bladder or bowel function just now. He can't move his feet or knees, though his thigh muscles twitched when he attempted to. You examined him earlier today."

"Professor Snape? But why—I thought I almost had him convinced to schedule for next week, though I hadn't spoken to anyone at the clinic yet." He shook his head. "I had better take a look at him. Just a moment while I fetch my wand."

She extended her hand to help him through once he was ready. "Thank you for coming on such short notice," Poppy said. "I'm going to have him moved to his own rooms before you check him over, though. The place is packed tonight, even the private room, from Quidditch."

Williamson sighed. "The damn sport ought to be banned. You wouldn't believe the long-term injuries the professional players suffer from, especially the ones too macho to use Cushioning Charms. Some of them actually remove them from their brooms, claiming they can go faster without."

"I certainly won't argue with that," she said. "If you could wait here while I have the professor moved, I'll take you down as soon as he's settled. You can check him over with far fewer spectators."

Pomfrey left the office. By that time Winky had remembered to fetch the green chaise longue. Poppy levitated it to the right level, moved Severus over to it, and covered him with a blanket. As she guided her patient out from the behind the screen, she threatened all the patients still awake with Skele-Gro, whether they needed it or not, if they made noise or carried on while she took the professor back to his room. She summoned Dobby to keep an eye on things.

Snape slept through this as peacefully as he ever did—he _must_ be tired, or he would have been helping her glare at his little dunderheads. Poppy took him through the shortcut in her office with extreme care, fearing any jolts might cause problems.

At last she was on the dungeon level and in front of the Potions Master's quarters. Winky let her in, though Snape had always made sure she knew the password. Once in the parlor, Pomfrey levitated her patient directly into his bed. She told Winky to take the chaise longue back and to stop by the Headmaster's office to let Dumbledore and Flitwick know that Snape was now in his own room. His vital signs were stronger than they had been at first, despite the move.

She decided it was safe to leave him for just a moment, and fetched Williamson. Soon they were both in the professor's bedroom. The Healer drew out his wand. "It's obvious he's had the procedure tonight," he said, looking horrified. "He may be asleep now, but that won't last for long. He'll be in pain once this wears off."

"What caused the paralysis?" she asked.

"Bruised nerve from the impact of one of the tiny snakes straying. It doesn't happen often. I can't believe some idiot would do this. The trauma from the procedure alone would be horrendous. No wonder they put an Obliviate on him."

Poppy nodded. That made a great deal of sense. Sometimes the memory of pain was as bad as the original, not that Severus lacked for either one. "I'll give him the potion he's allowed for it, as well as his normal sedative. If that isn't enough, our Charms professor has some spells he discovered last summer. When do you think this will wear off, then? It would be horrible if he ended up permanently crippled from this."

"Oh, that should wear off in a day or two. Frankly, the less he moves, the better, at least for the next day. He's probably better off in his own bed as long as someone is here to look after things. He won't enjoy having his bladder and bowels managed for him, but no one ever does. Maybe I can incorporate aspects of this into my own aftercare, as it takes time to recover from the standard potions I use, too. He needs to be kept warm, have lots of fluids no matter how embarrassed he may be about the need for a jug, and light, nutritious food. He probably should stay on the regimen the Swiss have him on. By Tuesday, he should feel a great deal better. If he _really_ insists on it, he should be able to lecture by the end of the week, though naturally he shouldn't brew till a few days after that. I can't see signs of any other damage. I'll take a look in a couple of days when the inflammation dies down, but he should heal nicely."

"Thank you, Healer," Pomfrey said. "I'm glad you were able to come out on such short notice. He didn't remember a thing, of course, and he was frightened about that as well." She decided not to mention that Filius was an expert on Memory Charms. "Would you like some tea in my office before you have to go?" Wait. Had she said anything about an _Obliviate_ before Williamson did? She couldn't remember herself. Perhaps _she_ ought to speak to Filius as well.

"No, Madam Pomfrey. I really must be going home. I hope someone recovers my snakes soon, or two of my patients will probably have cold feet and refuse to reschedule. I do have spares, but they aren't as well trained as my first set. I can't _believe_ this happened like this!"

"I know," she said.

Then Winky appeared. The elf bared her teeth and hissed at Williamson. "My dear, calm down," the mediwitch said. "This gentleman is a healer from St. Mungo's, and he came to help your master." Poppy turned to the wizard. "I cannot understand this. She's usually such a sweet little thing."

"He not help master at all!"

"Yes, I did," the Healer said. "I really, really did." He seemed sad about it, though.

The elf calmed down, apparently sensing Williamson's sincerity, but went around to the other side of the bed away from the man.

Poppy nodded. "There, there, that's better. I'll have Dobby come down with a pain potion and his sedative if I'm unable to come here myself. After that, keep an eye on your master and let me know if there are any changes. He should sleep the night through, but if he doesn't, I can ask Professor Flitwick to help with a charm."

Winky bobbed her head, one tear threatening to spill from her left eye.

She escorted Healer Williamson back up to the infirmary and saw him back through the Floo. After that, she spoke to the Slytherins, all of whom were awake and anxious now. "The professor will be all right. He just needs a few days of complete rest. I wouldn't let him stay in his rooms, no matter how crowded it is up here, if he were in any real danger."

That satisfied them, even young Mr. Malfoy. Eventually, all her charges fell asleep, or at least pretended to. One or two Hufflepuffs were restless, as was one Ravenclaw who had been watching the game and standing too close to the field. She checked on the two young ladies with head injuries, making sure they didn't sleep too deeply. _I'm glad Severus wasn't hurt too badly. But what happens the next time? I could have a mob then, too. How do I divide my time, and who might die because I am only one person?_

Albus Dumbledore

He sighed after viewing the memories that Flitwick had retrieved. "No wonder Severus was afraid," he said. Snape's comments and obvious fear of him had hurt, but now both made sense. Voldemort had carefully poisoned the wizard's mind while under _Imperio_, as well as through suggestion while Severus was under great stress. The bad part was that Tom had been able to do it with the truth. Albus knew he _had_ been openly unhappy at the dinner just a few hours ago, and had nearly kept his friend from being able to exercise a right all other Hogwarts teachers had only a few weeks before. Snape had also seen him become upset with Filius for the same offense. Riddle had only made use of it.

The rest of the wizard's memories were simply bizarre. Pettigrew using a Healer's snakes to repair the damage done by Bella Lestrange was odd enough, but the unicorn sequence in the garden was even stranger.

"You should reassure him tonight that he didn't betray any Order secrets. In fact, he ought to have these memories back. He should be able to retrieve them himself now."

"Even with all the pain he suffered?" Albus knew he'd never perform a _Legilimens_ for tonight. Just seeing Snape's physical reactions were bad enough—those combined with several portions of the evening spent unconscious clearly indicated a severe ordeal.

"All of them. Or he'll think you're hiding something from him. Considering how much you have, I can't blame him." Flitwick began pulling memories out of the huge basin.

"I hate seeing him afraid of me." Dumbledore sat and rested.

"I know. He can't help it, Albus. Besides, you used that fear yourself not that long ago. I was there when you appeared to threaten a _Legilimens_ in order to induce him to speak about his induction into the Inner Circle. I don't know how you behave to him when no one else is around." The Charms professor closed the lid of the Pensieve after removing the memories he'd extracted and putting them into a vial. The small wizard glanced up. "He trusts you more than he does anyone else, you know. You saw that only a week ago. You will have to deal with his feelings for Mrs. Weasley. We both heard his voice when he said he loved her. Since he was being forced to reveal secrets, I still think it was better he took that tack. You'll notice that You-Know-Who was distracted from asking about anything else, especially once he was reassured that Snape didn't lose the hearing on purpose. Severus was quite clever on that one to let his natural jealousy show, I might add. Perhaps Moody is right about how skilled our friend is in evasion. Very few can use the truth to conceal so much."

Albus knew that Filius was right. "It frightens me how Tom might use this knowledge."

"The Weasleys are already targets, and were before the hearing. In fact, this may serve to protect her, though probably nobody else in her family. You also heard Severus acknowledge that he can't have her. If you don't trust his honor by now, he shouldn't be here."

"Have I ever told you how annoying you are when you're right?" Dumbledore said, stretching, and then accepting the vial. He would give it all to Snape, though if his friend was already asleep, that could wait till morning.

"Constantly. Why should tonight be any different?"

The Headmaster stood and put the vial in his pocket. He was exhausted, but should do this in case Severus couldn't sleep, and was lying awake anxious about his treachery.

Dippet's portrait coughed. "Yes, Armando?" he asked.

"I know you're tired, Albus, but I think Filius has a bit more to say tonight. It's time old promises were kept," said the former Headmaster.

Flitwick looked grim. "I knew this was coming, I just didn't know when. I'm surprised you waited this long."

"Yes, well, a certain Halloween came and went and it didn't seem so urgent," Dippet said. "But things have changed. Your chief spy is once again disabled, and since Riddle has once found a route around his Occlumency abilities, he may well use it again. Some Memory Charms are almost as effective at shielding. If a new spy is to be effective, he or she needs to be in place before the expiry date of the old one."

The Ravenclaw trembled, but held his stance. "Then say it, Dippet. I gave you, and you alone, access for a reason."

The portrait inclined his head. "In that case, sir, you are recalled to life."

The small wizard shook like a leaf in a storm then, and moaned out loud. "I thought I was free…haven't I done enough?"

"You are alive, well, and in possession of your faculties. Your fate is not yet determined by some demented fruitbat," Dippet snapped. "Do not complain. You made promises to find sanctuary here. Others like Tourmaline have lost more. Our new Hippogriff faced far worse tonight than you did during the war itself. To receive the rest of your memories, tell me your true name and city of birth."

"Gerard Manton…Lyons…" Filius looked deathly pale.

A small drawer opened out of the bottom of the frame of the portrait. Flitwick…Manton…whatever his name was, anyway, the man Albus had thought his friend reached into the cabinet and pulled out a tiny sculpture.

"Name it," insisted the deceased Headmaster.

The short wizard glared up at the portrait and screamed, "MANTICORE!"

Dumbledore was horribly angry, but knew he dare not show it just now. He felt as if Flitwick were here under false pretenses, and their whole relationship a lie.

"Albus, I know you're furious. But this was not your secret, it was mine and your professor's. You trusted him enough to add him to your Order, and that trust was not misplaced," Dippet said. "He is bound to Hogwarts just as much as you are as Head of Ravenclaw. Before you go off like a Roman candle, sit back down."

The Headmaster did so, and chanted a spell to calm himself. If he left to speak to Severus like this, he was likely to say and do things that would ruin the Potions Master's trust in him forever. Even now, his mind was ticking over things he would need to do if Flitwick were to winkle his way into the confidence of their opponents. "Filius, or whoever you are, give me the short version. I can't sit up all night the way I used to."

Flitwick nodded. "I was the Manticore during the Grindelwald war. I believed then I had something to look forward to once it was over. I was wrong. I faked my death in a dramatic and convincing manner, and visited a branch of my family that had moved down into England from Scotland." He paused. "I…I did not want to be me any longer. One of my cousins died—from natural causes, I assure you. His memories were salvaged, to so speak, though I hasten to add with his permission. Over time, I have wondered which ones are really mine…I suppose it was suicide in a fashion, though less thorough than the usual kind. Your predecessor, however, was just as ruthless in his own fashion, though his doddering act wasn't as polished as your own. He was an expert in his own way at finding the truth, and I ended up pledging both my selves, so to speak, to the school's welfare. I believe he was as deep into the war as you were, though perhaps on a different level. There were always rumors of another layer of command, you know. The mythical beasts were the field agents, while minerals such as Malachite, Tourmaline and Alabastor were the field commanders. However, even down at my level, it was easy to surmise that there was a council much like the Order now."

Albus was startled. Flitwick was absolutely right. He recalled the names of gems—ruby, opal, emerald, amethyst, and so on. His own controller had been Sapphire, a blowsy witch apparently too busy scandalizing London to participate in anything so mundane as war planning. _I haven't thought of her in decades,_ he realized. Obviously, there had been one central leader, but Sapphire had concealed that identity, as well as he'd concealed hers from his own operatives.

He thought rapidly. "I don't know quite how to use you yet. However, enjoy your visits to Madam Puddifoot while they last. I intend to come down on you quite hard about your Tuesday and Thursday nights away from the school. Also, we have already quarreled around others about Severus. We shall do so again. I shall be certain to let Minerva know, however, about the true state of affairs. I won't make the same mistake I have with Snape. She will be part of this from the beginning. In fact, I may have her be your controller in this case. I am already making mistakes from holding everything in my hands without assistance." He paused, then continued. "I won't ask you to take the Mark. Only do so if absolutely necessary. I suspect by now that Tom has learned how to use spies without that, and has done so for quite a long time."

Flitwick nodded. "I shall have to devise a way to let the enemy know how disgusted I am with the Ministry, and with you. I hope I have more time than till Christmas, though."

Dumbledore agreed. "You need to be in place, or at least on your way there, before Severus dies or is disabled. I would like you to concentrate on ways to overcome the death-bond on him as well. He's still a member of the Circle after death, and deserves better."

"I have made little progress, unfortunately. I don't think you would care for me to use his love for Mrs. Weasley in this endeavor, but I don't have much else."

"Do what needs to be done to save him, Filius. We have little time to quarrel. I do want to speak to you at greater length tomorrow about all this." He looked at the vial, and heard the clock strike the half hour. He was severely tempted to take himself off to bed and see Snape in the morning. "Or later today."

"I know. I have not betrayed your trust in me, Albus. No matter who I am, I am here to serve Hogwarts and the Order. The oath I took binds me, not my name."

"And you have a tired spy who still believes he has betrayed you all," Dippet's portrait interrupted. "I have heard the name "Hippogriff" suggested for him. It would suit him well."

Flitwick stood and left. "Tomorrow afternoon, Headmaster."

"Yes." Albus yawned, and swore he would spend most of the next day sleeping. As he began to leave his office, he glared at Dippet's portrait. "A fine help you are," he muttered. Just what he needed, one more complication…

Dippet's face smiled. He lifted his left hand, the fingers of it laden with rings, and placed a finger on a bright ruby one. Then he turned the ring around, and revealed a somewhat smaller and less colorful stone. He walked over to the 'window' in his portrait scene and quietly wrote his name on the glass with the stone in the ring.

Albus felt his mouth gape open. _Diamond_.

"I thought you'd be surprised. Oh, I was never good for much after the war. I should have resigned, really. And I did understand why you were concerned about Riddle. I simply thought you were starting at shadows, given your own grief. But as you saw, anything less than killing the boy would have been quite useless."

"It makes me wonder what students I'm neglecting…wait, never mind. I know it's almost all of them. But it's time for me to offer what comfort I can to Severus. We'll talk later."

Dippet's portrait nodded, then went back to its customary stillness. "Yes. We shall." The former Headmaster paused. "I always thought you would remarry, you know. Your Deputy Headmistress would have been happy to do so." He seemed almost apologetic.

Albus shook his head and left the office. He would have words with the portrait later. An owl intercepted him outside the door, with a note in its leg telling that his Potions Master was resting in his own bed. Albus was happy to hear that. His conversation could be private, and Poppy must be certain her patient wasn't in danger. It took little time to reach the dungeons, as the stairs were helpful tonight.

Slytherin was quiet, and the halls nearly empty. He met only one student, who was making final Saturday night prefect rounds. Dumbledore knew the gentleman for one of the apprentices and _not_, so to speak, one of those having trouble with the ideals of the Dark Lord. Albus tried to appear stern as he walked towards the Potions Master's quarters. The young man nodded, kept a blank face, and moved on up the dormitory staircase, probably towards the seventh year level.

Winky let him in immediately once he knocked. "Master sleeps, Master Headmaster," she said in a soft, high voice. "But I's supposed to wake him when Dobby comes with night-night potions."

"I'm already awake," said a deep, raspy voice from the bedroom. "Is…is that you, Headmaster?"

"Yes, Severus." Albus quickly closed the door, surprised the _Silencio _he'd thought built into the threshold of the bedroom had been canceled. One candle burned for light.

Snape lay under the covers, though his legs appeared to be propped on pillows beneath the blankets. "How bad was it?"

Dumbledore sat, and brought out the vial. "Much better than you think. You spoke about Mrs. Weasley, but not about much else. Tom was intrigued enough that he didn't ask questions about the Order or your real loyalties. He seemed concerned that you lost the hearing to please her, but your answer was excellent, and I think he believed it. You were actually summoned so that Pettigrew could use Healer Williamson's snakes." It had been horrific, but he'd seen his friend hurt far worse.

Winky, who had somehow entered the room, piped up. "Mistress Nurse and strange man come down. Master Healer says my master better soon, wants to see if things work right. Mistress Nurse to send Dobby for potions. Not here yet."

"Headmaster," Severus said. "I am sorry…I wish I hadn't insulted you…" His face bloomed with a hint of color.

"You've had hard lessons all your life from people using you, including me. I've been an idiot about this whole thing. Perhaps I am jealous of anyone younger than I am. Watching me ream out Professor Flitwick probably doesn't give you much confidence in me, either. You _should_ have a family of your own by now, and I'm one of the reasons you don't. Of course, there's plenty of blame to go around, and Lucius Malfoy has much of it. I doubt I would have approved of any of Narcissa's choices either, though." He sighed. "Perhaps it's just as well. The heart goes where it will, and I'm a fool to think otherwise. The only thing I ask you is to not hurt Arthur Weasley."

"You assume that Mo—that Mrs. Weasley would offer me more than a few kisses out of pity to someone like me."

"I assume nothing. However, Filius has retrieved the rest of your memories of tonight from under the _Obliviate_. I can keep them in this vial and you can see them in the Pensieve tomorrow or whenever you recover enough to come to my office. Or I can give them to you tonight. Some of them are painful, because of the procedure performed on you. Tom must have thought he was doing you a favor."

"Letting that idiot Pettigrew wreak havoc with my body? I was lucky I didn't bleed to death in the process." He was indignant now, a vast improvement.

"Quite likely." Dumbledore suspected the rat-like man was not quite what he seemed, but wanted Snape to observe his memories for himself, and find out if he thought it had really been Wormtail there, and not just his form. Severus would have seen much more of Pettigrew than anyone else, save Percy Weasley, this last year.

"I may as well inhale them now and be done with it," the Potions Master said, reaching for the vial. "I need to know what I told him."

"He put _Imperio_ on you twice. For someone who complains he has trouble resisting it, you did rather well."

The younger wizard grimaced and pulled his wand out from behind his pillow. Albus opened the vial and allowed Snape to feed the silvery strands back into his mind. When he was done, he was deathly pale. "I can't believe I was so weak. I can't believe I defied him like that."

"You know, most people would find a certain contradiction in those statements. I know what you mean, though. However, things should be easier with the rest of the Order because of what they saw. I expect Moody to behave himself for at least a week."

"Till one of them is captured, and _he_ sees how I really feel."

Dumbledore hadn't thought of that. "At least you didn't betray us, Severus. If you betrayed anyone, it was only yourself. The next few days will be unpleasant for you, but you should regain your full health and not just part of it."

"I think he gave me unicorn blood, Albus." Snape's face was a mask of horror. "I believe that's what the dream in the garden meant."

It was always difficult to view a memory in a pensieve from someone who had been in and out of consciousness, but the Headmaster had to agree. "I saw it, too. You tried to refuse it. I think you would be dead if you had."

"How can anyone stand me?" the Slytherin whispered. "You try to help me, and I only throw it back in your face. Right now, I'm only alive because of the fruits of murder."

Albus knew he had to stop this, and quickly. "You are the only person I know who could resist Veritaserum and an _Imperio _at the same time. You looked as if you were giving in, but it was clear to me you kept him from asking about the Order by throwing him something that looked juicier. The only reason you needed unicorn blood was because of the procedure, which no one is supposed to endure without the proper potions. Let's not forget you were injured in the first place because you helped save Harry Potter from going to the Malfoys, even if part of you still resents him.

"How can I blame you? So far it seems he receives what he wants while you're hurt in the process. It's been that way for years. You have no future to look forward to, a past few people could bear, and right now, a present where I'm nattering on endlessly trying to cheer you up. For years I've told you not to become upset about things. I was wrong. You have every right to be angry about how you're treated."

Snape looked thunderstruck. "I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"It's time I faced the truth. I had a quick talk with Moody, who is currently changing all the wards at the safe house, and will be till dawn. If it's any comfort, both Tonks and Shacklebolt looked ready to strangle him. Mrs. Weasley was crying, believing she was at fault for giving you so much punch, and I forced Alastor to tell her about the Veritaserum. She looked more stunned than anything else, but I suspect she'll find words to tell him what she thinks. Do you remember being left on the front step of the Burrow?"

Severus blinked, then shook his head.

"They brought you in as soon as they saw you, then Floo'd Hogwarts. Even then you were trying to help, as you woke up enough to ask for Lupin. He came through, checked you for curses, and said it was all right to use magic. Then you were put on a stretcher, handed through the Floo, and taken to the infirmary." Albus wondered why it was taking so long for Dobby to come with the potions. He turned to Winky. "Dobby hasn't come yet, little one. Please go to the infirmary and bring the potions your master needs for tonight."

"Of course, Master Headmaster," the elf said, and disappeared. Winky came back almost immediately with a tray. "Mistress Nurse needs Dobby to help. Here is pain potion and night-night potion for Master Potions Master," she said, indicating the vials on her tray. "Mistress Nurse says for Master Headmaster to go to bed, or she tell Mistress Green-Eyes. Master Potions Master is to drink potions and go to sleep, not sit up talking."

Dumbledore took the tray and opened the vials. Both of them smelled the way they ought to. "This is the one for pain," he said, and handed it to Snape.

Severus nodded, and took it with shaky hands.

Albus was glad to see the younger wizard look less tense once it began taking effect. "Let me help you with this last one," he said.

His friend nodded, and allowed the Headmaster to put the vial to his lips. After drinking it, he said, "Thank you. It was…it was a good party, really."

The potion worked almost immediately. Dumbledore looked at the young wizard's face as Snape began to fall asleep. _If I ever had a son, I would be proud if he turned out like you,_ he thought. He started humming an old lullaby, and was glad to see the tense features relax. At last the Potions Master began to snore.

Albus realized what Snape had said without words. _He still trusts me. After everything that's happened, he still trusts me._

He went to bed, trusting Winky to call him or Pomfrey if anything changed. As he lay down, he silently prayed. _Let him live. Let him be happy. I don't care how impossible it seems. If he must enter the darkness, let it be for only a short time. If he can find what he wants with someone else, help me not to be jealous. I have so much already. Let me give what I have to him freely, with no more conditions._

After that, it was easy to go to sleep.

Winky

She looked for the little jar that Mistress Red-Hair had sent, along with the cards that had _writing_ on them. The owl had told her it was for her master, and the stuff in the jar should go on where he hurt the most. The silly bird hadn't known where that was, of course. It was clear to _her_, though, after helping Master so much last week. She was glad he was asleep. He'd insist on putting the salve on himself, though he was too tired to apply it properly. Humans were awfully shy about their life-giving areas, almost as bad as goblins—even her Barty boy had been like that. Elves were more sensible. Everyone knew the special place had to be protected, but it was silly never to speak of it, and worse yet not to take proper care of it. Winky hadn't had a mate yet, though she had shyly shown off a little to some of the male elves. Dobby, of course, had his pick as Eldest, but had only sniffed and said she was much too young for him.

Winky remembered talking to Mistress Red-Hair in the Floo, and knew her Master liked the woman's food best of all. Imagine, giving birth to seven offspring, and having all of them live! Only one of the broodmothers back in her old pen had done so much, and even the human in charge bowed to _her. _Naturally, her Master was attracted. She remembered what else the owl had told her, how the Mistress had kissed her Master and made him smile till her own mate had come in. Again, elves were more reasonable about such matters. Behavior like that among elves meant the two ought to be brought together despite previous partners. Any elf with hurt feelings over being left out was consoled by the rest. Elf babies were too rare for anyone to make a fuss over how they arrived.

She looked at the cards for a moment. Mistress Red-Hair had paid her a high compliment by writing on them. _I _has _to learn how to read!_ Winky thought. _Owl says Master ate everything, and never sick till Dark Man calls him._

The elf opened the jar. Oh, it smelled like the Mistress, too! Master would like that. He was almost as good as Master Wolf with his nose. Now everything made sense. Humans liked pictures, too, or why hers had one of the Mistress without clothes on for his bedroom. Winky could always tell when she cleaned in there when her Master had enjoyed himself, even after he used spells to make her job easier.

She was careful when she pulled back the covers. Master never slept well. He was still in the gown that Mistress Nurse used, which made her own task easier. Oh, her poor Master! Even in this dim light she could tell he was still hurt so bad. Scars were everywhere, almost as bad as on old Master Mad-Eye.

He stirred for a moment, and she almost fled. He didn't like being touched by anyone, not just her. Some elves were like that, the ones who'd had bad masters before they came to Hogwarts. Dobby wasn't the only one. Barty hadn't hurt her much at all compared to some of them. She sighed, and knew she had to do her job. Master mustn't take a chill. The elf began spreading the sticky salve over his skin, especially on his abdomen and upper thighs, with extra on his life-place.

The balm smelled wonderful as it warmed on her Master's skin. Something had been wrong with him, even worse than before, when he'd returned this time, but now the new scent combined with it, till Winky was reminded of being out in the Forest in summer. It had been her duty, after all, to ask Master Furry how to find plants that her new duties required when Master Potions Master was too ill to pick them for himself. It felt to her like the kitchens when the elves were preparing the Christmas feast and Midsummer all at the same time.

The jar was nearly done sooner than Winky thought it would be. Her Master's skin had drunk it all and begged for more, but she thought it would be better to leave a little, in case someone had to make some more. The elf softly drew the gown back down and replaced the covers. Master would sleep much better now, and have happy dreams.

She gently patted his hand. "Good night, Master." Then she took up her station by her bed, knowing she must stay awake, or call for another elf if she felt sleepy. She'd promised Mistress Nurse to watch in case someone bad happened. Dobby had told her what he'd seen last week, so she knew to go to the infirmary if Master became cold even under the covers and with a fire in the hearth, or his skin turned gray.

"Love you, Master," Winky whispered. It was bad of her, but sometimes she wished Master were an elf. He was her human, instead, and that would just have to do.

Severus Snape

Molly was kissing him again, and serene happiness flowed through him. It was probably a trap, but he was too weak to resist it, either earlier this evening or now. _Molly, oh Molly, don't stop, please don't stop…_ He sat at her table again, only this time they were alone, and he was starved, starved for the feast that only she could give him.

The dream was so realistic. She took him by the hand and they walked up the narrow stairs to a bedroom. Judging by the low ceiling and the cluttered feel, it was one in the Burrow. Molly lay next to him, both of them naked, and the bedcovers lying over them. Her warm flesh lifted the chill in his bones and lightened his heart.

When she had kissed him at the party, his body hadn't responded at all. Yet the sweetness of those kisses had eased his soul as nothing had done for a long time. _Only love,_ he thought ruefully, _only love_. He knew it was impossible to explain it to Albus that he could find nothing wrong in their exchange, and that he wouldn't have gone any further even if he could. Just the kissing alone had been enough. Perhaps Arthur had seen that. That might explain why gentle man hadn't been upset the way the Headmaster had.

But in this dream he was ready for her, more ready than he had been for any woman. With her lying beside him, he wanted so much more than kisses. It would never happen in the real world—what harm could it do to dream? He reached for her, and marveled at the softness of her skin. The gentle firelight in the room's hearth revealed the freckles that trailed down past the edge of the sheet. Snape suddenly lusted to find out how far down they ran.

Molly rolled closer to him. He cupped one massive breast in his hand, and delighted in feeling how it overflowed past his fingers. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, then snuggled up to him. The feel of her belly and breasts against his body set him on fire. He heard Malachite's voice in his mind.

_Then love her anyway, with all your heart. There is too little of it in this world. It was love that defeated Grindelwald, in the end. Perhaps it shall help destroy this new monster as well. Your world has been too cold for too long. Enjoy the warmth of the fire while it lasts, even if the hearth is borrowed._

Of course, it helped that the old woman had told him precisely what he wanted to hear! He embraced this dream-Molly and brought her even closer to him than before. The rod of fire between his legs was soon surrounded by moist warmth as she willingly clambered on top of him. Severus happily rolled over to his back, and let her ride him.

Her freckles were everywhere on that delectable body of hers. His hands caressed those lovely, speckled breasts and their pinkish-brown tips. The solid weight of her on him was so real he almost let himself believe that this was more than a dream.

Snape cried out with joy at his completion. But in the way of dreams, he wasn't done yet. He rolled her over and cherished her with mouth and hands. This time _she_ cried out, and the aroma of her joy almost drove him to spend a second time right then. He felt her shudder deep inside against his mouth. Then he lost control completely, and made noises he didn't know he was capable of as he rose over the top of her and thrust himself home inside.

When he did finish, he thought he was going to die, but didn't care. Once the wave of passion was over, he found peace at the end of it, peace in Molly's arms. Sleep took him then, sleep dark and deep, but with no fear, only the knowledge that he was safe and cared for.

Arthur Weasley

He became aware that Molly wanted him awake, and was using the most unfair tactics, too, as her hand lay on a part of him that she could make stand for her any time she wanted. "I'm not made of steel, dear," he said, though he realized this was not altogether true.

"Third time's the charm? Be a shame to waste it."

All things considered, he was forced to agree. Off went the pajamas. Molly snuggled in his embrace, further inflaming his desire for her, as she had already disposed of her nightgown and cap. "Oh, Molly," he said, "I can never tell you no."

She kissed him, apparently feeling he was talking too much, and slid on top of him. How he loved her! Some men at the Ministry spoke slightingly of their wives, and called him hen-pecked, yet how they would envy him now.

He gazed up at her in the flickering light of the bedroom fire. She wasn't the wild girl he'd first bedded near the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts—no, she was magnificent now, with her lush body stretched from bearing his children. Arthur put his hands on her breasts as she rode him. Funny how the shadow-light changed their look, so his fingers seemed long and thin.

Molly's eyes were closed in passion, and little beads of sweat formed on her brow. Yet he felt another man's presence in this room, a hungry and demanding one. He remembered the fire that had shot through him when he'd entered the kitchen and watched Molly kissing the Potions Master. He'd nearly booted them all out and taken her on the table, dishes and all. _I've read those wife-watching letters in the Muggle magazines, and wondered how I would react if I ever saw it for real and not in my mind's eye. Now I know, Merlin help me, I know…what did you put in that balm for Snape, my dirty mare? _Now he was even more in flames than before, and wished he dared to tell his sweet Molly that nothing she ever did would make him angry or indifferent to her. Yet that was her choice to make. He'd imagined other women a few time with Molly in his bed, though he couldn't imagine why just now, and…oh, to be a peeper the way some wizards were, and know for certain why she was gasping, and to let her know the glory of being with her…

She'd told him the salve would give Snape fair dreams. Nothing wrong with the Potions Master, for choosing the sweetest woman in the Wizarding World. Arthur certainly couldn't complain. _It's not like the poor man is likely to have anything this wonderful for real. Dumbledore would probably sack him for thinking of it, given the way the old wizard looked tonight. Well, enjoy this dream while it lasts! I know I will._

He exploded long before he could decide if it was all his imagination anyway. Molly collapsed against his chest, clearly a bit disappointed. Arthur couldn't leave her like that, given that she usually spent before he did. Besides, tomorrow was Sunday, and he could always sleep later. Loving Molly was always more important. He rolled her over, and then lowered his mouth to her till she shook in joy.

They fell asleep in each other's arms.

Molly Weasley

She burned, and she burned, and she burned, in a way she never had before. All her life she had chosen to be a woman, and then a witch. Only Shirl had taken her mother's path into the wild woods. Molly _tried_ to control her temper, though nobody would ever believe it. Only with Arthur could she show how much passion she truly felt. Joining with him calmed her, and gave her peace.

Only she had none now. Kissing the Potions Master at dinner had awakened something inside her she thought buried too deeply to rise again. Oh, Brigid, how she burned! Now she was riding _him_ instead of Arthur. Something fierce and red inside of her howled with wild joy at being pierced so sweetly. _Oh, yes, this is a true fever dream!_ Long, bony hands held her breasts and squeezed, leaving more heat in their wake. Fire blazed from her loins into the rest of her body, fire that found no quenching, though with Arthur she usually completed long before he was done.

She felt the man shudder and heard his shout of triumph, then she gasped with delight when he flipped her onto her back and kissed her soundly between her thighs. _All men should have a nose like him, if they could only learn how to use it the way he does!_ She groaned with ecstasy as his mouth and hands thrust her across the finish line.

Molly was puzzled, now. Part of her was clawing at Snape while he grunted with passion and rode her, yet part of her was falling asleep in Arthur's gentle embrace. _Oh, I am a wicked one, wicked! I don't want to have to choose! I want both of them! _Only the most scarlet women of her village ever held on to more than one man at once, though she had noticed the gleam in her Nanny's eyes whenever they were spoken of, but she had never heard of more than two in the same bed at once save in the darkest whispers. _If I tell Nanny, she'll just encourage me._

_Maybe that's what I want._

At last she gave a long, wailing cry, if only in her dreams, and let herself tumble into sleep. She'd worry about what it meant later.

Severus Snape

He opened his eyes and almost smiled to see himself in his own room. The Headmaster's lullaby must have done him good. Winky lay curled up on the floor, clearly asleep. The pain potion must have worked for a change, as he didn't even feel a residual ache. Severus sat up and swung his legs over the edge.

Then he discovered he was still dreaming, or something like it. His real self was still in bed, lying on one side, with his temporarily useless legs carefully propped with pillows, and apparently breathing on a regular basis. He was glad that Albus had told him he'd recover soon. He could easily imagine being summoned, and the sport the others would have with him if he found a way to attend despite his condition.

Well, he seemed to be up, if only in spirit. As long as he came back within a reasonable period of time, he should be all right. Unicorn blood was said to strengthen the essence so that it didn't need the body so much. No doubt that was why the Dark Lord had used it in such quantities when attached to Quirrell. He wondered why he'd had such a startling, though pleasant, dream. Surely the Healer's snakes weren't _that_ powerful.

He noticed the jar and the lid on top of it, and reached to open and sniff it. His hand passed right through it. Ah. He would have to wait till morning, then, to find out what could be in it. It looked like the one Molly had given him just before it was summoned. How odd that the Molly he'd seen in the garden had told him that she'd owled him the balm after he'd drunk the unicorn blood. Perhaps what happened there really did have some connection to the reality outside it. Snape smiled to himself when he remembered what Healer Williamson had told him about the forbidden substance and maenad sweat. Too bad it was nearly impossible to obtain.

Wait. Molly _was_ part-maenad—he remembered Arthur mentioning it during one of their conferences just before the hearing. It would be interesting to find out if the combination really did have that much healing effect. If the stuff gave him dreams like the one he'd remembered, he chase the woman around her kitchen all day and collect every drop.

He saw a glow of light inside Winky now. He reached down and patted her, hoping he wouldn't wake the little elf. It was so strange that she'd attached herself to him, but now he didn't know what he'd do without her. "When I die, Albus will need you," he whispered. He still remembered the way Duschka had cried when Father sold her. Winky needed to love someone, and the Headmaster was dreadfully isolated in his own way. McGonagall was constrained by school rules and her own duties, but the elf wouldn't be.

He drifted through his door—his wards glowed several different colors now, but naturally they recognized him anyway and let him through. _I wonder if anybody can see me? _It was very late, but it was also a Saturday night. Snape quietly went through the door of the boy's dorm. That felt odd, too, but the wards there knew he was still the Head. He observed the snoring students. All of them had lights within them, too, even Theodore Nott in his seventh-year room. His heart nearly broke as he _saw_ how the Dark Mark fed poison into the young man's veins. He checked on the others as well. Macnair seemed entwined in a golden cage made of numbers, while Zabini's lifeforce was affected only peripherally by the Mark. He was surprised by the empty beds there, till he remembered that Crabbe and Draco were probably still in the infirmary. Oddly enough, Joshua Avery didn't seem as twisted by the Mark as the Potions Master thought he would be. Oh, the boy had plenty of wildness in him, but nothing more than the usual adolescent hormonal overload. Young Rosier had apparently been released from the infirmary, but slept badly. Part of him fought the Mark, and suffered thereby.

How he loved all his Slytherins, even the idiot first years like Mr. Andreas. Snape looked briefly in on the young women in his charge. Miss Parkinson's spirit was brighter than he expected, while Miss Rosier's was in the same turmoil that afflicted her brother. Somehow, he would have to give all his apprentices the strength to see the right path, and to follow it.

He wandered throughout other parts of Hogwarts. Filch burned just as brightly as everyone else, despite his age and being a Squib. Peeves goggled to see him, and left a fiery trail as he fled.

The infirmary was darkened, with poor Poppy dozing off in a chair. Her spirit was weary, but full of light. Dobby was still awake, and blinked for a moment as Snape passed.

Some dunderhead had put Draco's bed right next to MacMillan's. The two Seekers were talking quietly, though. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey sought to test his godson's resolve to learn the healing arts from her.

"Who put the burr up your broom, Mac?" the blond Slytherin asked. "Potty is forever going neck and neck with me, and Chang _terrifies_ me some days. But this is the first time you tried to ram your broom up the bristles of mine."

"I'm so tired of coming in last," Ernie MacMillan said sheepishly. "I'm not all bone like the rest of you Seekers, but this broom is the fastest thing I could find. I'm just sick of never winning, is all."

"Can't say I blame you. You might notice the hall hasn't been green and silver for a while, either."

"Isn't that the truth? Our one chance of glory ended up dead in the maze. When his name was pulled out of the Goblet for Hogwarts, it was finally our turn. Only, of course, it wasn't. Everyone laughs at us, and I'm sick of it."

"Yeah, rough play has really worked for _us_, too." Draco rolled his eyes. "You saw the Welcoming Feast. We're tired of everyone hating us. We have to teach our first year students to go around in groups so they'll be safe."

"I thought that was so they could beat up any strays, the way you and your thugs did last year when Umbridge was in charge."

"You should have heard what Professor Snape said about it. I had to look in a mirror and find out if I still had any skin left. That was one of the stupidest things I've ever done. I mean, Father said I had to join, but I didn't actually have to _do_ anything except say, "Yes, Madam Umbridge", or "Whatever you say, Madam Umbridge." Playing along with her more than that was really stupid. But I was tired of coming in last, too. Everyone but Gryffindors do around here. Reggie Montague _should_ have been in a group, but he was by himself."

Snape knew those words had dropped into fertile ground when he saw the Hufflepuff nod. Then MacMillan's face darkened. "Diggory's still dead."

"I know," his godson said. "How many black boxes were on the front page of the Prophet last summer? Think that was a coincidence?"

The other boy looked startled. "I didn't…I didn't think about that at all. Mum said 'good riddance' and Dad said the Ministry was finally doing its job. Goyle was one of them, wasn't he?"

Draco turned his face away for a moment. When he faced MacMillan again, he whispered, "It wasn't the Ministry."

"Oh." The Hufflepuff paused a moment, then continued. "You visited your father last night, didn't you?"

"I can't talk about that, but he hinted that I ought to start making friends in other Houses. Would he do that if everything was going all right for _them_?"

Snape was lost in admiration of the younger Malfoy was manipulating the conversation, with every word of it likely the truth.

"Maybe we ought to have a captains' meeting once a month, or something like that," MacMillan said. "I'll suggest it to Madam Hooch. She doesn't want us fighting like we did this afternoon, and she'll probably go for it. That way we could talk a little more often and nobody would think anything about it, like the strategy sessions your team has on Sunday, or the homework parties the Gryffindors have."

Snape blinked, or would have if he could. The boy was as politically astute as many others of his House had been in the past, and quicker on the uptake than rumor had him.

"I hope Professor Snape is better soon," the Hufflepuff added. "He's been sick a lot this year, hasn't he?"

Draco bit his lip. "He's my godfather."

Snape wanted to reach out to comfort him, but his ghostly arm passed through the boy's shoulder. _I have to live and become strong again,_ he thought. _I won't be any good to him, or to the rest, otherwise. _

As he traveled back to the dungeons to rejoin his body, he _felt_ the lives of others all around him. He was part of them, for good or ill. He sensed the connections he had to them, from Mr. Andreas, still sleeping in his four-bed dormitory room, to Albus Dumbledore, dozing fitfully in his bedroom near the office behind the gargoyles. He realized the creatures were not actually independent beings, but merely a manifestation of the castle itself, or they would have been invited to his death-bed along with everyone else.

The other students and teachers were part of this place as much as the gargoyles, though, from that silly little Hufflepuff Muggleborn girl to Firenze, half-asleep against one of the trees in his mock forest. Professor Sinistra was awake and active, reading the early edition of the Prophet by a reddish dim light so as not to ruin her night-sight for her observations, while the ghosts were drifting through on night-patrol, even Professor Binns.

_I shouldn't be surprised that I'm connected to them, too._ He felt the strands of light spread out from him to others, as well as those that spread to him. The bonds of his apprentices were the strongest, including Miss Edgecombe slumbering uneasily in her room in Ravenclaw Tower. Snape realized why she was worried, and sent out a pulse of love and life to all his apprentices, even through the tenuous bond he still had with Percy Weasley away from the school. _I am well. I do not plan to die any time soon. You can depend on me to shield you as much as I am able, for as long as I can. Sleep now, and rise knowing that I am here._ The golden light shimmered, like the vine that once rescued him from the sandy shores of death. Then he realized the connection between him and young Potter, too. He shook his head ruefully. _Well, boy, I suppose you're stuck with me as well as the other way around._

_I have other connections outside this castle,_ he realized. Hagrid, for one. The half-giant cared for him and Severus still didn't know why, but was glad of it. And Molly. Always Molly. Snape felt warmth and light soar through him just thinking of her. _I will love her,_ he decided. _No matter what. I will guard myself by word, thought and deed, to cause no harm, but I will love her. How Narcissa will laugh if she ever learns the shoe's on the other foot now!_

He drifted back into his room and into his poor, battered body. Snape opened his eyes again, this time for real, and felt himself come alive as he had not for months. Too much pain had numbed his soul, making him afraid to feel anything.

Severus tried to move his legs, carefully of course, and was pleasantly surprised when they responded. He eased himself into a more comfortable position.

He should dress and eat. There was so much to be done. Yet…yet he had to heal, too. There had been a Muggle who had called his body Brother Donkey and apologized for taking such bad care of it.

Snape decided to stay in bed just now. It wasn't even really light yet, and besides, he enjoyed the luxury of lying in when there was so little pain as there was now. He yawned, and when his eyes wished to close again, allowed them do to so. It was odd how he still felt the connections his spirit had discovered tonight. What glory it was to be allowed to wallow in so much love. Why not enjoy it for as long as he could?


	82. Chapter 82

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too. I will attempt to upload one more chapter just before Deathly Hallows arrives in stores everywhere--and that one will be Harry's present (though not the end of the story, I still have 40 more pages of first draft after that one. And yes, this story will actually come to an end... G ).

Chapter 82: Appetite

Severus Snape

When he awoke again on Sunday morning, it was full daylight. Winky was back in the chair next to his bed, pretending she hadn't fallen asleep. "Is Master better today?" she asked, in her high-pitched voice.

"Yes," he said, and meant it. Snape sat up, carefully at first, and then was able to move his legs over the way he normally did. It wasn't a dream. He really had healed overnight. He felt a little light-headed, but much better than he'd expected. He slid down a bit to find if he had enough strength to stand. He felt wobbly, like a centaur colt on his legs for the first time, but tottered towards the bathroom with a great deal of pride in himself.

Severus had to hang onto a nearby support to use the toilet. However, he noticed not only did his urine appear normal, but contained evidence of the little swimmers he thought were gone forever because of Bella's hexes. He grinned foolishly. He would have to try things out this evening, perhaps. It would be a shame to let his works grow rusty through idleness.

By the time he slowly walked back to bed, he was ready to sit down in the armchair beside it. Severus cheerfully bullied Winky into allowing him to wear real clothes this morning instead of more bed-wear, and to fetch him breakfast. While he waited, he checked the jar. Almost all of it had been used, and the delightful smell of it made his stomach growl.

He was not terribly surprised to see the Headmaster accompany the house elf when she returned with a tray.

"I am feeling much better than I ought to, considering how that idiot Pettigrew could have mangled my insides," he said, as Dumbledore sat down in a second chair. "Would you like tea or something to eat?"

Albus smiled, and sent Winky off for it. "It's nice to see something good come of all this. How is the pain?"

"Not bad at all. There's some soreness, but nothing like last night. I walked to the bathroom and back as well. My legs aren't especially strong just now, but they are working. Please forgive me for not waiting," he added, as he began on his eggs. It had been so long since he'd really wanted food, not counting the party last night, but a hearty breakfast suited his taste this morning. He felt as if he were beginning convalescence after a long illness, though he ignored the little vials of potions waiting for him after this.

"I must say, I am extraordinarily pleased to see you so improved. I never expected you to recover so quickly."

"Mol—Mrs. Weasley sent Winky the balm she'd made for me. The elf must have bathed me in the stuff, since it's nearly gone. I don't know what she had in it, and I'm almost afraid to find out, but it certainly didn't hurt me."

Winky came in with another tray, and found another table for the Headmaster. Dumbledore dug in with obvious relish. "I'm afraid I'm about to take advantage of your obvious good nature," he began.

Severus snorted. "See what happens when I stop being grumpy for a moment?"

"I wasn't going to insist on Harry seeing you today after last night, but I have taught the boy all I can," the Headmaster said. "He has been working this year, and yes, I will admit that he wasn't when you were teaching him. He needs to experience the sort of _Legilimens_ that you perform, since it's closer to the way Tom does it."

"Nothing is quite how _he_ does it," Snape said tonelessly. A fragment of potatoes fell from his fork, and he set it down. He had been told how Mr. Potter had used his love of Sirius Black to throw the Dark Lord out of his mind. _I can't use that tactic myself, unfortunately. Of course, thinking about the dogfather satisfies _him_ anyway._

"I am sorry. Helping you drop your walls only makes it hurt more when you must raise them. I wish it didn't work that way." Albus grimaced. "I wish I could learn to let you eat properly before discussing such subjects."

He shook his head. "I was full anyway," he said, and put a Warming Charm on the remainder. "Winky, set this aside. I will want it later." His emotions still went straight to his stomach, and he was weary of it. "I suppose you're right about the boy."

"It can wait till next week. After last night, I was planning to reschedule anyway. I should allow you to recover before piling more on you."

Snape shook his head. Most of his joy in the morning was gone now. "_He_ might not wait a week. One of my memories includes a promise not to summon me till Christmas, but being Obliviated afterwards does not give me much confidence in it. The Dark Lord has not mentioned any frustration with his inability to penetrate the boy's mind, which is odd, considering how he bragged of it last year. I should learn how strong Mr. Potter's walls are as soon as possible."

"I think you are already happier with Harry than you were last year. I have to admit, forcing you to teach him last year could have ended in your death."

He smiled sardonically. "At least I don't need to worry about it any more."

Albus pursed his lips. "Before I inflict Harry on you, I need to test your walls. I should have done it last night. At the very least I should have found out what Moody put into your cup before sending you off defenseless."

"Just as well that you didn't. I wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in after me as it was." Snape took another sip of tea, trying to hide how much this trial frightened him.

"_Legilimens._"

He dropped the cup. Snape threw memory after memory at the old wizard, trying to distract the old wizard while he raised his walls. _I can't stand this any more, I can't!_ he shouted mentally. Yet Dumbledore's inexorable mental pressure remained, and even increased.

He fled to the garden in Firenze's room, which stood miraculously restored. That didn't help. It was part of Hogwarts, and thus in the Headmaster's domain. Was there any place, any place at all that was truly his own?"

Yes. He remembered the dream where he had been encircled by Molly Weasley's arms, enveloped in her flesh, and protected by her love. He knew it wasn't real. He knew it never could be, save in his mind. But that was all he had. The combined smell of cinnamon and vanilla and buttermilks needed no words—not even that bitch Bella could take _that_ away from him…

He gasped and opened his eyes as the invasion suddenly retreated. Dumbledore looked appalled, then stared down at the floor. His feelings were all too obvious.

"Albus," Severus said. "I know it's not real. You were in there long enough to tell that for yourself. You want me to be human, and then you disapprove when I am. I have to stop being human whenever I'm summoned, but I can't stand being like that all the time. I have to have something that's _mine_, Headmaster, even if it's only pretend. I'm not going to have enough time for anything that _is_ real." He bowed his head. He'd screwed things up again. Couldn't the Headmaster see that this was why he'd torn out so many memories last summer? No matter what he did, it was wrong.

He lifted his head. _I am tired of crawling, to either side._

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm sorry. Just be careful when Harry has his lesson today. I think he would have trouble telling the difference between your imagination and a real lesson. I'll send down the Pensieve beforehand, so you can take precautions." He stood. "I'll have him come an hour before noon. That should give you time to recover from me, and to rest a little before you try to eat again." Albus stepped gently over to him and touched him gently on the shoulder. Snape wished he hadn't flinched.

The old wizard looked sad. "I hate using you like this, Severus. I wish you could find a place safe from either one of us. Tom is right about me, you know. I hate knowing that. I'm using Harry the same way, only he doesn't know it yet. Neither one of you really trust me any more, and for good reason."

"Headmaster—" the Potions Master said, forcing himself to sit upright and not cringe. "I have my own reasons for being on this side, and for being here." He looked through the bedroom door at the table by his couch, still heaped with presents from Friday night, and Accio'd an envelope. "Let's just say I find your healing methods far more to my taste than _his_. If I am able, I shall schedule an appointment at this new place as soon as possible. You may regret what you say, and frankly, I'm glad you do. But somehow, I doubt the Dark Lord even _knows_ any lullabies, never mind singing any."

A little color crept into Dumbledore's face. "I didn't—I thought you were already asleep." He smiled. "I almost read you a bit from the storybook near the bed."

It was Snape's turn to blush. "Winky likes stories. And those wretched ducks, too."

The Headmaster nodded. "Oh, and one thing more. Filius will be part of our conferences more often from now on. He has hidden talents, apparently, and is willing to lend them to the war effort. Dippet's portrait was quite informative. Also, he will be in disgrace for various things in the near future. I trust you understand?"

"Ah. It will be difficult for him to gain the trust of the others." Snape felt on firmer ground now. "However, I am glad that Draco will not be the only string to your bow. There are rumors of some who are er, _affiliated_ with the Circle without being Marked. The Dark Lord will want someone on the staff of Hogwarts, and not just a student who will have to leave in a few years." How odd that he actually felt more comfortable contemplating his upcoming departure from the spy game, rather than talking sentimental twaddle. He had not thought of Flitwick as a successor before, but in many ways the nomination made sense. No one could believe Pomona Sprout would have anything to do with the Dark Lord, Minerva held too many secrets as Deputy Headmistress, and neither Hagrid nor Filch were House Heads. Lupin's attempt at infiltration had ended after the failed raid on Azkaban, or so the Slytherin hoped, while other teachers had insufficient influence or status to be considered as possible targets for subversion.

"Have you thought of a story to reassure the students about your latest collapse?" Dumbledore said."

Snape considered it. "I went to a party, and the punch disagreed with my latest potion formulation. That way you can look disapproving if you like, Flitwick can look indignant, and we can begin that part of the game. I will have to tell the apprentices more of the truth, especially Draco."

"We'll talk about that later. Try to rest," Albus said softly, and left.

_He probably hopes I won't take out my latest tantrum on Mr. Potter,_ Snape thought wearily. He slumped in his chair. Winky was bright enough to find something in the next room to fuss over. As attractive as crawling back into bed and pouting appeared, he knew sulking wouldn't help. Besides, he had far too little time to spend it with his head up his arse.

A few moments later, the elf brought him the jar. "Still smells nice, Master," she said tentatively.

"So it does." He sniffed it more thoroughly this time. Spikenard and rose water dominated, while he could only venture at the other ingredients. They had combined in a way that could only be described as magical. Snape suspected that Molly had put more into the making of it than the standard spells, and wondered if he dared to tease Mr. Weasley about his likely part in it.

Severus sealed the jar. Every particle of the stuff was precious, and he'd make it last as long as he could. Now his warmed-over breakfast appealed to him, though he still wasn't thrilled at the thought of his potions. Years of steeping himself in student mistakes and some Dark potions along the way wouldn't heal overnight, though. "Winky," he said, "is there any pineapple juice in the kitchen? Or something other than pumpkin? I need something to wash the taste of this swill out of my mouth." Tea just wasn't going to do it this morning.

The elf sped away, clearly gleeful at his increased demands. She came back with a glass full of juice. "No pineapple, Master, is orange all right?"

"Certainly." Before this was over, he'd probably develop a sweet tooth the size of Dumbledore's. So what? Then he remembered something. He Accio'd his cloak, and he pulled a small package from one of the pockets. "Winky, this is old silver with my family crest on it. A friend of mine found it in a shop. I'd like to use it from now on, both down here and at table in the Great Hall. I know it's asking a great deal, but would you mind making sure the pieces are cleaned and set with my plate at meals?"

"Oh, Master," she said, fondling the silver pieces. "This is beautiful! Winky will clean it and clean it, but not wear it down." She practically drooled in ecstasy.

"Good. I will think of how well you serve me whenever I eat with the set."

She burbled on for a few moments and then left for the kitchens, no doubt to brag to the other elves about her important new duties. Snape astounded himself by finishing the plate and the potions, and even more, keeping all of them down. He stood and walked around a little to test the strength in his legs. Perhaps he really ought to try for an appointment as soon as possible to find out if Gerta's hands were as warm and soft as he remembered them. Albus would be delighted to have his Potions Master see anyone besides Molly Weasley, and he would enjoy the woman's touch. The new place probably wasn't open on a Sunday, but there was only one way to find out. If he didn't want to walk, he now had a perfectly good Blood Broom to ride.

He shuffled to the parlor and looked outside his charmed window. Snape was pleasantly surprised to see a bright day this late in the year. If he wrapped up warmly, perhaps a short stroll outside wouldn't be a bad idea. Some varieties of mushrooms were out in the Forest this time of year. Many were useful in various potions, while others would be tasty when lightly fried in butter.

Snape sat down. For some reason, Winky had stacked a few of Trelawney's books near the couch. Many of them suggested new and better ways of nurturing oneself, without remaining dependent on others, while still retaining social connections. _Perhaps it's my turn to visit her,_ he thought. _Stairs can be managed. _He thought Sybil would have been moved by now to different quarters, given she now taught Muggle Studies. Considering the knowledge she held about him and others, perhaps it was just as well she stayed somewhere defensible.

He was contemplating a bath when someone knocked on the door. Snape said, "Come in," though he hoped it wasn't the Headmaster again, or an unusually brave student.

Instead, it was Madam Pomfrey. She looked quite pleased to see him sitting up and dressed. "Oh, Severus," she said. "Can you walk, or did Winky help you out here?"

"I can totter along. I have some pain left, but nothing like last night."

"This is far better than I expected. I hate to do this, but may we take this to your bedroom? I'd like to examine you, but I don't want to drag you all the way to the infirmary. I must apologize for not coming down last night. With the better part of two Quidditch teams in there, and those two girls hit on the head, I didn't dare leave them."

"I think I had a much easier night than you did," he said. He stood and walked to the other room, then took off his main robe without being asked.

Poppy took out her wand and went over him. "Oh, my. This is much better than yesterday. There's still some inflammation, but it looks like the channels are open now. Williamson showed me his diagnostic spell. At least you didn't have to endure all this for nothing. It might be a few days before things, um, really work, of course."

The Potions Master felt his face burning, and realized she probably didn't have his charmed book for some reason. "Last night I had one of those er, dreams, and this morning, my urine showed well, that things _are_ working." He sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I wish you'd kept a sample," Poppy said.

"I'm glad I didn't," he said. "After all these years I think I know what it looks like. When I was a boy, they called it spending a Knut and getting back change."

The mediwitch laughed. They both sat down, Snape on the edge of the bed and Poppy on one of the chairs. "This is incredible, really. I can't imagine how you healed so quickly."

"Fortunately, I don't have to. A lot of the credit, I think, goes to the balm Mrs. Weasley made for me." He had to remember to stop calling her Molly, or how he felt about her would undoubtedly slip out. He Accio'd the jar and reluctantly gave it to Poppy. "There isn't much left. I also found this morning that the smell of it improved my appetite."

She opened it and took a good sniff. "My, this certainly goes straight to the brain."

"Straight to somewhere else on me," he said. The Potions Master couldn't believe how he was letting down his guard around the older woman.

"With men, there's a difference?" Pomfrey laughed, and put the lid back on. "I am so happy _something_ worked. Are there any other side effects?"

"I actually want to go outside today. There must be something mind-altering in the stuff for that to happen."

"Obviously. You did have unicorn blood last night, or so Albus thinks. There's not much in the literature for those who do so involuntarily. Perhaps the herd in the Forest want any who partake to be drawn to their presence so they can have a little chat with him."

"Now, that's possible," Snape said. "Quirrell spent a lot of Draco's first year outdoors, and was always complaining about the cold. Of course, he likely drank a great deal to keep his passenger nourished. I'm really surprised the herd didn't remove his turban, and the head it went on, since he was out there so much."

"I hope you don't feel you're to blame for it, if indeed you had any. It would have been forced on you while unconscious. Then again, Fawkes still dislikes you, and that was forced on you as well." The mediwitch looked unhappy about that.

"I…I still don't like either one. I suppose I do like being alive, though. I had a strange dream where it seemed I was given a choice, though, but that I shouldn't refuse it. Why, you were there, waving a vial at me, and telling me it was for my own good."

Poppy smiled. "I'm sure I would have, too. I'm still not sure you really ingested any, though. You seem much more vital today than I think someone who drank it would be. Quirinus was a dreadful hypochondriac, but rarely saw me that last year. There were a few times when he looked peaked enough that I asked for him to come in. He had an odd gleam to his eye that you don't, but that could have been You-Know-Who as well draining him. Garlic didn't help at all against _that_ vampire!"

The Potions Master nodded. Too bad that nothing worked very well against the Dark Lord thus far. "How are those dunderheads of mine?"

"I kicked everyone out but those two girls with head injuries this morning. Well, and Mr. Rookwood. In fact, you have a little honor guard out there of students casually standing about in the hall to watch any visitors who knock on your door."

"Are Miss Brown and Miss Kinsolving going to be all right?" He thought he remembered the names of the two girls staying in the private room.

"In a couple of days. Fortunately, they know each other already fairly well. Mr. Malfoy and Mr. MacMillan were civil enough, but I had an interesting time restraining some of the others. I've already reported to Pomona about hers."

"Better tell me now," Snape said.

"Miss Bulstrode became quite indignant at one point, though I could tell Mr. Crabbe was embarrassed at having a girl defend him. I confiscated the wands before any hexes could fly. Mr. Rookwood also tried some mischief, but after the potion I gave him, was quiet for the rest of the evening. In fact, that's why he's still there. He should sleep till noon or so. No doubt it will be good for him. I'll let him go this afternoon and send him down to you."

"I'll have him clean out some cabinets without magic, or something equally annoying. Unless you have more bedpans that need work."

"I've been saving them for Mr. Malfoy, but I think he can manage without that this time. But do what you need you feel to do, Severus, don't let me stop you." She smiled.

"I should make an appearance in the Hall and the Common Room sometime today," he said. "I'm sure everyone knows about my dramatic entrance into the infirmary. The story will be that some birthday punch disagreed badly with a new formulation of one of my potions. This will explain why the Headmaster may look disapprovingly at me." _Not that he'll have to pretend very hard, but at least it can be useful this time._ "Oh, and Flitwick may become more upset with Albus than usual. More of the game, and all that."

Poppy frowned. "He's not a young wizard any more, and has some old injuries that could become aggravated if he becomes involved as well. He works quite hard to cover up any problems with good cheer. I will have to put him on a schedule of exams to make sure he doesn't avoid me the way you tried to last you. Perhaps his knee is becoming worse, and I will have to put him on a program of regular exercises, to be supervised by me." Then her face crumpled. "Oh, Merlin, I _hate_ this war!"

He reached out to her, and patted her on the hand for once. Severus felt at a total loss.

She regained control quickly and continued. "When this balm runs out, I imagine Molly won't mind making you more. Anything that helps your appetite is something I'd like to have my hands on. I'll ask her the next time we talk."

"Only if it's not too much trouble," Snape said. "I…we were playing Snapdragon in the kitchen of the safe house last night, just before I was summoned. She was kissing me when Arthur walked in. He didn't seem angry, but I don't want to make anything by asking too much just because she wants to be kind."

She pursed her lips. "You may as well know it's more than kindness or an overflow of maternal feeling. I've heard from Albus how you must manage Narcissa Malfoy."

"She wants revenge on her husband, and I'm closest," he said. "Lucius would kill her, no matter how careful she was. I find it difficult to believe that Mo—that Mrs. Weasley is bored or angry with her husband. She obviously loves him."

"It is true that once she _wed_ him, she has been the most faithful of wives," Poppy said. "It also true that she is very good as discouraging those whose press their suits harder than she likes. I know a story about Cornelius Fudge that would make even you laugh. However, she was less casual about whom she kissed than you think, and her behavior towards you quite unusual. She had a very exciting social life, as you undoubtedly know, for most of her years at Hogwarts, and knows what gossip is like."

"Madam Sprout spoke of it a little to me, and the portraits said a great deal more when I was working on the hearing," he said, feeling his face warm up a little. "But I hardly think she cares for me more than as a friend, if that much."

"I wish you hadn't been trained so carefully to believe no one could really love you," the mediwitch said. She changed her seat to one beside him on the bed. Oddly enough, her closeness didn't bother him. The mediwitch continued. "Please be nice to her anyway. Women have their fancies sometimes, even when they're much too old for it and should know better."

He swallowed hard as he really listened to her. Disbelief warred with what his eyes, ears, and a very light touch on her mind told him. "Poppy? Have I been this stupid for almost twenty years?" Snape remembered how gentle and kind Pomfrey had always been to him, no matter how horrible he'd been to her. She seemed to have endless patience with him.

"Oh, not so long as that," she said with a crooked smile. "I had my Hubert a decade ago, and I really mourned him. I think it was when you threw up on me in my office after that whole wretched business with Sirius Black that I finally realized how I felt. You had such a terrible time that year, with the Dementors around, but you fought so hard to protect us all when we persisted in trusting Remus anyway. I never had any hope, of course. I have a little pride."

Impulsively, he leaned over and held the older witch in his arms. "I _have_ been an idiot," he said. If he wasn't already in love with someone else—well, there were odder partnerships in the Wizarding World. Poppy was nicely rounded, for one thing, unlike Minerva.

She slid out of his arms and back over to the chair after a few moments. "It's all right," she said. "It's clear how you feel about Molly. She told me what you said to her during the fever dream spell, or part of it anyway, and looking back, I knew it wasn't just the charms involved. I also noticed she wasn't angry about it, either. It wouldn't work out. Besides, I've been too much like a mother for you to see me any other way."

He wished he didn't have to agree with her, and sighed. Then he thought of something. "I'm surprised Flitwick didn't make a play for you once your husband was gone."

"Well, he did, of course, but I think it was just a reflex. He flirts with all the female staff, even Trelawney. I still remember the way she howled with laughter over that one."

Snape remained sitting on the bed as the mediwitch stood and started walking towards the door. "I'm surprised Hooch didn't corner him in one of the Quidditch sheds."

She looked back. "Oh, that ended just before you began teaching here. They used to see each other every once in a while when they were between other partners. I'm surprised she didn't jump _you._"

He scowled. "My first year on the staff. I wasn't polite. I thought it was the usual 'let's make Snivellus all hot and bothered and then drop him like a rock' routine. She hasn't said a word about it since." The Potions Master stood. "It's probably just as well. I would have taken things much too seriously."

Poppy nodded. "You would. Well, I need to go and find out if Mr. Rookwood is awake yet. I am glad you're so much better. And I wish I hadn't embarrassed myself."

"You didn't," he said, moving to follow her out. "Just a few months ago, I would have sulked in the dungeons for weeks, before I decided you weren't making fun of me. I shall have to find you another ill-tempered Potions Master for you to tame, since you obviously have the strangest taste for them. No doubt you had time to talk to my substitute, Master Lowenstein, once you returned from St. Mungo's." He wanted to crow in triumph when two spots of color bloomed on her face.

She laughed out loud. "According to the Swiss clinic, that's the only kind there are. I'll come down tonight and decide if you should teach tomorrow."

He saw her out the door of his rooms. Snape was usually polite to Madam Pomfrey, unless he was protesting yet another annoying course of treatment, but now he would take more care. It made him dizzy to think about this going on for so long without his awareness. _What else have I missed while I was immersed in my own misery?_ Instead of wallowing in his own self-centeredness, though, he realized it was too late to change the past. It could not hurt to show Poppy more of the regard he really did have for her. _At least, I should value her for herself, and not as a substitute for Molly,_ he thought ruefully.

Once she'd left, he realized he hadn't mentioned Dumbledore's visit. As it was, he felt better at the end of this one. The Headmaster was not likely to change much at this late date, and working with Flitwick would calm both of them down. The Ravenclaw's mental sharpness had a way of cutting through emotional morasses.

Winky came into the parlor holding the Sunday Prophet. Snape felt well enough to finish dressing, tuck the paper under his arm, and go up to the Great Hall, as long as he walked slowly. Minerva might still be lingering over her tea. Her presence had been a welcome distraction a week ago, and she deserved a rematch. By the time the two of them were done with the Latin crossword puzzle, Potter would come down for his lesson. _And I won't have spent the time in between brooding on the boy, who is likely just as terrified at the thought as I am. _Albus was right about one thing, though; his dream of Molly needed to be tucked away for now.

He noticed students draped here and there in the hallway by his rooms, and nodded at them as he passed. They seemed reassured at his presence, and undoubtedly noticed the paper. If he looked well enough to do battle with the Head of Gryffindor, then all must be right with their world, or so he fondly hoped. Once away from Slytherin Tower, he gleefully took points from a couple of Ravenclaw students playing keepaway with a suit of animated armor.

As he entered the Great Hall from the staff entrance, he nearly ran into Lupin. All the old fear and resentment boiled up inside, to his annoyance. _Too bad I don't know how to brew a potion called Get Over It,_ he thought. _That reminds me, I _must_ start the Wolfsbane tonight or first thing tomorrow morning. I still have a full week, and if both Draco and the Granger girl are brewing, I should have extra for anyone in Lupin's group who wants it. If only I could find a way that it would keep better. Maybe I should speak to the wolf and find out how long he could stretch a batch after all. If Molly hadn't sent me the balm, it would have been the Shack for him again this next full moon._

"I want to see you a moment, Severus," Lupin said, holding a box. "You left this behind last night when you were called away. I must say, I am quite happy to see you better than you were then."

Snape took the container. "Thank you," he said. He wondered if the scent of the confections would help him the way sniffing the salve had. He opened the box, drank in the wonderful odor, and pulled one out. "Would you care for one?"

"Why, thank you," Lupin said, and popped it in his mouth. "The taste isn't bad at all, though I was really trying to duplicate the er, other attributes."

"You succeeded," Snape said in a softer voice than he usually did around the wolf. He took one of the confections himself. It wasn't as sweet as those wretched lemon drops, but more tart and savory. "I think I like the taste as well."

The DADA teacher gestured over towards a smaller side-table. "Tea? I know you're looking for Minerva, but she left for a bit. Probably looking for her own paper."

"Yes," the Potions Master said. This wasn't so bad. Those potions the Swiss gave him made it easier to set old resentments aside. He _knew_ the wolf wasn't a menace any more, and remembered it every time he brewed the Wolfsbane and watched the wizard drink it. If only the rest of him would listen.

Lupin spoke in a low voice, once they were seated and two cups of tea were steaming in front of them. "I know it's hard for you to have me here. If nothing else, brewing that potion makes you sicker than you are already. Are you sure you really said what you did about me and Slytherin? Sometimes Albus is a bit…optimistic about things."

Snape nodded. "You…you care about students. You've even helped mine with their ah, Quidditch from time to time. My personal feelings aren't as important as what my Slytherins will need in the future. I don't expect to survive."

"After what happened last night, I don't blame you. If the enemy doesn't do you in, your allies will." The wolf's eyes gleamed brightly. "I told Moody last night that if you died, he'd better watch out during the next full moon."

He was startled. He never expected Lupin to come to his defense.

"Of course, you're surprised. I've spent most of my life looking the other way. I've tried to kill you twice. Granted, I suppose it is easier for you to trust me with Sirius gone."

It was only the truth. "You will have more defenders in my house than you think," he said. "For one thing, Avery knows his father may soon become a wolf as well. The boy certainly won't make trouble, and I suspect he would be harsh towards those who did. Also, some of those pureblood pedigrees are more interesting than you think."

"Miss Bulstrode," the DADA teacher said. "And I've always wondered about veela blood in the Malfoy line."

"Yes, the troll strain still shows up every once in a while. I've never been certain about the Malfoys, but it certainly wouldn't surprise me."

"What about the Snapes?" the other wizard said with a wolfish grin.

"No vampires, despite your little ploy a few years ago. You see, I refereed a Quidditch game two years prior, and it was in broad daylight. I also feel obliged to mention all the matches I've attended without turning into a pile of ashes. I could also indicate how much time I spend in the Forest gathering potions ingredients, but I believe I've made my point. I will grant that some of the neighbors we had in Knockturn Alley kept unusual hours, and I would not venture to guess what their diet was like, but I fear I seem to be only human." Besides the minor strain of satyr from his mother's line, of course, but he would rather not hear _those_ jokes again. Lucius had run through all of them by now, or so he hoped.

He continued. "I should show you where my files are, of course, and explain a few things about my yearly routines. I also think it would be an excellent idea for you to speak to either the Headmaster or Moody about Mr. Malfoy. His position is currently an awkward one, and he will need more help."

Lupin nodded soberly. "Mad-Eye is going to have trouble finding anyone to echo his suspicions after last night. Tonks and Shacklebolt saw everything, and neither one is amused."

Snape was still embarrassed by his outburst. "I should be used to this by now," he said. "I shouldn't have let my guard down."

"It did you nothing but good. I must admit, I'm surprised to see you up and about after the state you were in last night. Can you talk about what happened, or is that a Headmaster-only thing? Was Flitwick able to retrieve any memories? I could _smell_ the _Obliviate_ on you."

He hesitated. The wolf would believe him if he claimed he couldn't remember. Yet Lupin had gone to the Burrow and made sure he hadn't carried any curses to hurt his rescuers. "Flitwick…he was able to find most of it, anyway. _He_ didn't ask anything about the Order, but only about the party. I'm afraid I admitted to having feelings for Mrs. Weasley. After that, I was…I was in pain. I would rather not talk about it."

His face must have shown too much, as the other wizard turned pale. "Oh, Merlin, Severus, I don't mean to pry for details about _that_. No wonder you're terrified about being summoned if that's what you have to face. But then," he said, as his mouth twisted, "with me here you have to be afraid almost all the time."

"It's better than it used to be," the Potions Master said after taking a deep breath. "I am so beastly _tired_ of fear sometimes. No doubt that is what will end things, eventually."

"I won't be an idiot and tell you it'll be all right," Lupin said. "But I will do my best to look after your students if I ever end up responsible for them. And I hope you find some happiness for yourself before it's over. I know Albus seemed upset at the table last night, but it's not right for him to play dog in the manger over this."

Snape finished his tea. Now he understood why fools prattled on about their beloveds to any sympathetic ear. He found himself wanting to sing Molly's praises and expound on her beauty, the way young Mr. Weasley warbled on about his Hermione. "It will probably never happen again," he said, though he hugged the memory of last night's dream around him like an extra cloak in winter. "I respect Arthur Weasley more than most think. I don't plan to cause trouble." He had enough already without looking for more.

The wolf looked sympathetic. "Since Minerva seems to be delayed, I wanted to mention this, at least," he said, and brought out a large piece of parchment.

Snape recognized it. "Isn't that the map you and your friends made?" Now he knew how they had been able to track him down over the years and make sure no teachers or other students observed what they did to him. Later, of course, they became more confident nobody would ever punish them. He had no idea how the Potter boy had managed to gain custody of it.

"Yes, actually. I want to speak about something neither one of us cares to, really." The tips of Lupin's ears went pink. "You see, back in our sixth year, Black talked you into going past the Whomping Willow towards the Shrieking Shack. I simply want to confirm what it was he said, as his story varied at times."

The Potions Master gripped his cup. Once he answered the question, he would leave. There was only so much he could endure. In a toneless voice he said, "Black promised it was the final ordeal before becoming one of you. It was a lie, of course."

"I thought as much. He worked through a number of stories, but last year he was rather sodden, and that one came out. Actually, I was afraid the version where he told you Lily was trapped in there was the correct one. But yours makes the most sense."

"What?"

"Yes. Such promises, even if meant as a lie, need to become truth. You _did_ wait for me down there, not knowing what you were going to face. You never owed a Life Debt to James, no matter what the Headmaster told you, _I_ do and always have. The Ministry would have had me put down without his intervention. I very much suspect that was his only motivation. I should have said so then. For all these years, you have carried a burden that was not yours. I should have told Harry the truth the first year I taught here, but instead I lied to him, the way I lied to all the teachers, including Albus. You aren't the only one who has sat in his office and wished himself dead, I can tell you. He didn't like what he saw, and frankly, neither did I."

"Why this now?" Snape was bewildered rather than angry.

"Because—because if you die with _my_ debt unpaid, I will finally be the one who suffers the consequences. All the Marauders have paid for Black's lie. James is dead, and Lily with him. We had visits, you see, out in Godric's Hollow, and a couple of times the truth came out about how we treated you. I saw it in her face how much she hated hearing it. Yet she…for her husband's sake, and for Harry's, she decided to look the other way, too.

"Isn't it odd how the four of us have ended up? James and Lily are dead, as well as Sirius. Peter…from what you've said about him, I wonder how much he enjoys his life. And I have lost all my friends twice, once during the First War when they decided I was the traitor, and now. Sometimes I wake up from a dream where I'm the only one left out of all of us, with Harry's dead body in a line with all the rest. You see, you were quite right at the hearing. I could have made a fuss and seen to his welfare, but I…I looked the other way yet again. Who could have thought Albus would have left the boy where he would be so ill-treated? Even when I was teaching here, I never asked. And I must apologize for how I treated you that year as well. Having the Dementors here must have been terrible for you, and my little sniping was ill-considered, to say the least."

"Madam Longbottom has offered me the loan of her coat and hat," the Potions Master murmured. "I simply haven't thought what use to put them to just yet."

Remus had the grace to color. "I am sorry about that, as well. The hearing was stressful enough just for me."

"Perhaps I'll teach the Weasley twins how to brew Wolfsbane," he replied idly.

The wolf rolled his eyes. "All right, you win." He bent back towards the blank piece of parchment, and muttered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Lines of writing appeared. The Marauders' Map stood outlined, with the nicknames of its four creators—Padfoot, Moony, Prongs, and Wormtail. Snape realized something when he saw the names of students. "Oh, Merlin. I could have used this to find Miss Edgecombe."

Lupin blanched. "Severus, I never thought…hell. You must notify me, no matter what the hour, if such an emergency occurs again. I've been using it to keep track of a certain intruder, you see. Peter is up to his old tricks, though I can reassure you now that he usually doesn't go anywhere near the dungeons."

The Potions Master scowled. "My wards would make life quite interesting for him if he did." In fact, the anti-vermin ones specifically included a certain rat. Then he thought of something. "Could you use the services of about fifteen charmed rubber ducks? They make too much noise to be particularly useful at any stealth work, but they could be more places at once, and perhaps help herd any such intruder to a chosen location." He suddenly had an image of Wormtail cornered in a linen closet somewhere, surrounded by all of his ducks and a gleeful Winky.

"Albus said you received one every year, but I thought you would have incinerated them by now." The wolf looked stunned. He swallowed. "But I know what the real problem is. I can't be much help during the full moon. Maybe I can change that. Normally, inducting a new member required a majority vote. However, since I was made a member about five minutes before Peter, I shall assert seniority. I realize it would be rather foolish of me to ask you to carry a message to Wormtail over this…"

The Slytherin was stunned as he watched the DADA teacher wave his wand and chant over the parchment, and then observed a space insert itself underneath the four names of its makers. "I'll need a drop of blood for this, but not right now," the wolf said. "After all, neither one of us have any idea of what your Marauder name will be till you become an Animagus."

"I'm sorry," Snape said, "an Animagus?"

"Of course."

"You do realize how high the odds are that all three of your friends were able to learn the art?" Now that he thought of it, he knew he'd never make it.

"Oh, that. Apparently I have some skill helping others find their inner beast. Probably comes along with being a werewolf, and always knowing what mine is."

Severus blinked. "You have no idea how much people would pay to be instructed with such a success rate, do you?" Lupin need not be poor at all; someone who could duplicate this with others could charge whatever he liked.

"Why, I never thought of it." The other wizard swallowed. "I thought I was just lucky, I suppose. I never have tried to teach anyone but my friends. Do you think there would really be that much interest?"

Snape decided that shrieking would not help at this point. "Yes, I do. You may wish to speak to the Headmaster first, of course. It would be quite helpful to the Order, if nothing else." To put it mildly. "I am quite surprised you have not yet taught Mr. Potter this art. If…if there isn't time for me, I would appreciate it greatly if you would do as much with Mr. Malfoy. With my godson's luck, he would turn out to be a ferret."

That put an odd smile on Lupin's face. "I wouldn't ask you to try to learn it now, of course, since your health is unsteady, to say the least. We didn't use many potions, and I think James talked Lily into making those, but they'd probably interfere with the ones you're taking now. However, once you are released from the program, I will be glad to help you begin some of the exercises."

Severus thought of something else. "It may also interfere with how I manage Occlumency. I remember you said you took refuge with your wolf when you were interviewed at Malfoy Manor, while I suspect Black did the same with his dog form while in Azkaban. Mr. Potter is beginning lessons with me in the art just before noon today, though he has been working with the Headmaster this year. He should be your first student—that way he can integrate an Animagus form with his lessons before his mental structure is fixed for too long."

"I hadn't thought of that. I'll make a list of the potions we'll need, then. Er…how is the Wolfsbane coming along?"

"I will have the ingredients sorted and ready to go, and begin the batch tomorrow morning. Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger will assist with their own cauldrons this time. Winky will help, and with any luck, keep the two of them from hexing each other. I plan to have them do most of the work this time around. After that, I will have free time, I hope, to brew anything you require for Mr. Potter." He suddenly realized how he was talking to Lupin about two members of the Trio and…and he wasn't angry. The background level of fear had subsided to a much lower level; in fact, he was almost as not-afraid as he had been last summer. He didn't know how this miracle had occurred, but he wasn't about to object to it. Of course, he would have to put the memory of this conversation away, as the Dark Lord would roast him over a spit for three days if the Great Serpent had any idea of the true state of affairs; but he was used to that.

"Well, there's Minerva, with her copy of the paper," Lupin said wistfully. "Have fun with the Sunday crossword."

Snape almost invited the wolf to come along, when he realized the problem. "Teachers are allowed a discount for the paper, and there is a Sunday-only subscription," he said. "Also, I think Professor Sinistra receives her edition at midnight. She's usually done with it and has gone to bed by now. McGonagall and I could wait while you check."

"Maybe next week," the other wizard said, his cheeks going pink.

He understood that sort of pride over finances, even though it seemed now the wolf really had been an idiot about them. He stood, nodded, and went to greet the Transfigurations Professor. They always took over the staff room, even though Severus thought it would be fun for the Gryffindors to hear their Head of House's vocabulary when arguing declinations.

Minerva smiled up at him as he approached her by a side door, near one end of the head table. "You are looking much better than we all feared," she said. "Albus was terribly worried you would spend next week recovering as well."

"I'm lucky to be alive," he said. He was. They departed for the staff room to enjoy a morning of sarcasm and leftover tea. Even knowing he would face Potter in an hour or so didn't ruin his enthusiasm for the verbal battle to come.

Poppy Pomfrey

From the other side of the staff table, Poppy smiled as she watched Severus talk with Remus without the nearly visible aura of fear and anger he normally wore anywhere near the wolf. She almost grinned as the Potions Master stalked off after Minerva, a newspaper under each teacher's arm like a marshal's baton.

She had expected disbelief and withdrawal, at best, earlier this morning when she had foolishly expressed her feelings to him. _I never expected his arms around me. Never._ A small, silly part of her was upset that he was in love with Molly Weasley, as half the Hufflepuff boys had been when Miss Prewett had been a student, but the rest of her rejoiced he could love anyone at all. _He has so little time to learn how to be human,_ Poppy thought. Yet it was better he had the chance, rather than being left to suffer behind barriers of fury and silent agony. Her occasional fantasies had been more than satisfied by the hug this morning. Apparently she'd only wanted some acknowledgement that he cared for her as a person and not just a mediwitch. The tiny spark that wanted more would just have to learn to live without it.

Pomfrey sighed and looked down into her teacup. _So much for my dream of a cottage near St. Mungo's and a tall Potions Master to lie next to me in our bed._ Just at that moment, a strange owl fluttered to her and dropped off a terse note from Master Lowenstein, asking about some notes he might have left behind. _Odd he didn't ask Severus,_ she thought—and then felt her face grow warm. _Oh, I'm really being silly _now, she thought.

She tucked it away. To divert herself from being even more juvenile, she glanced about the Great Hall. _I shouldn't be gone from the infirmary too much longer. Dobby is keeping an eye on those two girls and promised to fetch me if anything went wrong. Miss Bones is scheduled to come in about noon and do a little training. Perhaps Dobby ought to sit in on that, too. Without his keen eye, we might have lost Severus a week ago._

Poppy was surprised Albus wasn't there. According to the gargoyles, the Headmaster had been up early, but she knew that never stopped the old wizard from a second breakfast and oceans of tea if he happened to feel like it.

She finished her own cup and hastened to his office. She gave the stone guardians the password, which let her though. Dumbledore sat by himself with the teapot and drooped in his chair. "Are you all right, Albus? I know you stayed up much too late. You should have slept it out once we knew Severus was safe."

"Please sit down, Poppy. How is he?"

"Far better than I could have dreamed after last night. I honestly believed it would be another week before he recovered properly, and I knew he wouldn't allow himself to rest that long. I counted over different sorts of Body Binds when _I_ couldn't sleep. This morning, though, he was nearly well, and what's more, in good spirits."

Dumbledore blinked. "I am surprised. You see, I went to talk to him earlier, if only to forbid him to move from his rooms for the next week, even if the paralysis wore off sooner. He was…cheerful. I'm not used to seeing him that way either. However, I seem to have a special gift, and proceeded to hound him about Mrs. Weasley, even though I said last night I wouldn't. Are you really certain he was all right? He might not have wanted to burden you with his problems."

"I know _that_ one by now, Albus. He never mentioned your visit, not even to drop little hints, and he wasn't pouting as far as I could tell. Given what happened last night, I was quite surprised. Do let me know when Moody is visiting again." Lupin had been rather upset himself about the whole affair, and hadn't minded telling her what he'd seen at the party.

"You'll have to wait in line," the ancient wizard said with a rueful look. "I must admit, I was dreading your visit. I thought for certain you were going to berate me for asking him to give Harry Occlumency lessons, or for hurting him when I had to test his mental barriers."

Poppy was aghast. "As I said, he never mentioned it. Isn't he allowed any time for recovery? I know he seems much stronger today, but considering what you said, it must be more of a façade than I thought. He'd normally be as grumpy as Bane with a bad tooth. He's still an adolescent in the way he reacts to things."

"You're right. I know I treat him like one."

Pomfrey realized she always had, too. "I think we all do. I know you meant to protect him from the Ministry, but keeping him all these years has been a mistake. Perhaps he should have gone to the States out of their reach for a while first. We've never really let him grow up, even with burdens that would kill most men." _Of course Severus can never see me as a woman,_ she thought. _None of the staff really sees him as a man. Only the students do, and he's forbidden them. They will never see him as anything but a Potions Master, even after they're gone._

Albus bowed his head. "I need to have you, Minerva, or Flitwick sit in with me again whenever I meet with him. I thought I could do better now, and that he'd appreciate the privacy, given what I have to say and do. But I keep making the same mistakes, and I wish I knew why."

"You and Minerva need to go off for a weekend," the mediwitch said. "The school and war together are grinding you down. You must find more time to rest, or you'll continue to make stupid decisions. Think of it as a contribution to the effort that way. I have my weekly gossip with Molly and that helps both of us. She works incredibly hard, too."

"And what does Severus have?"

"He has Winky now, and that has made a big difference. I wish you'd consider having an elf assigned to you. If you are happier and better rested, you won't make the same errors."

"No, I'll make new and improved ones."

"Then we'll enjoy the variety," she said crisply. "You can always be called back if he's summoned. Severus might enjoy a couple of days when he's not being hovered over, either. Last year, we had to deal with that woman, so your absences were not exactly restful. However, it is difficult for him to exercise any real authority if you're always on the scene five minutes later for damage control. I know you feel you had to do it for Harry's sake, but it helped neither one of them. When they finally had to confront each other last year without your supervision, neither one had a clue how to do it. I hope it goes better this time."

"That's a bit of exaggeration," Albus said.

"True. But till last year, Harry always felt you would override any punishment you felt to be too severe. That's not a healthy situation for any student or a teacher. And then last year, we all stepped on anything Umbridge tried to do. He and his friends were the main beneficiaries. This year, he's had special lessons all along. I hope he hasn't used them that way, or today will not go well."

"Harry will be coming here in an hour or so."

"Then send him along and go back to bed. The two of them _must_ manage things without Severus thinking you'll undercut him if he doesn't do it right. I realize things were pretty bad last year, but our Potions Master wasn't the only one who wanted to strangle the boy. Harry has changed, and so has the professor. I could tell the boy had a much better summer than usual. The fact that Snape didn't whine or sulk this morning when he had good reason to shows how much he's changed. I know you worry over what might happen, but you saw only a week ago how much he cares for _you_. I'm still amazed he lets anyone touch him, really." _Or reached out the way he did this morning, but that's not the Headmaster's business._

"I know."

"You're exhausted." She waved her wand over him. "Your joints are aching with the change in weather, even if it's nicer than usual today. Of course you're not thinking straight. Minerva told me about the assistants you want to assign to the House Heads. I need one, too, since Miss Bones will be helping out elsewhere. I think it's a good idea, and you need one as well."

"Whoever it was would learn too much."

"Then choose Dobby, who knows better than to ask questions, or a first year with stars in his eyes. What you told Minerva about someone taking on more of the physical burden of administration goes double for you. Fawkes does what he can, but even a phoenix has limits. I've talked to a couple of those little firsties from Slytherin who are still burbling over you serving them hot chocolate. As far as I can tell, you enjoyed it just as much as they did. You need more contact with the younger students anyway."

Albus smiled faintly. "I think I'll take your advice about today. It's just that we have so little time before we lose Severus forever, and I keep, I keep hurting him. I don't know what to _do!"_

The time for subtlety was over. She rose from her chair, walked over behind the desk, and took the Headmaster's hand. "Come with me and I'll put you to bed. Mr. Potter can find his own way to the dungeons today. Tomorrow, you can eat half a pound of lemon drops and be back to your normal, annoyingly cheerful self."

Dumbledore dragged his feet like a tired child, but obeyed as she escorted him to his bedroom, a short distance from his office. He lay down, after changing into looser robes behind a screen, and Pomfrey put a comforter over him. She waved her wand at the fire to burn a bit hotter. Fawkes fluttered in from wherever he'd been and squawked. "You rest up, too," the mediwitch told the bird. "Go roll in the fireplace or something. It's hard work keeping everyone going, isn't it?"

She made a mental note to speak to Minerva in case the Headmaster decided to do something silly, like more Ministry paperwork. If nothing else, her friend could sit with a stack of grading and keep Albus company while resting in a comfortable chair.

Men! Babies, all of them! Pomfrey smiled as she went back to the infirmary. What would the Wizarding world do without witches to keep them in line?

Draco Malfoy

He casually lounged around the Common Room, sitting where he could keep an eye on the hallway through the half-open door. Madam Pomfrey had let him go early this morning, but he hadn't gone up to bed the way he'd been told to. Instead, he'd grilled Winky on how the professor was this morning. It was such a relief to know his godfather was better.

Last night, he had stared with everyone else when the Potions master had been brought into the infirmary. With the Headmaster and Flitwick involved, as well as the mediwitch, even MacMillan had stopped talking for a moment while Draco watched Pomfrey levitate the unconscious man out of the stretcher and to a bed.

_Why didn't I feel anything through the Mark? Nobody else did, either, not even Crabbe or either one of the Rosiers. Their connection ought to better than mine these days. I wish I didn't have one to my aunt._ His guts had cramped a little bit last night, but he always reacted like that to Skele-Gro. Yet late last night, while talking to the Hufflepuff, he'd felt as if he and his godfather were linked the way everyone had been that night last summer at Malfoy Manor.

So far this morning, Draco had noticed the Headmaster departing down the hall, looking downcast, and Madam Pomfrey, who had left looking happy. Winky had spilled what she knew, though. "Master Headmaster makes him sad, but he smells nice stuff Mistress Red-Hair makes for him, feels better, eats everything."

What did the Weasel's fat mother have to do with anything? Draco couldn't figure it out. Only someone as common as Arthur Weasley could think the woman attractive enough to have seven children with. It was annoying when her brats flocked around her, while she handed out hugs and Howlers with equal fervor. His own mother was always so dignified that the contrast was obvious. He stifled a wish to be held the way she had last summer, when he'd been so afraid Professor Snape was going to die.

Still, if Mrs. Weasley had made up some glop that helped, he had to be thankful. _I suppose she was pretty good-looking in a crude way twenty years ago or so,_ he thought. _Merlin knows Goyle always drooled over her tits, even if she was covered up whenever we saw her._

Oh, how he still missed Greg! He knew that Vince did, too. It just wasn't the same now. They'd have a lot to talk about at the meeting after lunch. Forfeiting the game would hurt their standings, as would the hundred points. He still wished he knew what Snape had meant by turning the situation to their advantage, though.

Draco kept an occasional eye on the hallway. He was glad he'd caught sight of his godfather walking under his own power without a chair tagging along, but who knew how long it would last till the next time he was hurt? Someone had to watch out for the Professor.

_It can't be true what he said last Sunday. He's not going to die, or be left without any words the way he was that horrible night. I don't care what I have to do to stop it from happening. Father doesn't understand. The family always comes first with him._ That had been clear from his visit Friday night.

_To me, Snape _is _family._ Something inside felt better knowing that. Helping his godfather _was_ taking care of family. It didn't matter what Father said now. If sucking up to a Hufflepuff helped, he'd fall on his knees and beg if he had to. Being a Malfoy meant understanding what was truly important.

Besides, MacMillan wasn't as stupid as he looked. The plump Seeker had been pleased to have someone from an important family listen to him. Draco had learned his superior manner didn't really help much when it counted. It couldn't hurt to have the captains meet, anyway. He'd have to resist the temptation to hum "Weasley is Our King" under his breath, of course, but even he respected the way Gryffindor's Keeper had improved. Next year would be interesting.

If, of course, any of them were still alive. _Oh, Professor, _please_ don't die…_

An hour or so later, he caught sight of his godfather returning with a newspaper under one arm and a smug look on his face. Draco left the Common Room and intercepted the Potions Master, just as the older wizard was about to open the door to his private quarters. "Professor, how are you?" he asked.

"Much better than last night," Snape said.

"Is there anything I should know about what happened?" He knew he would never dare to ask his aunt.

"Not out here," his godfather said, and motioned him inside. He closed the door and sent Winky on an errand. "Pettigrew was there with the little snakes Healer Williamson uses. They…they were used on me. It was remarkably unpleasant, but Madam Pomfrey told me the procedure worked. I shan't go into detail." For a moment his face was frozen. Then his features relaxed, though Draco thought he was doing it deliberately. Father did that sometimes, too.

"I won't ask, except I'm glad you're better. Is there anything I can do to help out here? I have a meeting after lunch, but I'm free till then."

"And, I daresay, homework to do after that."

"Well, I certainly didn't do much of it yesterday," Draco said ruefully. "It's…it's so good to see you like this. When they brought you in, I was terrified. Winky said some stuff from Mrs. Weasley helped you. I'll even be polite to her the next time I see her."

"I suggest you do so anyway." His godfather's face was very controlled again. "In fact, if I am not available, and you cannot reach the Headmaster or Moody, she can be consulted in case of difficulty."

That sounded so incredible that the blond Slytherin refused to believe it—except he knew that Snape wouldn't say anything like that unless it was true. "She's just another Gryffindor in love with Potty," he said. "I heard you said some pretty rotten things to her at the hearing."

"She was actually a Hufflepuff. She does love young Mr. Potter, but that is our cross to bear," the professor said dryly. He moved towards the couch and seated himself rather carefully. "As for the hearing, you obviously didn't catch all the gossip if you don't know that she was a Hufflepuff. I should think by now you would understand why I say many things I do, including about Mr. Potter." He let out a sigh once he was through sitting down, which was understandable if he'd had that…that procedure just last night.

Draco hoped his godfather wasn't pushing himself too hard. "I suppose the Boy-Who-Lived isn't as nasty as he was last year," he admitted.

"And neither are you," Snape shot back. "As far as that goes, neither am I. By the way, have you been contacted by your mistress lately?"

"No, sir." That was one thing he was happy about, despite the small part of him that missed her. "Pan—I mean, Miss Parkinson—is still upset with me."

"It is a great deal for her to accept. Give her time and don't push."

He nodded. "Well, I'd better look at my homework. I heard the Gryffs take theirs to their team meetings and do it all together."

"That's not a bad idea. You wouldn't have to be the only one to beat an essay out of Mr. Crabbe."

"Yes, it would be nice to hear Zabini scream instead," Draco joked. Then he became serious. "Do you want one of us to make chocolate for the first years today? I know you look much better, sir, but sometimes you seem that way even if you're not."

"No. I've missed too many sessions with them. They need to be able to depend on me."

_And you need to be able to depend on _us he thought. He quietly resolved to take the duty himself whenever the professor wasn't well enough.

"I will need your assistance again with the Wolfsbane Potion," Snape said.

"I don't mind, sir," the young Slytherin said. "Since we won't be playing next week anyway," he added ruefully.

"I have to warn you that Miss Granger will be in attendance as well. I cannot have bickering while this potion is being brewed. You should also know that Mr. Potter will resume Remedial Potions today. I will make sure you have similar lessons, although I'm not entirely certain when. On top of that, the Headmaster has had yet another brainstorm to foster school unity. Selected sixth year students have been chosen to become assistants to the Heads of Houses. Mr. Zabini will second Professor Flitwick. Fortunately, this will not occur till the end of the autumn Quidditch season."

"He won't mind…and that will help us maintain contact with Miss Edgecombe, as everyone will think they know what's going on," Draco said, who was fascinated by the way his godfather's mind worked. _I should have paid a lot more attention a long time ago,_ he thought. "Let me guess! Just so every member of the Trio is accounted for, the Weasel is going to be yours." _Dumbles wants the professor to collect the entire set, apparently._

"Quite right. If the Quidditch captains start having meetings in order to resolve difficulties before they can cause disaster on the field, you should use the first couple of sessions to set the tone. If you are courteous and reasonable, the rest will be ashamed not to be, and you will make _my_ life a great deal easier. I would rather find something useful the boy can do and not spend all my time settling disagreements."

His godfather looked tired, and well he should. The blond Slytherin hesitated. He had been looking forward to being polite in a way that would drive the Weasel over the top. His father was extremely skilled at the art of prodding someone through etiquette—the professor had certainly risen to the bait a few times at the Manor. "I can always ask Mother how she keeps from murdering some of her guests," Draco ventured.

The older wizard smiled. "I was hoping you'd choose her example to emulate," he said. "In fact, it's my turn. How is your arm?"

"Just about healed. It still hurts, but not nearly as much as it did last night."

Snape nodded. "I remember how you carried on after you were slashed by the hippogriff. I'm glad you've grown past that."

"So am I. I should have listened to Professor Hagrid about it. In fact, I should have treated that wretched Buckbeak just like most people treat you."

The professor gave a rare bark of laughter. "Perhaps I should have sat on you the way I have Mr. Potter all these years."

"No, I was a spoiled brat then, and would have whined to Father about it." Draco shook his head, disliking quite a few of his memories just then. "He would have threatened to have you sacked, or laughed and let you borrow his cane. It could have gone either way."

Winky appeared with a small tray, which held some food, a glass of juice, and a vial. Snape scowled, but took his medicine anyway. The elf stood patiently till her master ate the food and drank the juice, which probably helped to wash out the nasty taste of the potion.

Draco was startled when the clock in the parlor bonged. The hands pointed to Time for Remedial Potions. "I'd better let you deal with _him_, then," he said. He knew he and the Golden Gryff were technically on the same side, but he'd have a hard time minding his manners under the circumstances. "I hope you're done with all these soon, sir," he said as he left the room.

The brief smile his godfather awarded him left him with a warm glow in his heart. He quickly ducked into the Common Room. He'd spotted the Boy-Who-Lived coming down the hall, and any encounter now would only make Snape's job harder. _It's my job to help bear some of his burdens,_ Draco thought, _and not add to them. Now, _after_ the lesson…_


	83. Chapter 83: The Birthday Present

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too. Also, just a quick note. The enchanted comforter/sheets from Hermione some reviewers have thought were in this story are actually in "Pet Project" by Caeria (who should update! Soon!). Also, this is not the last chapter of the story, despite its title—however, I hope it gives some people a good sense of closure. I sincerely hope this chapter is being posted prior to July 21st.

Chapter 83: The Birthday Present

Harry Potter

He'd decided to read the transcript of the hearing somewhere away from the Common Room, in case Ron might be upset at what was in it. Now he was glad he had. Harry smoothed out the thin pages, though he really wanted to rip them to pieces. How _dare_ Snape say such things to his new mum? Repeating old, nasty names like that—it would serve the Potions Master right if he did bring back 'Snivellus'. Hermione had held him and Ron at wand point for half an hour after they'd said something stupid about the Edgecombe girl. She'd end up angry about this, too, he was certain. No. It was a good thing he'd chosen the quiet, empty classroom well away from the dormitory to take a look at these papers.

There were other things he didn't like, either. But why weren't the twins upset? They'd sounded like they knew all about this, and didn't seem bothered. He quietly summoned Hedwig to him, wrote a brief note—"Why aren't you mad at Snape?" and sent his bird off.

_I wish I hadn't taken this from the ghoul_, he thought miserably. Sometimes he'd been upset that things were hidden from him, but he wished someone had this time. Just when he was really beginning to think about the Slytherin as someone he could trust, this had to happen. _And I have to take an Occlumency lesson from him soon. I don't want to be like it was last year, but what am I going to do?_

Harry was glad, again, that no one was around as he held his head in his hands and cried. _I should give the git the present I set up anyway, but how can I? I have to give it properly, or he'll think the Headmaster made me do it, or something. It'd be like when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia gave me a dusty paperclip for Christmas one year. After last week, I thought I knew what was going on, and felt bad because _I'd_ been such a git over the years. Now I don't know what to think._

Someone cleared his throat. Harry wrenched himself up and gulped. He blinked. "Professor Binns?"

"This is the History of Magic classroom, young man," the ghost said in a dry voice.

"I didn't think anyone would be using it, sir," he said. "I'll leave, ok?"

"I see that you're reading something, Mr. Potter. May I take a look at it, please?"

"It's nothing you'd be interested in, sir. I mean, it happened only last week or so, it's not really history yet." He shuffled the papers together.

"Since it has happened, it _is_ history. I regret that I can spend so little time on contemporary issues. However, with a thousand years to deal with—well, never mind. Please lay the papers out and turn them when I ask you to, please."

Even as a ghost, Binns was still a teacher. Harry obeyed, though he wanted to run off instead. He was stunned at how fast the History Professor made his way through the transcript.

"Ah. I think I see your problem," the ghost said as he reached the part where Snape had questioned Mrs. Weasley. "Continue turning the pages, please."

In a time far shorter than he thought possible, Binns was done.

"You have read this all the way through, have you not?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said miserably.

"You have focused on only one small part, I suspect. Let us begin from the beginning. First of all, the hearing started at night, no doubt to keep everyone off balance. Minister Fudge showed unexpected intelligence in calling upon the hours of midnight to dawn, as otherwise the hearing was likely to last much longer. However, there are things you do not know. Professor Snape and I conferred nearly every night, long after his appointed bedtime, for most of the week prior to this. He was particularly anxious to ensure that the witnesses that he planned to call not show well, at least for his side. I do not think Mrs. Goyle impressed the court much, do you?"

"Er, no…" Harry wondered exactly what she'd said, actually, since the transcript hadn't spelled anything out. It must have been good, though. "Why are you telling me all this? What if You-Know-Who sucks it out of my brain?"

"The Headmaster has informed me of your progress in Occlumency," the teacher said with a sniff. "And about time, too. Your anger at being kept in the dark was quite reasonable, yet not helpful for anyone trying to teach you. Let's return to the hearing. You will also recall that your aunt ended up being treated as a hostile witness, did she not?"

Harry shuffled through the pages. He _had_ been proud of Aunt Petunia. It couldn't have been easy for any Muggle to walk into the Wizengamot and be surrounded by 'freaks' like her horrible nephew. And…and she _did_ care for him. _I just wish she'd been like this all along._ "There it is," he said. He bit back another set of tears. _Why does she have to be like this now, when I'm leaving them forever?_ "Yeah. She did."

"Professor Snape had to call Mrs. Malfoy as one of his witnesses, just as Mr. Weasley had to call his wife as one of his. Of the two, whom do you think did best to prove she would be a good mother to you?"

"Well, Mrs. Weasley, of course."

"Aside from one personal comment, was the professor rude or unprofessional to her?"

"No…not really." Harry read over one bit close to the slur. _He really seemed concerned that I'd be yelled at a lot, or lost in the crowd at the Burrow, if you take his words at face value. _"I wish I could have heard his tone of voice, though."

"You do realize that _other_ people were undoubtedly listening in to this hearing, don't you? I believe you saw for yourself how they evaluated his performance."

Madam Pomfrey lying on the floor…Snape frightened and crying, tears running into the dried muck on his face…the little pool of blood that kept growing as it dripped from his cloak while he lay on the bed…and the dead eyes in the worn face the next morning, with no hope in them at all. Harry sat down again, knowing he was being rude, but didn't know if a ghost _could_ sit down. He listlessly leafed through the papers again.

"Who else are you angry at, Mr. Potter?"

He almost said "nobody", when he realized that wasn't true. Harry sniffed again. "My aunt. Why couldn't she like me before this summer? She was brave enough that night. Why couldn't she tell Uncle Vernon where to put it before then? Why did I have to live in a cupboard under the stairs for so long?" That brought up others, like, _why did the Headmaster make me stay there when he _knew_ what they were doing to me, _but he wasn't anywhere near stupid enough to mention _that_ one. "Why didn't Remus come see me? He was such good friends with my dad and mum. I hate thinking Snape is right about him! He just stood around and let his friends turn Snape into a dishrag and tried to pretend it wasn't going on. He lied to me in the Shrieking Shack to make himself look better. I want to trust him, but how can I? I don't want to talk to him about this. He'll think I hate him because he's a werewolf." And last year, he'd even been worried about Sirius. Uncle Vernon wasn't nice to be around when he drank, either, and he'd hated seeing his godfather that way. If Snape hadn't ragged on him so much, maybe Sirius could have left the Firewhiskey alone.

"It is difficult to be angry at people you love, Mr. Potter. It is often easier to blame someone else that you already dislike. History is full of such people, but it would be safer for all of us if you did not go down that path."

"Easy for you to say! You're a ghost! Nobody can hurt you now. I know what happens when I show that I'm angry around home, believe me!"

"Professor Snape is an easy target. I fear he always has been. I have noticed in my reading that many great leaders had associates which were not as popular, and which were sometimes sacrificed to reinforce the ruler's popularity. John of Cappadocia, for instance, insisted that rich people, as well as the poor, pay taxes during the days of the Byzantine Empire under the rule of Justinian. While Empress Theodora was alive, his position was secure and the empire prospered. Once she had passed on, Justinian found it easy to offer him up to the mob. It did not buy him as much time as he would have wished."

"The Headmaster's not like that!" Harry was mortified to hear anyone talking like that about Dumbledore.

""Of course not," Binns said dryly. "But it is only human for him to sometimes allow himself to take advantage of the situation. He loves you very much, Harry, and he would like to pretend that some responsibilities were not his."

"The way I want to blame everything at the Ministry on Snape, instead of on my being stupid," he said out loud. It felt weird to talk to the History Professor like he was still a real person, or something. "He was still nasty to Mum!"

"It needed to be said. You probably don't read the gossip columns of the Prophet, so you probably did not notice a few items planted in the last month or so, usually about an unnamed minister's wife. To have her deny the rumors was necessary. And, as I said already, others were listening and judging his performance. I was here in this room while he and I went over strategy, Mr. Potter. We both knew it had to be done. In fact, one evening Mr. Weasley was here as well. I must ask you to keep this in confidence. If you gossip about this, the professor will not return from his next summons."

"I'm surprised you trust me so much. Oh, yeah, I'm the savior of the Wizarding World, but I'm still under everyone's thumb. Last year I was nothing but a mushroom, kept in the dark and fed a load of manure."

The ghost was silent. Harry sighed. With Voldiewarts in his head, no doubt everyone who had a clue had been terrified about how much he would hear. "Snape thinks he's going to die anyway, or be left alive with his brain turned to mush," he said, remembering last Sunday morning. "All because of me. No wonder he hates me, and probably everybody else."

"You are not his only responsibility," Professor Binns said. "He is worried about his students, as well. In some ways, it is too bad that you and your friends were not Sorted into Slytherin. His task certainly would have been made a lot easier in some ways."

Harry couldn't imagine what things would have been like for him in the Snake Pit. He had friends in Gryffindor, real ones. _Malfoy and I would have hexed each other on a regular basis,_ he thought. _Then again, that's not different from what we do now. _It would have been awful, though, knowing the rest of the school hated him, the way it seemed they had in his second year when people had thought he was the heir to Slytherin. "The Headmaster said it was our choices that made the difference. He was really glad I was a Gryffindor." He had been so relieved when he found out he wasn't really evil just because the Hat had wanted to put him with those that were.

"Of course he would be," Binns said dryly. "I would like to add, though, that characterizing anything one house does as evil is hardly a new phenomenon."

"You mean because the Snakes have always been like this? I've never understood why they're still here, then."

"'I apologize. I did not speak precisely. It is currently Slytherin's turn to be looked down on. However, each house has spent some time in that position over the centuries. Ravenclaw, for instance, supported some interesting policies during the Revolution in France and was despised accordingly for quite some time. Prior to that, many Gryffindors supported the Stuarts despite certain flaws, and did not come off looking well for that. And, of course, everyone looks down on the Hufflepuffs, though they wisely assisted the Hanoverians. I see you appear unfamiliar with these aspects of Muggle history. All houses have spent time being loathed by the rest of the school, Mr. Potter, and this time is no exception. It has merely been prolonged because of certain events. However, the reaction once this war is over will be just as severe. Characterizing one house as eternally good and another as eternally evil will only aggravate the situation and lead to further trouble in years to come.

"As for Professor Snape, he has a high regard for Mrs. Weasley, and I suspect he disliked what he had to say to her. Have you ever heard him being rude to her in person when he was not under such harsh surveillance?"

"Well, he never stayed to eat at the safe house even though she asked him…" Even Harry knew how feeble that sounded, especially knowing what his godfather had done with house-right.

"Was he truly welcome there?"

"No," he said. "We all hated him. But he was awful!"

Again, the ghost was silent. Harry remembered how awful he'd been that year, too. "But he was always polite to Mum. For him, anyway. This year he is better to everyone. Maybe we have poisoned him in class." He leafed through the papers again. _Maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to hate him again. Maybe it doesn't matter so much what he said, but what happened because of it. The Headmaster jerked his chain pretty hard in front of everybody. Again. I'd be pretty tired of that too, if I were him. If I weren't the Boy-Who-Lived, maybe I'd be in a lot more trouble. _He tried not to think of all the memories in his Pensieve of his own mum, and how he would feel if someone he loved ran off and married someone else. _Ron was probably right about that one,_ he thought. _Oh, crap! I hate being wrong._

The hearing was really a pretty big thing, Harry realized, and one smart crack at his Mum only a small part of it. Snape really loved making them, he knew; Hermione could still flare up at the phrase "I see no difference." Ron had used it just _once_, and had nearly been turned into a rock for his trouble.

"Read through these papers again, Mr. Potter. Only this time, please pay more attention. After all, it is more important what a person does, rather than what they say."

Harry had told been told that a lot, and wished he could remember it. _At least, a week ago I did. _He had done what he could for the battered Potions Master, stuff not even Remus could do. He sighed deeply, and looked at the transcript again, after telling himself, _What would Hermione say?_ After all, she'd been insulted in class almost as much as he had. He could guess by now how she would take some things. _Well, she'd probably be almost as upset as I am by what Snape said to Mrs. Weasley, but she'd look at other things too. Maybe if I pretend she's looking over my shoulder I can guess what she would say about the rest. I have to think for myself, too, and not just depend on her to do it all for me. Besides, Ron and I don't listen to her as much as we should. I might have to figure out things on my own anyway. _He didn't like to think what had nearly happened to her on the Ministry Raid.

He ran a finger down each page. Mrs. Goyle sounded like a horrible woman, and he was glad he'd never have to meet _her_. Percy—Percy was probably telling the truth. His mum did pick up strays, including him. Mrs. Malfoy didn't sound nearly as horrible on the page. Too bad her son wasn't so nice! And the less he saw of Lucius Malfoy, the better.

Harry looked up. Binns was still there. "What is it with Professor Snape and the Malfoys, anyway? From what I saw—I mean, something I found out—he didn't have any friends here, and wasn't um, rich or anything. How did he end up so close to them?"

"Professor Snape's parents died when he was 14. He stayed with someone for the rest of the summer, returned to Hogwarts, and was allowed to live with the Malfoys during the summers and holidays after that. The heir of that family was an older student, and had graduated by then." The ghost sounded disapproving. "The Headmaster decided to let the situation stand."

"Oh." That made sense. Even though he wasn't adopted, of course Snape felt close to a family that had helped him out. He bent back to read again. Binns was right, though. Aside from the Whore of Hufflepuff thing, the Potions Master hadn't really been that awful if you weren't looking for something wrong. He was still shaken by how his Aunt Petunia had spoken, though. He hadn't known she really cared. _I wish it wasn't too late. But it is. Mrs. Weasley is my real mum, now, and that's the way I like it._

He hated the part where Remus was on the stand, though. Snape was right. _I may as well save my breath asking Remus anything, though. He'll just tell me what he thinks I want to hear. _He'd sometimes wondered to himself why he didn't see the DADA instructor more often, or lean on him the way he'd tried to on his godfather. _Maybe part of me knows I can't really trust him._ He felt sad, then, but didn't know what to do about it. _Maybe it's better to stand up for myself anyway._

He finished reading. It was still really great to read the part where Mum drank the potion, even though she didn't know what it was, just to show everyone how much she loved him. You knew where you stood with her, even if it meant a Howler the whole Great Hall could hear. He didn't know many others he could say that about. _Maybe I need the truth more than I need people to be nice to me,_ Harry thought. _Maybe if I listen to just what he says, and not how nasty he is about it, I'll learn more._

He looked up to thank the History teacher, only to discover the ghost was gone. He left the classroom, conscious of how late it was, and wishing he'd brought his Invisibility Cloak. He was quiet and careful, though, and checked every intersection in case a prefect was making late patrols.

Hedwig fluttered up to him, a note in her claw. That was fast—she must have found the twins in Hogsmeade, instead of having to go all the way to Diagon Alley. He read the small paper. _Talk to the Fat Lady about Mum, only not around Ron or Ginny. It wasn't Skeeter who put it in the paper, either, we checked. Wish we could find out who, we'd send _him _a prank to remember! Snape just brought it out into the open. Besides, the old bat almost died for his trouble, so Moldy Oldy couldn't have been too pleased. Anyway, it was Mum he said it to, so let her take care of it. Tell us how good the Howler is if she sends one, though. _

_Gred & Forge_

Harry sighed, crumpled up the note, and stuffed it in his pocket along with the transcript. He knew that wanting knowledge sometimes paid off in ways he didn't want, like when he'd snooped into Snape's Pensieve. Well, he had his wish not to be kept in the dark.

He stepped on something, and saw it was a dead piece of bubblegum. Even in the shadowed hall, the color reminded him of Tonks. Then he remembered what she'd said at the boxing match last summer. It had to have been Snape dropping hints about the Dursleys to the Aurors at the safe house. _He'd seen some of my memories by then. Maybe he'd already tried talking to the Headmaster and knew it was hopeless, so tried this way to find someone to see what was going on with them._

Harry wanted to pound his fist against the wall. He didn't want to be so angry with Dumbledore! _How can he say stuff about our choices making all the difference when it was his choice I had to stay with them, even when he _knew_ what they were doing to me? He was so glad I didn't Sort into Slytherin, but maybe Snape would have done something to the Dursleys a lot sooner, or at least scare them. _He felt torn up inside.

He approached the Fat Lady cautiously. She was napping, and he knew she wouldn't be pleased when he woke her up. Harry scuffed his feet and cleared his throat.

"Well, young man? I assume you know the password, so say it and let me go back to sleep," she said peevishly.

"Er, could I ask just one question first?" This would be the best time, while everyone else was inside. "I'm really sorry…"

"I suppose." She looked bored, now.

"Did you ever know Molly Weasley? I mean, she wasn't actually a Gryffindor, but she married Arthur Weasley, who was one."

"Oh! Miss Prewitt-that-was, then. What about her?" The Fat Lady blinked.

"Was she, er, I mean, was she really popular before she was married?"

The painted woman clouded up. "I know precisely what you mean, Mr. Potter. Yes, she was. I heard all about what Miss Granger did to you and your friend for using that sort of language about any girl, and I will not be happy if I hear it from you. Miss Prewitt was indeed quite popular, to put it that way, and I was not happy with the boys who tried to tell Mr. Weasley she was the wrong sort to marry. After all, many of them approached her themselves, even though she generally went out with those from her own house. I hope I have made myself clear."

"Yes, ma'am, you have," Harry said. His heart felt lighter, though he thought he would have been more disappointed to find out the truth. "I'll be more polite about any girls, ma'am." _Even the Slytherins,_ he thought. After all, it probably wasn't true that Pansy Parkinson had done it with Malfoy in the Great Hall during breakfast anyway. He gave the password, and went into the Common Room. On a sudden impulse, he put the note from the twins and the transcript into the fire, and stayed around to make sure everything burned down. It would be just his luck to have the wrong piece of paper fly out and hide behind a chair, and to have Ron or Ginny find it.

He went to bed. As he slept, he dreamed he was at Hogwarts, only it seemed different, somehow. He was in the Great Hall, only hovering in the air instead of in a seat at the Gryffindor table. The girl standing next to a young Arthur Weasley must be Molly; only she was even prettier than in the memory he had of his parents' wedding. They were standing close together, and Harry could _feel_ the bond between them. If he had been real, his face would have gone red. Molly smiled at Arthur, laughed, and then turned to go to her table with the other Hufflepuffs. Harry was really embarrassed now; he'd had these kinds of dreams before, usually about Cho, but certainly not about his adopted mother! To distract himself, he glanced all the way around the Great Hall. Dumbledore didn't look that different, except there were some russet threads in his beard. McGonagall looked just as stern, but not as thin, while Flitwick and Sprout looked much the same as they did now. He didn't recognize anybody else at the table. As he gazed out over the rest of the students, he noticed one silver-haired boy in the Slytherin section who looked a lot like Draco in second year, except his hair was longer. _That must be Lucius Malfoy,_ Harry thought. _Funny, the way he's following Mum with his eyes while trying to keep the rest of his face the same._ For a moment, he thought the younger boy was jealous, then realized how stupid that had to be. _All the girls went nuts over Lockhart when I was in second year, but a Malfoy going crazy over a Hufflepuff?_

The Great Hall changed back to the present time. Or was it? He and his friends were sitting in their own section, but people like Grimes from seventh year were gone, and a scattering of first year students he didn't recognize sat over to one side. Harry looked up at the Head Table—oh, good, Dumbledore was still there, along with everyone else. What was Mum doing there, though? She sat next to Snape, but neither one seemed upset at each other. Okay, the Potions Master had a bit of a scowl on, but it was the kind that only meant someone was breathing too loudly, not that he was really unhappy. Though it was too noisy to tell, he thought she was talking his ear off. _Probably after him to put more food on his plate, the way she does with me,_ Harry thought. He knew this was a dream, of course; Mrs. Weasley was far too busy with both the Burrow and the safe house to manage. As he sat at the student table, he noticed that both Ron and Ginny seemed glum, no doubt because they couldn't get away with anything if Mum was here on staff for some reason. _Well, it's my dream and it won't hurt to enjoy it. Besides, with Mum here, Dad has to visit a lot, and I wouldn't mind that either._

Then he noticed Snape was looking at him, and some of the other students. The Potions Master held out his hands, and a golden vine sprouted from them and went everywhere. Tendrils from it connected the dour Slytherin with all the teachers, and a lot of the students, including a girl in Hufflepuff, Edgecombe from Ravenclaw, several Snakes, and…and _him_. It was almost like the morning when he'd seen his Mum up to her elbows in dishwater with the sunlight on her, only he wasn't quite as hungry.

Of course he woke up out of it then. Harry rubbed his eyes for a moment. It felt so good to know he had a real family now. _Well, I still don't like the way the professor talked to Mum during the hearing, but I still won. It matters more what people do than what they say. Binns was right. I'm tired of people dying or nearly dying for my sake. I have to learn how to pull my weight. If all I do is act like a selfish prat, I might as well be a Malfoy. Snape changed this year. He changed a lot. Now it's my turn._

With that, he fell back asleep. When he woke, it was late morning and he was really hungry then. He ate in the Great Hall, returned to his room, and stuffed the Pensieve in his bookbag with a Sticking Spell on the lid so nothing would spill. He took his burden to Dumbledore's office, only to see a clock outside it with the hands at Time for Remedial Potions. His heart sank for a moment. _Ok. This way I have a reason to go see Snape without having to make one up. It's time he had his present anyway—I've just been stalling._

He went down to the dungeons. The hallway had a few Slytherins hanging out in it, and Harry thought they were keeping watch on everyone who went by. _If they knew that he nearly died because of me, how can I blame them? We'd look out for Professor McGonagall the same way. We should have done this for her once she returned from St. Mungo's last year. Maybe most of Slytherin is in Snape's Army. Of course they can't show weakness. Not with us around, anyway. Maybe…maybe the Hat wanted to put me here at first because some of these other kids come from the same kind of family?_ Harry remembered Bobby Macklin, the black kid he'd sparred with, and faced in a regular bout. The boy had said it didn't do any good to call the numbers on the pamphlets. _Maybe if he wasn't a Muggle, he would have been a Slytherin, too._

The students watched him carefully as he approached Snape's office. "Remedial Potions again?" Malfoy drawled as he stepped out of a door.

"Pretty much," Harry said. It didn't matter what things looked like so much, compared to what they really were. "Beats melting my cauldron or messing up the Wolfsbane Potion for everybody else."

The blond Seeker raised one eyebrow, but apparently couldn't find any way to dig further. "Well, have fun," Draco said, and wandered off.

Harry knocked on the office door, and was told to enter. Snape sat at his desk, tapping his fingers. "Five points for being late, Mr. Potter." He looked much better than he had just a couple of days ago, though his face was still quite pale.

Harry smiled. "Better late than never, sir. You should probably deduct a few more points because I'm late for your birthday, too."

Snape blinked. "If this is a joke, Mr. Potter, it is in extremely bad taste."

"No. You should deduct even more points because I've taken so long to thank you for my birthday present. It was the best one I've ever had."

"The hearing and adoption were only last week."

"Oh, I'm counting that one for Christmas." Harry dug in his bookbag and set the Pensieve on the desk.

"I see." The professor's face gave away nothing. "Are you bringing it back for an exchange?"

"No. You gave me memories that helped a lot, especially when I was stuck in the car with Dudley. You helped Aunt Petunia make the Harmonia Potion, too. Uncle Vernon wouldn't drink it for a while, but I think she put it into his dinner."

Snape grimaced. "My parents fought, too."

"I know." Harry remembered the glimpse he'd seen of them last year. At least his aunt and uncle had never been like _that_. Made him wonder what Snape's parents had died of, actually. "This was the best summer with them I've ever had. Whenever I had bad dreams anyway, I thought of some of the memories, especially Mum and Dad's wedding, and things were better. It's still hard to me to clear my mind, but if I think of something else, it's not so bad. The Headmaster said that was one of the ways to block Vol—er, _him._ I want to tell you that it worked, and that I'm grateful for it." The words weren't nearly as hard to say as he once thought they would be.

The professor seemed taken aback. "Have a seat," he said absently. "Why did you bring it today, though? Did you have something you wanted to put into it before we practice again?"

Harry pulled a vial out. Dumbledore had showed him how to store stuff in one during a lessons, in case the Pensieve wasn't around. "No. These memories are for you."

"Pardon me?"

"I mean it. They're some of the best memories I have. When we…when we practiced before, I never saw any happy ones, either during the lessons or when I snooped."

"Won't you miss them?" The Potions Master looked more curious than angry, which was an improvement over what Harry feared would happen.

"Most of them are, you know, extras. Or they're things I know I can do again in a month or so at the latest. And I know I had them, if that makes any sense." Especially one of them. He took the lid off the Pensieve, opened the vial, and pulled a little strand out on his wand. "We can look at them together if you want. I didn't put anything nasty in there."

Snape opened a cupboard door from his chair, then levitated another Pensieve over. "It might be better to use this one," he said. "You need to keep your Pensieve with you, and I would hate to see anything end up mixed together by accident."

That made sense. Harry offered up the memory he'd chosen. "We can look at this one first, then."

The two of them entered Snape's Pensieve together and relived the flight when Harry had first retrieved his broom from the Headmaster. Even from the outside, so to speak, he remembered the joy and glory of that first wild ride. Ok, there had been some unnecessary terror when he'd skimmed right over the Acromantula nest, but even that had been fun, really.

In the back of his mind, Harry could feel the Potions Master watching. Suddenly, both of them were back in the office.

"I suppose for you this is a good memory," the teacher said, though he looked a bit green.

"Flying is _wonderful!_ It always has been," Harry said. "I know…I know you don't like it high up, from what you said after the duel with Lupin and Shacklebolt. Maybe this is a way to practice without having to worry about it being real? Like a Muggle ride, where everyone is strapped in and can't fall even if they try?"

Snape grimaced. "I'll have to think about it. You may be right."

_Owl the Quibbler!_ Harry thought. _Ron is _never_ going to believe this!_ _This memory didn't work out so hot._ "Wait, I have a better one!" He selected another memory from the vial. He didn't know how he knew which strand was which, but somehow he did.

He enjoyed viewing the adoption dinner from yesterday again. It was almost as much fun seeing it like this than when he had been there, really. Goofing around with his family, teasing the twins and being teased back, even the talk after made him feel better. Percy being gone wasn't so bad; there was always a chance he'd come back. Fred and George knew more than they were telling about their older brother—_his_ older brother—and it had to be good, or they wouldn't be so happy about it.

When the two them emerged, Snape was deathly pale. "You shouldn't give this one away, Harry."

"It won't take any hurt from lying in a different Pensieve," he said quietly. 'If…if I could take a look at it every once a while, would that be all right?"

"Yes, though I still say you should keep this one yourself." The Potions Master paused, then continued. "I suggest you read the transcript of the hearing before committing yourself to such generosity."

"I did last night," Harry said. "I, well, I was mad for a while, but this morning…this morning I thought it was only right you should have some of the good part and not just being hurt for a change."

"I said what I did to Mrs. Weasley for a reason. If any rumors were not denied, Mrs. Malfoy could open the suit again on the grounds of immorality, and I would have no choice but to do so. I would rather do anything than go through that again. I have nothing but the highest regard for your adopted mother, Mr. Potter."

That made sense. Harry didn't understand legal stuff, but Binns had pointed out to him that there had been gossip. Maybe he ought to find those old issues of the Prophet—or maybe not. Ron might see them, too, and get mad all over again. "You must trust me a lot more than you did last year, sir, with you telling me all this."

Snape took a deep breath. "I fear that some of my feelings are no longer a mystery to the Dark Lord. I was summoned last night, and I was not able to guard them as much as I usually do. Fortunately he was diverted enough to focus on those, rather than asking too many questions about more important things. He still thinks I dislike you, though, so I passed _that_ test."

"Are…are you all right?" He didn't think the Headmaster would schedule lessons like this for when the Potions Master was injured or ill, but it would explain a lot if his teacher had been like that for some of them last year.

"Better than I have been." The older wizard changed the subject. "So that is what a real family is like."

"I think so. Hermione talks about some of her family dinners when everyone shows up, and they sound about the same. I have a couple of days from last summer at the Burrow in here, too—nothing special, just the three of us larking about and being turned off to fling gnomes when Mrs—I mean, Mum couldn't stand us in the house any more. It's never been like that at the Dursley house, at least not for me," he said, remembering how he was either locked up in the cupboard or left out. "And I've had Christmases at Hogwarts, although last year it was at the safe house, but it's never been like this. Ron says this year we'll probably all be home!" He could hardly wait. Harry knew it was early, not even the end of November yet, but wanted to start on his shopping now.

"Ah. That reminds me. Your friends will spend some time down here as well, and not just in class. Miss Granger will assist me with the Wolfsbane Potion this coming week. Mr. Malfoy will also be there, but I have warned him to behave. Winky will also help. Also, and this has not been announced yet, but the Headmaster has another school unity project."

They both winced. Harry knew how _that_ was going to turn out. He could tell Snape felt the same way. "The three of us are on permanent detention?" he asked.

"Not quite. Four sixth year students will be assigned to various House Heads as assistants for the rest of this year, and probably for the next, Quidditch permitting. Young Mr. Weasley is to be mine. I am not certain what he is good at besides chess, but I suppose I am going to find out. I am just as enthused about this as he will likely be."

Harry put the vial on the desk. "Um, you might want to look at these other memories later," he said.

"Most likely," said Snape. "_Legilimens!"_

The blow hurt almost as much it had last year when the Potions Master had done the spell, but Harry hung on to his memories. One that seemed to help more than the rest was one of the times at the gym when he was learning the rhythm of sparring—how to defend himself first and then strike back from a position of strength, not desperation. Imagining himself in headgear, gloves, and mouthpiece made the mental attacks hurt less, too.

How strange. Now Snape was in the ring against him, the way it had been in one of his dreams last summer. Harry first felt anger, but remembered how it hadn't helped that much at the gym. He calmed himself down, and danced for his life against the longer reach of the older wizard. The Potions Master was also in proper gear, including a drab singlet covering his chest. Once he'd have thought that a scary picture, all right. For a moment, Harry was distracted by the scars on the other fighter's arms and legs, as well as the Dark Mark, but that stopped as soon as one of his opponent's gloves connected with his headgear.

Odd. His eyesight was clear, not blurry like it usually was in a fight, though he wasn't wearing his glasses. He ducked and weaved, and only occasionally ventured a strike of his own.

Someone's boombox blared behind them.

_In the clearing stands a boxer,_

_And a fighter by his trade_

_And he carries the reminder _

_Of every blow that laid him down_

_Till he cried out, in his anger and his shame,_

_"I am leaving, I am leaving!"_

_But the fighter still remains..." _

For some reason, Harry thought he wasn't hearing the words quite right—his memory of the song wasn't quite as clear as it could be, probably.

Some punches made it past his guard, but he blocked endless others. Then the bell rang, and the round was over. Mr. Banks handed him a towel, while the Headmaster gave one to Snape.

Harry found himself back in the Potions Master's office, breathing hard and sweating like Duds on a hot afternoon.

Snape brought out a handkerchief and wiped his own face. "That…that was interesting," he said in a neutral voice. "You realize, of course, that if you lost in such a vision, you would also lose in the real world."

Harry felt the bruises on his shoulder where some blows had reached him, and a slight headache, even though the bout had only been in his mind. "Whenever I went to the gym, I took my wand."

"Even with the penalties for underage magic, and your little trip to the Wizengamot the year before?" A bit of acid was back in Snape's tone.

"I'd rather try to explain why I used magic than see someone dead because I didn't."

Light flared in the Potions Master's eyes. "_Good._" He closed the lid on his Pensieve. "Ten points to Gryffindor, and I will hex you to Hogsmeade if you mention this. The lesson is over. I will see you next week." He paused a moment. "Wait. I have a few things more. Professor Lupin may have extra lessons for you. I strongly suggest you take them. You will probably like them, as I doubt any essays will be required. Another thing. Has the Headmaster started you working on a House of Memory yet?"

"Yes, but I did up the mental sanctuary bit first. I started out with—"

"Don't tell me," Snape said, his face looking worried. "If you can keep it from me, then do so. I merely want to suggest not using Hogwarts as a model. Both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord are used to the place, which makes things difficult for someone who tries to hide anything in a simulacrum of it. You are allowed to block out any intrusion, which helps. It is much harder to learn how to show only certain things to certain people, but luckily for all of us you will not be required to learn that art. However, it is easier to shield a mind when one is aware of what is in it. Read this book, and do the daily pages. I am not about to offer you a journal or diary to write in, Mr. Potter, so you can take that panicky look off your face. Any sort of paper will do. It need not be handed in. In fact, I suggest you burn anything you write, or keep it in a very safe place."

Harry felt the slick cover. "But it's a Muggle book!"

"Yes. And no one will be surprised you have one. Charm a copy for Miss Granger if she discovers it and insists on borrowing it."

He stared down at the fancy cover of something called The Artist's Way. "It's just, sir, that I'm surprised. Ron is the only one I know who can draw."

"The only correct method for fighting the Dark Lord is what works."

"What happens when _he_ finds out you're telling me all this?"

"Why, first that I am softening you up by attempting to make you trust me, and second, that you are using a guidebook originally recommended by Sybil Trelawney. I suspect he will approve of the first and, with luck, laugh his head off over the second."

Harry put it in his bookbag, along with his own Pensieve. He left the vial on the desk behind him, though. A gift was a gift, and with luck the other memories would go over better than the first two had. As he reached the door, he turned around and said, "Thank you."

As he walked down the hall, it struck him that Snape had very good reason not to want to know too much. _If his mind is like a tube station for Snake-Face, he probably doesn't want a lot lying about to be looked at. That would _really _suck. He probably had a lot of lessons from the Headmaster, too, and they're not easy. Maybe I should take a look at the stupid book and do some of the stuff in it. It couldn't hurt. If I don't have to hand it in, then I can scribble anything I like and not have to worry about it._ That made him feel better. After his experience with that diary, he wanted to be careful what he wrote.

Malfoy stepped out of another room, and looked at him curiously. "Learn anything, Potty?" he sneered.

"Yes, I did," Harry said. He remembered the other Seeker's anguish in the infirmary last Sunday morning, and his pledge to make sure Snape was all right no matter what happened. "I learned a lot." He stopped and swallowed, knowing he was probably going to be hexed. "I remember the first time we met. You held out your hand to me, and I didn't take it. Maybe I should have." He held out his own. "Will you take mine now?"

The other boy looked around, probably to make sure nobody saw him.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," Harry said. "You're in enough danger already. Goyle is dead and Professor Snape could end up worse than that because of me."

"He almost did," Draco said bitterly.

"I know," he said. "I hope Remus teaches you the spell that takes off that rebound curse, too. I'm trying to become strong enough to pull my own weight, instead of watching people die because of me. Cedric is gone, and so is Sirius. And so is your friend. I hope they'll be the only ones. If Snape can stop blaming me for looking like my father, I can stop blaming you for acting like yours."

Draco took the proffered hand. His grip was almost as strong as his own. "It's a deal. Of course, the next time we play Quidditch against each other, the only way you'll catch the Snitch is if it flies up your arse."

"As long as the points still count." Harry was determined not to take offense.

"They probably do," Malfoy said with a bit of a smile. "I thought you were going to _puke_ the stupid thing up that first game."

"So did I." It felt really strange just to talk with the blond Slytherin.

"Of course, we'll both have to sneer at each other in public."

"But we'll both know the truth." That was more important.

Draco nodded. Harry left the dungeons, his head still reeling. He went outside for some fresh air—it was such a nice day he might do some flying and replace one of the memories he'd given the Potions Master.

He looked up. Yes, Hogwarts had four Towers, not three.

And the only way to keep them from falling was to help them stand united.

Severus Snape

Snape sat and drank some tea to restore himself after the Potter boy had left. This was the last thing he had expected. In his experience, the Gryffindor had never been grateful for anything. Yet the scene in the Muggle gym stayed with him. He had the key to Harry, now that he understood what it meant.

Albus had told them the two of them were alike, but he had never believed it till today. Hadn't he fought back every time the Marauders set upon him, no matter how hopeless it was? Just this summer, hadn't he needed serpents or pixies to battle before he could think properly?

Black had been the same way. Confining him inside the safe house had been an extraordinarily bad idea. The Potions Master hadn't been the only one to think so, either. It had also been a mistake to taunt the man. Moody had proposed letting the dogfather run loose and allow the Death Eaters or the Ministry to hunt him, as a distraction whenever the Order had an operation of its own. The others had generally agreed that Black needed something more active to do, but the Headmaster had put his foot down.

"I don't want to risk his life," Dumbledore had said at one Order meeting, fortunately without Black's presence. "It would be too much of a blow to young Harry to lose his godfather. Also, the house needs a firm hand, and only someone of the blood can possibly keep the place under control."

Molly had fallen silent then, but there had been a look on her face that nobody had liked. Supper had been a cold collation that night, not that Snape had had any reason to care. Black's refusal of all but door-right had still affected him at the time. As things turned out, Mrs. Weasley had managed the house quite well so far without her 'cousin'. The Potions Master remembered biting his lip on the comment that nobody seemed to mind risking _his_ life.

Yes, it was clear to him now that Harry _needed_ violence, and for many of the same reasons that he did. Now the boy's disregard of rule and impetuous behavior made sense. It really wasn't arrogance, or feeling he was above anyone's control; it was a terrible need for vengeance on a world that had tried to destroy him. Severus understood that.

He resolved to speak to both Flitwick and Hagrid. Both of them often dealt with the more tangible menaces to Hogwarts' security. It would do them both good to have an assistant on occasion, while the boy would likely enjoy the live-hex exercise.

_I still have no idea what I should do when young Mr. Weasley is wished on me,_ he thought. Snape restlessly opened a cabinet and took out a file. He spread out the papers, noting the many cartoonish drawings interspersed with the words of his essays. _I'm lucky the boy is printing his essays, rather than attempting the dead-spider look so prevalent in his normal handwriting. Perhaps I won't need to make sure he has a Dicta-Quill after all._

Severus looked at the printing and drawings again. There was something familiar about them, and he didn't know what. On impulse, he looked through his contraband drawer, and pulled out a few comic books confiscated from students foolish enough to let them be seen during class time. Most of them bore no similarity—but the three issues of Marvin: the Mad Muggle did. Both the style of drawing and the rough printing of the dialog in the balloons appeared to be in the same mode, though clearly more finished. Snape looked through the list of contributors, which was in very fine print. Yes, there was an 'A.W.' listed in the roster, near the bottom of it. _Perhaps I should take one of these to the next Order meeting and ask for an autograph,_ he mused. Arthur Weasley's face would show the truth, one way or the other.

He put the magazines away. Snape wrote a quick note to add to those in the bottom drawer of his desk. _The memories in my Pensieve which are clearly from Harry Potter ought to be returned to him on my death or disability. One hopes he has more happy ones to add to those which he lent to me._ He signed it, and put it with his last letter to Albus.

He opened the lid of the Pensieve again, and retrieved his memories of last night—especially the dream he'd had of Molly Weasley in his arms. Unfortunately, the recollections of her real kisses were linked to everything else from last night, but it was a price he was willing to pay.

Snape finished the rest of his tea. He remembered, now, what Fletcher had said about the real Muggle gym that Harry's Occlumency memory had been so clear about. Perhaps he ought to pay a visit to the place and discover if Macnair was still keeping a watch on it.

The bell rang for lunch. "Winky brings you a tray, Master?" the elf said. "Master works so hard today, should go back to bed."

"It wasn't as bad as I thought," he said. He looked at the Pensieve and the empty vial. Perhaps he would look at the other ones the boy had brought him in the next few days. He was still overwhelmed by the one of the adoption dinner. He compared it to the feast at Malfoy Manor he'd gone to at the beginning of last summer, and grimaced. Even the one he'd attended with Lupin at the Manor hadn't been as good as the one Harry had gone to. _So that is what a real family is like, _he'd said, and knew Potter had felt the same.

"I shall eat in the Great Hall today, and then you can help me prepare hot chocolate for the first year students. In fact, if they have forgotten because I've been so ill, you can help me find them," he said. "After that, I want your help to put together the ingredients for the Wolfsbane Potion. I must make that this coming week, and will have two students to help me."

That would please the elf. She skittered off, no doubt to find the silver he'd put into her keeping, and make sure it was set out for him. He decided to walk slowly, in case she needed extra time. Meals during the weekend were fairly casual, and latecomers rarely penalized. Word would go around quickly about his improved health.

He arrived at the Head Table just as the final bell rang. Dumbledore had left a seat open beside him. Snape took it. Being reasonably civil would only aggravate the old wizard's guilt, he thought. He was happy to note his family silver _was_ there waiting for him.

The Headmaster looked inordinately pleased when Severus took his place. "Good morning, Albus, or afternoon," he said. He reached into his robe pocket and found the small box of candies that Lupin had given him. "I suppose this will ruin our appetites, but if you don't tell Poppy, I won't. Try one of these—it's the candy the wolf gave me last night. It's not bad at all."

Dumbledore looked abashed. "Pomfrey put me to bed with orders to stay there. But I couldn't help but hope…" He took two of the confections, and immediately popped them into his mouth. "Interesting. Not as sweet as I'm used to, but a nice flavor."

Now Snape realized how much the Headmaster trusted him. He took one of the candies himself, if only to assure any onlookers the box wasn't poisoned, and let its flavors linger on his tongue. Wicked imaginings entered his mind. He hastily reminded himself that Lupin would know how Molly smelled, but only Arthur would know how she tasted.

To distract himself, he looked around the Great Hall. He wanted to smile when he saw McGonagall. What a lovely battle they'd had today over the puzzle! Then he sobered, thinking how this place really was his family now. He nodded at Hagrid, surprised to see the half-giant inside on a day so bright and clear for November. _I wonder if he is starting his Christmas preparations this early,_ he thought, remembering their conversation. He knew that he ought to. He might have two Christmases left, or none. If Flitwick were right, this year's season might mark the end of his life. If Trelawney's more generous interpretation held, he would have two. Perhaps he could begin the festivities a bit early this year. After all, the place was always decorated at least a week before the children left for home. Anything he cared to add could easily be done during Advent.

Snape imagined the hall set up for a Russian Christmas, with Hagrid in a sledge pulled by a troika and scattering presents as he went. The Charms professor was normally responsible for the major holidays, since he clearly enjoyed them so much, but perhaps he could use an assistant this year. He remembered how Potter had spoken at a meeting about the hearing. The boy's first impulse had been to try to find some way to help the family, and especially his adopted mother. Why should the boy have all the fun? It was even odds the Ministry would steal all his money after his death and ignore his will anyway. Besides, Molly wouldn't grudge a Knut of it, even if she knew she was his main heir. Christmas made a wonderful excuse to return the kindness everyone had given him during the past few months. Friday night had been an enormous surprise, while the dinner at the safe house had been…quite nice, really, till he'd been summoned.

The food arrived, and Albus left him alone to eat it, for which Snape was immensely grateful. Once he'd eaten most of a meager plate of rice mixed with vegetables and spiced chicken, washed down with tea, and alas, another potion, he glanced at the Headmaster. The old wizard chatted with McGonagall, who had ended up on his other side. Severus turned to _his_ other side, and noticed Flitwick had taken the seat—and what was more, had actually been quiet for all this time. "What you do you have planned for Christmas this year?"

"I've run out of ideas," the small wizard said. "I suppose I could reuse one from years ago, since the students here wouldn't remember it."

"Have you ever done a Russian Christmas? Snow falling in the Great Hall, and Hagrid coming in driving a troika of what he's managed to wrestle into harness. Bells on the traces, of course." Snape knew he'd have to do some research. His mother had talked about what a _real_ one was like when he was a child, but that had been long ago.

"I'll have to check my holiday book, but I don't think so." Flitwick frowned.

"To be honest, I'd like to see it before the students leave for their holiday. I know it's a lot of work, so I am actually volunteering to help. Try not to faint, though with your height few would actually see it." He needed a little sniping to alleviate his current sickening impulse towards sentimentality. At least he could blame it all on Potter if pushed.

"I must admit, you should be tested for Polyjuice," the Charms professor shot back. "I mean, you're usually so resourceful you generally don't resort to jokes about my height."

"True. I do apologize for lowering myself that way."

"All right, it's really you. Of course, I am going to hold you to what you say about helping."

"Of course. I request anonymity, however. I do have a reputation to uphold."

Flitwick laughed. "Nobody is going to believe me anyway. Besides, it'll do you good to practice magic besides Potions. Now really, Snape, I know you haven't been well, but surely you're not _smiling_?"

"Just dreaming of all the detentions I can hand out to make sure other people actually do the work," Snape said. _The know-it-all lives in the library anyway, Longbottom will be so glad to do something that _isn't_ Potions he won't care, and the more I dump on Winky, the happier she is. _He thought of something. If Mr. Cauldron-Go-Boom had made a map of how to lay out ingredients for the Wolfsbane Potion, he could assign that little task to the young man in exchange for either points or a future detention. _I will have to confess to Filch if I ever have to _give_ Longbottom points—I think there's an entry in the Betting Book about it. No doubt Miss Lovegood is the only one who's put any money on that one._

"I knew there was some good in you," the Charms professor said. "Of course, I have to use a Scrying Charm and a pocket knife to find it before you throw it into one of your potions."

It was fun slinging mild insults like this. Fortunately the Head of Ravenclaw knew how to play, too. _I have to remember that others don't,_ he thought ruefully. He had always been bad at social interaction, and learning Malfoy manners was his only help. It was tiresome to hide behind them, though, especially with those he actually trusted. Yet last night he hadn't had much trouble, except with Moody. There had to be a middle ground between the artificial sweetness of etiquette and his normal surliness.

"Ah," he said, as he remembered his conversation with Mr. Potter. "The next time you're out in the Forest or in the nastier bits of the castle, you may wish to take the Boy-Who-Lived with you. He could use the practice against foes who wouldn't mind having him for dinner. He is dueling on occasion, but usually against those who don't mean him any real harm."

"Pity you can't line up Moody. He won't mind scaring the crap out of his vic—er, student."

"That is a thought. The boy also needs to work against nonhuman foes as well. I really don't know who or what have allied themselves with the Dark Lord."

"I see." Flitwick's eyes grew clear and hard. "That makes sense. I shall consider it." The smaller wizard finished his plate and left with a smile on his face.

Severus turned back towards the Headmaster, and saw a happy expression there, too.

"Did I actually hear you volunteer to help with Christmas this year?" Albus asked.

"Shh! You'll ruin the surprise," Snape said. "If the secret comes out, I'll have to whine about how I was cruelly forced into the position to 'cheer me up' or some such."

Dumbledore chuckled. The merriment didn't reach the older wizard's eyes, though, and he quickly sobered. "How did Remedial Potions go?"

"Much better than I expected. I discovered what Muggle boxing looks like in his mind. Ha—Mr. Potter has one advantage in that he is expected to try to block any mental invasion, rather than appear to give in. He successfully kept me in his illusion, though at some risk to himself. We both took a few bruises, but nothing more."

The Headmaster nodded. Snape continued. "You probably heard my suggestion to Filius. As annoying as it seems, you were right. The boy and I are alike in some respects. During the last few months, I have found myself confronted by various pests in the Room of Requirement, and had to dispose of them. I discovered I could think much more clearly afterwards. Mr. Potter could use the exercise, and the effort may help calm him as well. I should not be the one to take him out, however, as I will have to explain why he survived. Also, Flitwick is an extremely strong duelist, but the boy will feel protective of him because of the height issue. He will find out quickly that it doesn't matter, and take fewer chances later. If the book I was given is any example, Flitwick will be able to teach some techniques that are extremely effective without resorting to Unforgivables. Since Potter is so comfortable in the air, he could use some self-levitation charms without being disoriented or ill, at least not as much as I would be." The boy's gift deserved whatever he could do in return. He still could not believe Harry had given him so very much today.

The older wizard's eyes were wide in amazement. "Anything else?"

"Yes. I should speak with the Baron about special flying lessons." Few had had the ghost's aerial skills even while alive.

"I've always thought your House had a special advantage at Quidditch because of his presence, you know."

"Draco's father hired a different coach, and my godson thinks he knows it all. He has been more amenable to learning new things this year, but he has a full plate already. It would probably be more helpful if he continues to work with Madam Pomfrey."

"Ah. All those detentions in the infirmary had a purpose."

"Yes. He's always been a dreadful hypochondriac. I blame Narcissa for that. For years, she paid attention to him only when he was ill. However, he has matured, and is better with patients than you might think, at least according to Poppy.

"The Malfoy charm," Albus said with a grimace.

"Yes. He's going to use it anyway, and it might as well be in a good cause." _It will drive Lucius mad to see his son throwing away his heritage by daring to learn a useful trade, too. No law against taking a profit, I suppose._

"I see."

"By the way…I am glad you tested my walls this morning," Snape added. "I might have forgotten to remove certain memories, and today might not have gone so well. Mr. Potter managed to find a copy of the transcript, and was clearly not amused by one part of it. However, he was able to go past that. It's only fair I let some things go by. Do let me know if you need a potion—you look faint."

The Headmaster breathed an audible sigh of relief. "I am sorry for hurting you. I'm glad it worked out. Now, about this uncharacteristic attitude of yours towards Christmas…"

"Ah. It has finally occurred to me that the easiest way to create better memories to arrange them for oneself. I believe I have milked my birthday as much as I can, so it's only fair to offer something in return." Severus blinked. Obviously, some of the smoke from the candles on the table had gone into his eyes.

"Of course," Albus said gently. "You don't have to, you know. The rest of us will be more than happy to arrange anything you wish."

"But I _want_ to," Snape said. "One of the best parts of any holiday is the giving." It didn't matter so much about this morning. He'd certainly made his share of mistakes over the years. The old wizard had forgiven him much. Slytherins always paid their debts—one reason they were usually more careful about incurring them.

Dumbledore really smiled, this time all the way to his bushy white eyebrows. "I'm looking forward to it," he said. "Just let me know if there's anything you need from me."

Severus took a quick sip of tea. Something was melting or shattering inside, and he didn't know which. "Of course, Headmaster," he said, taking refuge in formality. "In fact, if Hagrid hasn't disposed of those wretched pixies yet, perhaps you could persuade them to assist in some small way. You have a way with the creatures that nobody does."

The old wizard snorted. "For half a Knut I'd send them to Lockhart and let him try to manage them, except that the staff would send one of their Healers to hang me by the toes."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Perhaps we're better off without them, then." His watch chimed. He opened the cover and saw the hands were pointing at a cup. "It's time for me to give the first years their hot chocolate."

"You don't need to do that this week," Albus said. "I wouldn't mind taking the duty."

"Thank you. I'd rather do it, though, for as long as I can." He rose, nodded at a couple of the other teachers, and left.

_This began as a duty to learn about the youngest of my House—but now I would not give it up if I could. If nothing else, I have made good memories for others than myself._ He could have a worse legacy.


	84. Chapter 84: Apprentices

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too. This is the next to the last chapter.

By now, many of us have read HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS. However, some of us have not. Please do not put spoilers in reviews. Some readers of live in countries where the book has not been released yet or have been unable to purchase it. Thank you.

Chapter 8: Apprentices

Pansy Parkinson

She had trouble eating her lunch. _I'm glad the Professor is better,_ she thought, having heard he'd been brought in last night looking quite ill. Judging by his expression when talking to Flitwick, he was feeling well enough to joke, even. That just made things harder.

Pansy knew all the apprentices had to talk, whether they were in the Quidditch bunch, or what she called the _other_ ones. Some things were better out in the open, despite Slytherin traditions. For now, the Potions Master held all the reins in one masterful hand. She was amazed by how differently he'd spoken to some of the other students in their interviews. Admittedly, she was rather pleased with herself about how she'd found out without giving too much away about her own talk with Professor Snape. All she'd had to do with most was to mutter something about 'that bastard Malfoy'; even Nott had backed off from the possibility of fireworks then.

The aforementioned Draco, Scum of the Earth, had left his meal early, along with the rest in his Quidditch planning committee. No doubt they had a lot to talk about, given yesterday's disaster against Hufflepuff, but other things were far more important. The Professor wouldn't interfere—this was the time the firsties usually had their chocolate for the week. She remembered her own times there, and was glad their Head of House was up to the ritual. She, and all the others, had been so afraid last week that he would die.

Once her betrothed and some of the players on the team had left, she waited a bit, and then left the Great Hall. She lingered outside the hall by the exit to the dungeons, and then gathered the rest together. Nott, Avery, Crabbe and Macnair casually sauntered back towards the Slytherin Common Room with her. From there, they went down the hall towards an unused classroom.

Pansy heard voices inside the door. She listened for a little while, then smiled in admiration. Either the apprentices inside were actually going over the game, or had set up some kind of spell for interlopers to make them believe they were overhearing the conversation.

She knocked. The voices stopped. She twisted the knob and went in. Hadn't they warded the room at all? She didn't think Draco was that sloppy. Then she walked into a Tanglefoot web and stopped. Zabini and the Rosier twins stared at her, and those behind her.

"Miss Parkinson," Zabini said, looking startled. Draco's face had no expression at all.

"Good afternoon," she said sweetly. "May we come in?"

Her former boyfriend grimaced. "Of course," he said, and waved his wand.

Pansy barely kept her balance when the Tanglefoot web disappeared. Well, at least it hadn't been a patch of swamp like last year. "Thank you," she said, and went inside the room, the rest of the apprentices following her. "I think we all have something to discuss."

"Please have a seat," Draco said to her, and waved his arm to include the rest. "Last one in, please close the door." Once that was done, he made another pattern with his wand. "It's a spell so people will hear the wrong things. Since we were talking about yesterday's game and some strategy for future ones, nobody will be surprised."

Pansy nodded, and sat at one of the unused desks, while the other apprentices took seats as well. This was an old lecture room, not the Potions lab. Of course, the whole Wizarding World was Quidditch-mad, except for loonies from the States who played some ridiculous thing called Quodpot, so anything used to put off a rival team was naturally considered fair. "I suppose you're wondering why we're here," she said. "I think we're all worried about the Professor. He was called again last night, wasn't he?" Winky had lied, of course, but everyone knew how Snape had been brought in. Others had heard how the Professor had been taken down to his room by a back way.

"Yes," Draco said.

No doubt he'd seen what had happened for himself, as he'd stayed in the infirmary himself most of last night with that arm.

"He spoke to all of us individually last week," Pansy said. "Now we need to work together, no matter what happened last summer, or even…even on Black Sunday." Even her mother had started calling it that in her letters. The number of bordered boxes on the front page of the Prophet had been small, relatively speaking, but all had been from prominent families.

"I still miss Greg," Vincent blurted out.

"We all do," Draco said softly. "We're trying to keep it from happening again."

"Then you'll need all of us," Pansy said. "I don't fancy being handed around like the sweet tray after a banquet if the Professor dies. I don't think any of us do." Such blunt speech was hard for her, as she had been brought up to mind her manners. "Whatever happened last summer shouldn't count. Malfoy, your aunt wouldn't have anything to do with you if she thought you were disloyal. Zabini, I know you fancy Edgecombe, but with most of your family Ravens, I suppose we ought to count it in your favor that you Sorted here in the first place. And we know the Rosiers have given much for the cause. We all need to be loyal to each other, and to our Head of House, and not worry about who was stupid a few months ago."

"I certainly have no argument with that," Zabini said. Draco and the Rosier twins nodded in agreement. "But what does everyone else think? None of us is going to say anything we could be Crucio'd for later."

Avery spoke up. "I owe the Professor a lot. I wish I was better at Potions, because I want to learn how to make Wolfsbane, too. I'd clean out the Mudblood's cauldron if I thought it would help Dad."

"You can always clean out mine," Malfoy said with a smirk.

Josh Avery snorted. "I don't think so. Besides, with as much practice as you're having these days with bedpans, you probably don't need any help."

Pansy reflected on that. Draco had done a lot of infirmary detentions lately. Maybe he wanted to be the first to know if his godfather had been hurt again.

Macnair spoke up. "I've been doing more equations in Arithmancy. If we don't stick together, it's not good. If even one of us sells the rest out, Professor Snape dies, and our life expectancies go down, too. Well, that's what my projections say."

All of them thought about that in silence. Pansy remembered what the Potions Master had told her. Who would she end up with, Jake's uncle? She'd helped Edgecombe shower off the muck when the Ravenclaw girl had ended up in the middle of the Common Room. A week ago, that horrible Lestrange bitch couldn't believe that Snape hadn't chosen any of them for his bed. Maybe the rest of the Death Eaters were more like Mad Bella than they were like the Professor. Macnair sometimes sounded like Trelawney when she'd been hitting the sherry, but he did it cold sober, which was worse. _I have to decide,_ she thought. _Can I improve my lot by looking out for number one, or am I better off being a good little apprentice?_

She kept quiet. _Better to listen to the others first, and then make my move. We'll need a hex for treachery if we do stay together, something even nastier than what Granger came up with for the DA. After all, I can always say it's necessary because Draco isn't really the professor's apprentice any more, never mind that nobody trusts Ted Nott or Avery to shut it at need._

Vincent said, "We don't have to choose, Drake. None of us do. We only have to be loyal to the Professor. We don't belong to anybody else, well, maybe except you now. I mean, your aunt and everything."

Dear Merlin, did that spot of wisdom come out of _Crabbe_? Pansy felt her own jaw gaping, and saw others doing likewise. "He's right," she said, now making _her_ choice. "And so is Macnair. We can't let ourselves be divided up, or Snape's death will only be the beginning. It's our duty as apprentices to protect our master when we can, just like last summer. Edgecombe said so when we talked about the rules in History of Magic class." She wondered sometimes if Binns was really that out of it. He'd spent the last two weeks on apprenticeships, and the Ravenclaw's hand had been up more often than the Mudblood's. Usually the know-it-all was the only one who stayed awake in class. _A good thing I decided to as well_, she thought. _My notes are as good as anybody else's, and I think I'm going to be glad I took them._

"Will she let you be loyal to the Professor, Drake?" Vincent asked.

_Good question_, Pansy thought.

Her betrothed looked pained. "I'm not his apprentice, but he's still my godfather," he said harshly. "I'm looking for a way so it will seem like I'm obeying her if she orders me to hurt him, but not cause any real harm. With luck, it'll work out and I'll let you know more about it. But there's another possibility. Professor Snape may end up too hurt to go on, but still be alive. The hex my aunt put him under, you know, the one that kept him from talking, could be permanent if he's hit with it again. When I saw him last Sunday morning, he was all right that way, but he's worried about being left on the streets if he's…if he's like that again. I will spend every last Galleon I have to make sure he isn't abandoned. Don't say anything. He would hate it if we knew."

"Wouldn't the Headmaster take care of him?" Libby Rosier asked.

"He's a hundred and fifty years old," Draco said softly. "The Professor isn't even forty yet. He deserves better than rotting on the third floor on St. Mungo's."

Pansy hadn't thought of that. It could take years to find a cure for that spell, if they ever did. The gossip last night was that their Head of House had been paralyzed when he'd been brought into the infirmary. She was glad it wasn't true, of course, but considering what she'd seen done to the Professor, it was only a matter of time before he was dead or out of things.

She quickly glanced around the room. The Fatal Four, as she now called Malfoy, Zabini, and the Rosier twins, wouldn't have any problem with a spell to bind the apprentices more closely. Pansy didn't know for certain what had happened to them on a certain Sunday, and it would be wrong to penalize them even if she did. Well, she had listened to Draco last week, but again, Lestrange would have found out by now if her new apprentice was disloyal. It actually comforted her to know that Snape looked out for all his apprentices, and not just the ones most likely to shine before the Dark Lord.

As for the rest of them, Crabbe belonged to Draco, and always had. Vincent also mourned Greg. That could be a problem if he bore a grudge, but whatever a Malfoy did, a Crabbe was sure to follow. Macnair would join in, if only because of what he'd seen in those ridiculous equations. Avery was so worried about his father becoming a werewolf, that he'd suck up to Lupin if he had to.

That left Theodore Nott. He hadn't said a word so far. Pansy had a funny feeling that if anyone were to run to Lestrange, Pettigrew, or _him_ about the Professor, that it would be Nott.

"We all have to be heard," she said. "I propose that we bind ourselves together with another spell besides the Mark. That way we can be sure that oh, say, Mr. Malfoy here thinks twice when his darling aunt tickles him under the chin and sweetly asks him to let her know what we're up to." She knew Draco would rather die than see his godfather hurt, but it made a good reason for an extra oath. "Let's all go around the room and say what we think of it. Even if we don't do anything like that, we have to swear not to let what we said leave here. This is too important to play Pit games."

She knew, of course, that some wouldn't tell what they really thought if they were offered a sack full of Galleons for each word of truth. Staying alive was far too important. However, making the suggestion made her look foolish, and perhaps that would help a few of the others speak more frankly.

"Draco, why don't you start?" she said, knowing what his answer was going to be.

He smiled at her as if he still loved her, though with sadness in his eyes. "I was the Professor's apprentice before I became _hers_," he said, his lips twisting on the final word. "I came back for the rest of you even after…even after having to please her."

She remembered that. "What happens when she tells you to hurt him, or one of us?"

"Let's just say that if any of you are hit by a spell from my wand and don't feel anything, have the good sense to pretend you did."

Pansy shook her head and hid a smile. Some days he was just as bad as one of the Weasley twins. "So, would you agree to an extra binding? You already have a conflict between the duty you owe your godfather and your apprenticeship to _her_."

"Don't forget my obligation to my father," Draco said. "None of you will ever trust me again after last Saturday unless I am bound to you in a different way. I'd…I'd rather not be left out. We need to stick together the way we did the night when all of you visited the Manor. I think Macnair is right."

Pansy nodded. "Mr. Zabini, what do you have to say?"

The brainy Slytherin kept his face blank. "It's the only way any of us are going to survive. Sorry, Malfoy, I don't think the Professor is going to. Unless _someone_ changes his mind, your mistress will go too far and it'll be too late, no matter how she's punished afterwards. If that happens, we'll need to look after ourselves. If we're already bound, we'll have the perfect excuse to do so. After all, we were all stupid enough to—"

"I'll take that as a yes," Pansy said, before Zabini could finish that remark.

He nodded, his face flushing as he clearly realized how close he'd come to revealing far too much. "However, I strongly suggest that Ma—that Miss Edgecombe should be included in any ritual. In fact, she ought to be here, since her future will be affected by what we decide."

_He really has it bad for the little Ravenclaw,_ she thought. "You're probably right. The more of us who stick together, the stronger we'll be."

Nott finally spoke up. "You're acting like the Dark Lord is our enemy!"

"No, we're behaving like Slytherins," Zabini said smoothly. "Madam Lestrange has been allowed free rein since last summer. You saw yourself what happened to Snape, and the fun she had with Malfoy. I'm sure our Lord has good reasons for this. However, nearly all of us are apprenticed to our Head of House, and thus must be loyal to him. The Dark Lord appears to be preoccupied with other matters which are likely more important. Without any other directives, we must look after our own interests and try to protect our immediate master from those who might harm him. Our ultimate loyalty is, of course, to the one who gave us our Mark. However, since he has yet to remove us from the Professor's authority, it seems logical that he approves of our actions, if only from a distance. In case of rivalry between our Lord's followers, we must support our Head of House over any others. Miss Parkinson is right about her betrothed, though. Unless Malfoy is included in some kind of oath or binding, the rest of us are in danger."

Nott grimaced. "I suppose so."

"Our house has a history of factions, too," Zabini continued. "Why else do we start out our first year in study groups? The Professor wants us to learn how to work together, as well as striving for individual greatness. It's the only way we can survive Hogwarts. It's the only way we're going to survive this, as well."

Nott was silent, and was apparently lost in thought.

Pansy moved on to the Rosier twins. "Your family has been loyal for decades. I know you're used to speaking for each other, but it'd be nice to hear from both of you." They weren't quite as bad as the Weasley twins that way, but everyone knew they'd work together.

Libby piped up first. "The Professor told us a little bit about Uncle Evan and what the Ministry did to him. He didn't like talking about it, either. When Mad-Eye was here, before anyone found out it wasn't really him, our Head of House was really quiet. I think…maybe he was afraid? But what could the Ministry do that was worse than what happened to him last summer or last week? He didn't betray anyone then, except for Greg, and he was already dead."

"Snape was in the Special Section," Ted said, his face pale. "That's probably where your uncle went, too. One of my mother's cousins was released a few years after our Lord disappeared. I sneaked down the stairs and listened to him talk with my stepfather. Uncle Elphinstone had a lot to say after a couple of drinks. He said Moody sat with the Professor for weeks, and Crouch had Rosier." He swallowed hard. "I can't stand the Headmaster or the way he sucks up to Potty and his friends, but he was the one who took the professor out of there. I kept out of Moody's way myself whenever I could, except in Defense when I couldn't."

Pansy was impressed. Nott didn't talk much, unlike a certain blond ferret she could mention. He was worth listening to on this one.

Libby bit her lip. "That's why we have to work together," she said. "What happened to our Head of House or Edgecombe could happen to us, too. No one helped her when Lestrange left her to the wolves."

"You know I wouldn't let anyone hurt you," her brother Charles said.

"You might not have a choice. I never had an answer back from Mum when I wrote her about what happened to Zabini's friend. From what I saw Saturday, I think we were recruited because some of the others don't have enough Muggles to play with."

Pansy nodded. She was beginning to suspect the same thing. "Mr. Rosier?"

"It's not like what Dad said it was before we took the Mark, that's for sure," Charles said. "He told us how things were here before Snape started the study groups, though. Some Gryff gang called the Marauders pretty much ran the school, and anyone out by themselves could be in for it. Of course we'll obey the Dark Lord, that's what we signed up to do. But I don't trust Lestrange, and I don't know anybody who does. If we can keep the Professor from dying, we're all better off."

"There are others in the Inner Circle we can depend on," Nott said.

"Really? I mean, we all honor Pettigrew's sacrifice to bring our Lord back, but does anyone think he could protect us?" the Rosier boy continued. "Most of the others are still in Azkaban, like Malfoy's father. Avery's dad has to worry about becoming a werewolf. Your real one left for the States and hasn't been heard from since. Maybe you think you have to be two times the Death Eater that anyone else is, but nobody holds your dad's behavior against you, really."

_I can't believe Draco is keeping it shut for once,_ Pansy thought. She remembered hearing about the divorce Nott's mother received from the Ministry for desertion, and her remarriage to the man's cousin. Nothing like keeping all the money in the family!

"What about Macnair?" Nott protested, though without much heat.

Jake looked up from his papers. "My uncle isn't part of the Inner Circle, and probably for good reason. If it hadn't been for Snape, I would have had to marry Edgecombe because my uncle can't keep it buttoned. A month after, I would have been lying in the parlor with everyone saying 'doesn't he look natural?' while Zabini buffed his fingernails and pretended to look bored."

"A week, not a month," the studious Slytherin said with a smile.

"We won't even mention the Deflating Draught in the wedding punch, or what _she_ would have done to me herself. I might not have lasted the week." Macnair rolled his eyes.

Pansy could see the meeting beginning to disintegrate. She channeled Bossy Granger at her worst and coughed vehemently. "I see that you agree, Mr. Rosier." She was tempted to add a _hem, hem_ just for fun, but decided against it.

"Well, of course," Charles said. "I don't see what there is to debate."

"Mr. Crabbe?"

"We'd better stay together! Look what happens when one of us is peeled away. Not just Miss Edgecombe, but Drake here. _I_ wouldn't like being around that crazy woman, even if it looked like you were having fun."

"I thought you were going to ask me to tell you when she was bored with me," Draco said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"No." Vincent stared at the floor. "Greg's ghost talks to me sometimes. I can't tell what he said. The Big Snake nearly melted a cauldron just looking at it when I repeated some of it to him. But it's just like being here at Hogwarts. If Greg had stayed with me that night instead of going home, he…he might still be alive." He swallowed. "I don't care what he thought! I never would have told on him! And if you don't like it, Nott, you can shove it up your arse with a—"

"That's all right, Vince," Pansy said. "We're here to find a way to stop fighting among ourselves. A lot of help we'll be to the Dark Lord if we go after each other."

Nott looked thoughtful. _Good._ She intended to have him wait till last. The seventh year might be a true believer, but he was also not stupid. By the time she'd worked through everyone else, Ted would know better than to think he could betray anyone here and end up with more than a well-placed _Crucio_ for his trouble. All those black boxes on the front of the Prophet had even started her mother wondering about things. Her last letter had asked if the Professor was all right, and Madam Pomfrey, too. Coming from Mum, that was like the Headmaster taking the Mark. _If the Professor dies and we can't stay together as a group, I'm going to ask to transfer to Beauxbatons or even a school in the States. I'm not surprised Edgecombe tried to slice herself up after what happened to her._

She looked at Macnair. "You've already had a few words, Jake, but what do you think?"

"My numbers say that if we aren't united, our Head of House dies. That means all of us, including Miss Edgecombe and the Unweasel, the same as it was last summer at Malfoy's place. Most of us won't make it if we don't help each other. I know you think I'm hitting the same bottle the fruitbat does when I say stuff like that, but think about it. He took some of the pain from us the night we took our Marks. I don't know about the rest of you, but…but sometimes I _feel_ him through it. It's weird, but last night I went to bed feeling pretty worried, because I'd heard he was sick again. I didn't feel so hot myself, to be honest. Last night, though, it was like he was doing another inspection in the dormitories while I was asleep, but I could tell he was there and wanted to take care of us. When I woke up, I wasn't upset any more."

Pansy stared at him. This was scary. She'd felt like her period was about to come on, but it hadn't. Late last night she, too, had suddenly felt much better. It wasn't hard to see where he was going, though. "You think that if he dies his Mark will take some of us with him?"

"I don't know," Jake said. "I don't think it would be very good, though."

Now that was a scary thought, and it led directly to the Dark Lord. _Nobody died from the Mark when _he_ disappeared,_ she comforted herself. Of course, _he_ hadn't really been dead all the way, either. _Maybe he could steal enough strength from his followers before he made a new body. There's some funny rumors about what happens to people who are part of the Inner Circle when _they_ die, too. When the Professor was inducted, the Dark Lord said it was for eternity. _

"Thank you," she told Macnair. Draco looked at her oddly, as if he wondered why she was running this meeting, and not him. Didn't he understand it _had_ to be her? She could prove she hadn't had any problems on a certain Sunday morning, which meant the apprentices who never felt the loyalty spell might listen to her. "Avery?"

Josh grimaced. "I haven't had a letter from Dad since he made it out. While he was in prison, though, he wrote me that he was glad we were all right after…after that one week. Two prisoners were hit by the spell, and the Aurors took them away. Dad was worried about how much they were going to tell the Ministry. If we…if Snape died, he said I could apprentice to him instead. He didn't say exactly how, of course, not in a letter the guards read before it was sent to me." He looked miserable. "He's probably going to be a werewolf now, like Lupin. Who's going to make the potion for him if the Professor can't? No offense, Malfoy, but even you aren't that good. The Mudblood won't do it for a Death Eater unless we threaten her, or something."

Draco nodded, looking glum. "I've gone through it once already, and will again this next week. Granger is going to be there, too, but for once I'll be nice. I'll probably learn more from her thousand and one questions than I did from just taking directions. I already have a good set of notes from the last time."

Pansy could feel how everyone was beginning to mesh together—except the argumentative seventh year who was clearly feeling left out. "Mr. Nott, what do you think?" she asked prettily. Maybe she could punish Draco and promote solidarity at the same time.

Ted looked doubtful. "Should we do this without letting the Professor know? What kind of binding would be involved?"

Oh, good. He already wanted to debate the method, and not what they should do. Pansy pulled out a small book. "Of course he should know," she said. "As apprentices we aren't to keep secrets from him anyway. I found a ritual that includes the one we did for him at the Manor, only it uses all four elements in the bond created between everyone who's part of it. I couldn't believe it was on Binns' extra reading list. I had to borrow it from Edgecombe. Our Head of House should be part of it this time. I'm glad you thought of that." It couldn't hurt to pour it on; and indeed, Nott looked like he was thawing a bit.

She looked directly at him again. "I don't pretend to know the politics among the rest of the Inner Circle, but it has to help him there to know we're all behind him, and that he doesn't have to watch us. If he makes it through the year, he'll be done with those awful potions he has to take, and will be a lot stronger. You don't think _he's_ disloyal, do you?"

"No," he said. "I just don't see why we should include Malfoy."

Ah. There was the sticking point. "But we have to be able to trust him, too. He's the main reason we need the ritual in the first place." Pansy quickly glared at Draco, silently commanding him to keep his mouth shut. "I know you think I'm defending him because we're still betrothed. But this magic will punish him if he betrays either us or his godfather." She let a brief smile cross her face. "Perhaps I'm not being nice at all. Remember what happened to Miss Edgecombe when she crossed the DA?"

That clearly brightened Nott's outlook. "May I see the ritual, please?" he asked.

She passed over the book and showed him the place. "It'll be better if we do it outside. If we can go to the Forest, or at least the edge of it before it turns really nasty, we'll have the privacy we need. If anyone comes by, we're all on detention and gathering potions ingredients."

Pansy looked at the others. Draco gave her a quick thumbs-up and did something with his gray eyes that made her feel warm all over. _No wonder that horrible aunt of his couldn't resist temptation! I think I'll make him grovel for a while longer, though. It'll be good for him._

Everyone else now looked at Ted Nott. "We should probably practice it," he said. "This isn't an emergency the way it was last summer, and with four parts it'd be easy to screw up."

Pansy breathed a sigh of relief as he gave the book back. She quickly charmed copies of the spell and handed them around to everyone. "As you can see, there's a part for each element. It hasn't rained for a couple of days, so we should be able to find something dry enough to burn out in the Forest without risking it going out of control. If we do one part at a time, it shouldn't be that hard."

Draco looked down at his copy. "Since we're going to be bound together, I can talk about this now. I visited my father on Friday night. He told me it would be a good idea if I made friends in other Houses. Acting on those instructions, I took time last night to chat with MacMillan, instead of telling him what kind of Seeker he was. The Puff thinks it'd be a good idea for the team captains to meet on occasion and discuss things, if only to keep Hooch happy."

Crabbe mumbled something that Pansy almost heard about what _he_ thought would do it. She glared at him on general principles till he turned red and muttered an apology.

Avery laughed at Malfoy. "I can just see you and the Weasel trying to be polite to each other."

Draco looked down his nose and smirked. "Won't everyone be shocked when he loses his temper first, while I merely sigh and try to calm things down."

"Chang will kill both of you," Macnair said.

"She wants to murder everyone this year anyway," Malfoy said. He looked serious now.

Pansy nodded. Everyone knew why Cho Chang of Ravenclaw was a dangerous person to cross this year. Between losing the sainted Cedric Diggory, the total collapse of her relationship with the Boy-Whose-Great-Idea-It-Had-Been, and thinking about NEWTS more than was good even for a Ravenclaw, the dark-haired girl had let her temper show more than was usual for a Head Girl. The Betting Book was already handicapping for next year. The Mudblood and Draco were the favorites, while MacMillan and Susan Bones were running second. _It would be just like Dumbledore to give both places to Hufflepuffs rather than let a Slytherin have a chance for anything these days,_ she thought. _I could put up with the Great Brain throwing her weight around, if Draco had a shot at it, too._ She shook herself for such traitorous thoughts.

"At least she's stopped crying all the time," Vincent said, still stuck on Chang.

Nott looked impatient. "Have we forgotten what being Slytherin really means?" he spat viciously.

"Actually, this is a good idea," Pansy said. "If the Headmaster hears from Hooch that we're going soft, he won't watch us nearly as much, or blame the Professor for any trouble. I know one of the first years here has a friend in Hufflepuff, and the two of them get away with murder. Both of them give alibis for each other, and the teachers believe them, because of course two children from such different Houses would _never_ lie for each other. Well, except Snape. He knows better than to believe any of us."

Even Nott smiled at that. She continued. "It'll look like we actually believe that idiotic Sorting Hat, and that we're concerned about the school as well. After everyone recovers from a dead faint, they'll relax and we'll be able to do what we please. Remember how easy Umbridge was to hoodwink if you just smiled at her and asked about her kittens. I think we should all pick one of the other teachers and pretend to confide in them a little, the way Zabini here already does with Flitwick."

Libby Rosier nodded. "That sounds good for right now, though I'd hate to be the one who drew the short straw for Trelawney. But what about next spring? When it's hot it looks strange to wear long sleeves, especially for us girls. What if we're summoned while others are around? Edgecombe's charm is nice, but we shouldn't use it all the time."

Pansy smirked. "I wrote a letter to my mother, and told her I had a rash on my face from some plant in the greenhouse, and nobody had a remedy for it. She sent me some cover-up cream that changes color to match your skin. I tried it on, and it makes it look like only my normal skin is there, while masking the Mark." She pulled up her sleeve and showed her apparently bare arm. "I tried it on Millie, and it let her freckles show through, but not a scratch she'd picked up in Care of Magical Creatures, and matched the rest of her skin color, too."

"Does it wash off?" Libby asked.

"It hasn't so far. But if there are any problems, I happen to know this Potions Master who might be willing to help…" she added with a smile.

Most of the boys grimaced. Pansy almost laughed at the thought of zit cream on all those hairy arms.

Draco, though, just grinned. "I'll have to order a case," he said. "After all, everyone knows how much time and trouble I devote to looking as lovely as I do." Even Crabbe rolled his eyes at that.

Pansy coughed, and brandished the book once everyone was through laughing. "Let's see if we can find the Professor and ask him about this. He should be done with the firsties by now, and well started on grading."

"He'll probably thank us," Malfoy said. "Well, maybe not thank us, but he might not put us on cauldron duty for interrupting him."

Oh, Merlin, how could she stay angry with him when he was like this? She was almost ready to believe it really had been Horrible Bella's idea to show off Draco's arse to everyone. _I should ask Mum if the Mark can really be used like that,_ Pansy thought. _Snape wants to believe the best of his godson. _She knew she'd go to Madam Pomfrey, or even the Headmaster if Snape died, rather than be used the way Edgecombe had been. If all of them worked together, though, that might not be necessary.

After all, apprentices were supposed to be loyal. Binns had given her the key, probably without a clue about what was going on in the world. Edgecombe had been smart to latch onto the ghost for support. _Maybe I will pick Trelawney to chat with from time to time,_ she thought. _All the real lunatics follow Firenze around these days. _

A proper Slytherin took suggestions from chimpanzees, or even Hufflepuffs, if the ideas happened to be good ones. It couldn't hurt to listen to herself.

Severus Snape

He sipped his chocolate and quietly observed the children sitting around the table. Today there was a temporary addition to their numbers. Miss Marcher likely had no idea how privileged she was to be part of this group. It was true he had allowed guests in the past, but only a few of them had been Hufflepuffs. None had been Muggleborn.

The girl was well behaved for someone not of this world, and far better than someone fresh from Knockturn Alley. For once, the Puff was quiet. Perhaps it had not been the wisest thing to put the same ingredient in her chocolate as he had in all the rest, but it had been too long since these children had spoken frankly to him.

Snape kept to his usual demeanor with an effort. _I hope Gerte's place in Hogsmeade has an opening today,_ he thought. He was rarely shaken by skin-hunger in this way, but today it was severe. His dream last night about Molly was only an appetizer now, despite how satisfying it had been then.

He sighed, and listened to the students' chatter. At times they almost forgot he was here if he said nothing, and he learned a great deal then. Today they sat in their study groups, with Miss Marcher next to Miss Walsh and her friends.

The taste of the chocolate was sweet. He put a piece of candy from Lupin's box in his mouth, then sipped from the cup to enjoy the contrasting flavors together. A small shiver of sensual delight shook him, especially when he thought about combining chocolate and a naked Molly Weasley.

He put down the cup. These children trusted him. Besides, it was time for them to visit his office one at a time with any concerns. _I have to be worthy of their trust, and think of them, instead of letting my mind wander this way._

The Potions Master stood, and explained his departure to their guest. "At this time I go into my office. Each one of these children come in, one at a time, and let me know how their week has been. If you wish to do so, you may come in as well. I'm sure Professor Sprout will be happy to help you with any problems, though." The usual run of students in that House was occasionally leavened with misfits and those who stymied the Sorting Hat. In fact, most Muggleborn ended up there, with only a few sorted to Gryffindor, and one every once in a while to Ravenclaw. He gracefully bowed to Miss Marcher, and walked slowly, but with dignity, to his office. _A pity that Mr. Potter was never offered this opportunity before,_ he thought. _I could have managed the Dursleys long before last summer, if only I had known._

Snape waited. No doubt Miss Walsh and her group hung back out of courtesy to Drusilla's friend. Mr. Andreas came in first, who looked sullen and hostile. Severus knew that came from fear. "I am feeling much better, Mr. Andreas," he said as the boy sat down. "The Swiss tried to improve my potions, but some reactions were unexpected. I have sent them a full report on the matter, and am now using the older ones instead. Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey quickly discovered what the problem was, and restored me once the new potion wore off."

The young Slytherin relaxed. "I, we, nobody knew what was really wrong this time, sir," he said. "Some of the older students said the Coot was angry about something and punished you."

"That is far from the truth, Mr. Andreas. I was away last night, and went to a party where I discovered that the new potion and the punch did not mix well. The Headmaster had a few things to say about _that_, but nothing more than I expected."

The first year student grinned. "Mr. Bartholomew said we have to leave the shandy alone if we expect to go anywhere in the game."

"He is quite right. By the way, would you like to continue your studies with him this summer? If you don't want to, we can make other arrangements. I know a good family in the country where the air is cleaner, and you would have only some minor chores." He had boarded other students there, and knew the couple was nothing like the Dursleys.

"Me? Take the full course? And not owe him anything when I'm done?"

"I'm sure such arrangements could be made," the Potions Master said. "Naturally, I would expect some service in return once you're old enough to be more help." The boy wouldn't believe in charity. "You may be allowed to observe someone taking advanced training."

"That'd be neat if we saw the suit of bells out again. Mr. Bartholomew had us watch once while someone else had a go at it, and then gave us a chance so we'd know how bad we were. Um…anyone I know going to be there?"

_I ought to scold him for presuming, but he should have some idea, since he may work with Mundungus someday. _"I'm not certain," he said. "However, you may end up assisting a Mr. Fletcher in a few years. He doesn't look impressive, but one doesn't need that to be successful in that line."

"The Dungbomb? I might work with the _Dungbomb_?" Mr. Andreas looked like he'd been given his pick of presents under the Hogwarts Christmas tree.

Snape was quietly amused. Fletcher would be pleased that someone had mentioned his nickname with such awe. "If you shape up, of course, and pay attention to your studies. All this is conditional on passing your classes, obviously."

"Oh."

Perhaps the two ought to have a little chat in the next couple of weeks. That might motivate the boy to study harder. "Don't look so worried, Mr. Andreas. You're not as behind as you may think. I can place you on the List to receive additional tutoring if you need to, and I have a small group doing lines next Tuesday night. You don't actually have to have a detention to join, though you may wish to pretend that you have to the others."

The student grimaced. "Yes, sir."

One would think the boy had been threatened with a round of hall-scrubbing with Filch. Snape wasn't going to sacrifice any of his children's academics to the needs of the Order, no matter what he'd said to Moody. "Writing strengthens the fingers, Mr. Andreas, and in your line of work, that's important. The more your hands know how to do, the better."

The first year sighed and nodded, as if contemplating martyrdom. Snape hid a smile. "We must all endure the best we can, young man. Any other concerns?"

"No, sir," the boy said, and left the room.

Several other students came through and received reassurance, as well as allowing the Potions Master to spread the story about the punch. Some of them would find out about his belated birthday, and add two and two together to equal five, which suited Snape just fine.

Drusilla Walsh came shyly into the office. He left the door half open for the girl, as he did for all the female students, and quickly put up a shielding spell. She looked at him keenly, as if searching for symptoms of illness. He told her the same story he'd given to Mr. Andreas, and the girl smirked. The more scandalous the tale, the more likely it was to be believed.

In a way, Molly Weasley's punch had caused him trouble. If he'd been paying greater attention and not drunk the Veritaserum in it, his interview with the Dark Lord might have gone differently. _I might have convinced that horrible snake that I did _not_ need more of his kind playing havoc with me,_ he thought morbidly. It had turned out well; yet the odds of that had been low indeed, especially with that dunderhead Pettigrew involved. If it really had been the former Marauder…well, he hadn't been in the best position to detect Polyjuice last night.

"Professor, are you unhappy that I brought Hil—that I brought Miss Marcher?"

"No. I am surprised she wanted to come. We do have a reputation."

"Oh, that just made her more interested. I told her you weren't that mean to us and I could prove it. She doesn't know _anything_ sometimes! She tells me the weirdest stories about Muggles, too. I wish _we_ had a Wireless that did pictures. Since our photographs and portraits move, and theirs don't, you'd think we would have been ahead of them with that. Hillary has a machine that shows pictures and plays games, but she can't make it work right here. She's going to ask Professor Flitwick if he knows any charms for it."

Normally, it annoyed him intensely when anyone hinted that the Muggle way of doing anything was superior to magic, especially when the Gryffindor know-it-all persisted in mentioning them. Arthur Weasley's utter fascination with technology was a continuing joke. However, such things were worth considering. "I must admit, Miss Walsh, that I feared your studies might suffer from your friendship with the girl. I am glad to see they have not. Miss Marcher also seems less fearful of things that must be new to her. If she has questions that you cannot answer, I suppose she may apply to me. However, her own Head of House knows how to deal with such matters as well."

The girl shifted in her seat. "Probably," she said. "It's still fun to see the rest of Hogwarts with her, and not just Slytherin. No matter…no matter which way things go, it's going to be different than it is now. I haven't written Mother about my friend yet. Some of the older students tease me about her, and say the Sorting Hat must have put me in the wrong house. I don't want to stop being friends with her, though. If things…if things go bad, may I bring her here to hide?"

"Under the circumstances, I would find it difficult to give permission," Snape said. Miss Walsh slumped in her chair. "However," he continued, "I am extremely busy. Under other circumstances I would be busier still. It would be up to the prefects to see to the safety of any students within the area if such an emergency occurred."

Drusilla looked extremely thoughtful, but said nothing. That proved to _his_ satisfaction, at least, that the Hat had chosen correctly. He hoped he had been sufficiently unhelpful and ambiguous, though he was fairly certain she'd read between the lines. When she left the room, she was smiling.

Next, and last, was Miss Marcher herself. Her eyes were wide and shining as she sat down. She glanced about, as if his shabby office were a marvel she couldn't see enough of. After a few moments, he said, "Well? Do I pass inspection?"

"Sorry, sir. It's just that Hogwarts is such a strange mix of everyday and magical. I'm still confused sometimes. I've heard a lot of stories about Slytherin. I didn't expect hot chocolate and weekly conferences."

He smirked. "They never do. I know Professor Sprout looks after all of you well."

Miss Marcher nodded. "She always seems to know when someone needs help, especially with um, _us._ There are five other Muggleborn in our class, er, house, in the first year."

"Well, I have to admit that it's harder for me. I have to organize things properly to keep track. These weekly meetings give me a chance to know the first year students so they don't become lost." He eyed her to see how she took this bit of studied frankness.

"Muggle schools have files and conferences, too. I had to go to a lot of meetings before my letter showed up."

Snape could well imagine it. "I can see why. Was it breaking glass, fire, or odd things happening to children who hurt you?"

Her mouth gaped open, and she blinked. Then she recovered. "All of them. Mum and Dad first thought people were making things up, including me. It hardly ever happened at home, except when I was little, and I think they tried to forget about that. When they discovered it was really happening, I went to hospital and had tests. Do you know how much glass they have in clinics? Mum told me later that I was even videotaped when I thought I was alone to make sure I wasn't breaking things on purpose. They tried pills on me, too. I didn't like them very much."

She wiped her eyes. "I was so glad when the owl came to my window with the letter. I think it was Professor McGonagall who talked to my parents. Everything made _sense_ then. Coming here was scary. I've never been away from home for so long before. I hope…I hope they want me back for holidays and summer…"

"Have you received any letters from them?" He softened his voice.

"One or two. I think they're glad they don't have to go to school and talk with my teachers or the head three times a week the way they had to before. I suppose I can't blame them, really."

Snape wondered if all Muggleborns went through a version of this struggle. He remembered seeing in Potter's memories last year how much the Dursleys had hated magic, and the lengths they had gone to so they could pretend to their neighbors that Harry was normal. Petunia Dursley had had a great deal to say about it at the hearing. "Once you use magic here, it will be easier to keep it under control at home. There will be some leaks, but not as many as before. Do you know when it happens?"

"Some of the time I have a funny feeling right between my eyes. It has to be all the way through me before anything breaks, though, and I only started fires a couple of times. I had a fever the times that I remember doing it. Mum made jokes about a Stephen King book, once she'd put them out, but she was really scared. I can always tell how my parents feel about things. Some of the kids at school believe me, but the nurse thought I was just making it up."

This was interesting. It was much too early to start the girl on Occlumency, but some of the basic exercises could help her from being overwhelmed by the emotions of others. He decided to talk to Professor Sprout about that later, though. He changed the subject by mentioning something Miss Walsh had said. "I hear that Muggles have machines that play games and whatnot, rather like some Wizarding toys." Some of the devices in the Room of Requirement when he'd gone there looking for amusement were like that.

That released a flood of verbiage of which he understood about one word in ten, and those were often used in ways he didn't understand. "Controller" appeared to be a mechanism rather than a person, while terms like "Nintendo" and "Squaresoft" were totally alien to him. He gathered that she favored spells of mass destruction and seemed disappointed most of them here only worked on one person or a thing at a time. She also appeared surprised at the lack of teamwork—apparently her idea of an assault group included at least one person whose only purpose was to dispense healing spells during any one battle. He found that one fairly intriguing himself, and made some mental notes. She was also more familiar with the concept of enchanted items and weapons than any Muggle had a right to be. _Arthur Weasley would love this child sight unseen,_ he thought.

Snape blinked, overwhelmed by her enthusiasm. "How do you like it in a real castle?" he asked, hoping to stem the flow of incomprehensible speech.

She smiled. "It's nicer and scarier than I expected. It's strange. Different parts _feel_ differently. In Hufflepuff, even with magic, things are more like home than I thought they would be. We have a big timetable on the wall in our common room that shows your name and your schedule whenever you look at it. The Chore List is there, too. We all have to choose one a week, like the job jar Mum has. You can sign up for extra help in classes, too, and one of the older students can use that for one of their duties. Professor Sprout says if we keep busy, we won't end up with real detentions like people in the other Houses do."

He nodded. He'd stolen some of those features for Slytherin, though he'd had to couch them in terms the purebloods would understand better. The interlocking network of client families also provided a framework that those in his house were used to. However, he had also provided a way those under obligation could pay back any favors before they left Hogwarts, so they could start their lives with a clean slate, unlike his own debts to the Malfoys. He did not want those such as Mr. Andreas for personal serfs. Unfortunately, that had gone out the window with those dunderheads taking the Mark.

"Have you seen other parts besides Hufflepuff and your visits here?" he asked.

"When I go past the Gryffindor part, it's always really loud. I don't see how anyone does their homework there, except I saw the Quidditch team work on theirs in the Great Hall a couple of time. Maybe anyone who isn't on it concentrates on their stuff then." Miss Marcher paused. "I think my older brother would like Ravenclaw. Half the people there walk around like they're trying to think of a new computer virus. I—I haven't been here much, but magic feels _thicker_ than in most of the rest of the castle."

"Are you certain your feelings aren't affected by the reputation each house has?" He bit back a nasty remark. She hadn't been here long enough to absorb most of the prejudice, or so he hoped.

"I don't know," she said. "It's really weird. Dru—I mean, Miss Walsh—she and I were at the Quidditch field when the Puffs were playing Gryffindor a couple of weeks ago. Harry Potter came up and talked to someone by us. I'd never heard of him before coming here, but there are lots of stories about him. When he looked at us, I could tell he was making himself be nice to Drusilla. But I had the same kind of feeling around him that I do here, and that doesn't make any sense. I walked by where the other Gryffindors were sitting, and they weren't the same at all. They didn't say anything rotten, but Dru was afraid and we didn't spend too long over there." She bit her lip. "That's one reason I like gaming. Machines don't feel like anything, not the way that people do."

"Interesting," the Potions Master said. "Have you met the Headmaster yet?" That was a good test. Most children saw only the doddering grandfather.

"Yes, sir. Last week, he came by to talk to just us first years. He said was only fair, since he'd done it for some others. It was really nice. But I could tell he was worried about something. When I talked to my friend about it, she said you were sick and Madam Pomfrey had to go to hospital, too, so I pretended to have a bad stomach and the old lady told me to go to bed early. She could tell I was faking, probably. But the Headmaster—it was like when Grandpa knew how bad the tests were for Grandma and he hadn't told anyone yet. I tried to tell Mum then that something was wrong, but she said I was just being silly. A couple of weeks later we found out Grams had cancer…" She sniffed. "I hope that isn't what you have, sir. Your skin is the same color hers was when they had her on chemo."

"I don't know what chemo is, but I can assure you I don't have that ailment. Some of us end up with it, too, though the cure is different for each person, I fear. I have been working with Potions for a long time, and last summer they found I was being poisoned after being exposed for so long. The therapy for it is not pleasant, but it's certainly not fatal." It bothered him less and less to discuss the matter these days, which he found odd. Her reaction to the Headmaster suggested more sensitivity than was usually found in a first year. No doubt her rapid approach towards puberty added to it.

She looked relieved. "But the Headmaster was different than Grandpa. It's like I would end up zapped the way I would if I put my finger in a light socket if I was too close, or something. Maybe he acts goofy so people won't be afraid of him."

Now _that_ was extremely interesting if he understood her correctly. Very few understood how much power lay behind Dumbledore's jolliness. "Have you ever spoken with Professor Trelawney?" he asked.

"She teaches Muggle Studies, but I don't have to take it. That would be silly!"

Snape nodded. "I agree. However, it could not hurt for you to have tea with her sometime. And perhaps you ought to speak with our Divinations teacher, Firenze. Have you ever met a centaur before?" Both teachers had sensitivity to magical potential.

"No! A real one?" she asked round-eyed.

"The only kind we have around here," he said. "You must remember to stay out of the Forbidden Forest, though. At your age you probably wouldn't have trouble with the unicorns except during foaling season. That part of Muggle legend is true. However, the other centaurs who live there are not kind at all. You and your friend would be in great danger. Giant spiders called Acromantulas live in the forest as well, and they would be delighted to drink your blood. If you find yourself there for any reason, leave as quickly as possible. Hagrid's cottage is usually safe, save for being licked to death by that wretched mutt of his." He sat in silence, then, not quite ready to dismiss her. _I should spend more time with him,_ Snape thought. _And with Fang, too. Oh, damn—I need to make that potion for Filch, and I've been forgetting. As soon as this month's Wolfbane is done, I _must_ start on that._

The girl clapped her hand to her mouth. "Oh!" she said.

"What is it, Miss Marcher? Are you ill?" Veritaserum, even in minor doses, sometime acted erratically on those with psychic ability.

"No. It's just that there is something wrong and you know about it. It's so dark and silent at the end, too, and you're afraid." She bowed her head, as if she expected to be shouted at for her impertinence.

He wanted to lie to her. No doubt others had done so in the past. "You must not speak of this," the Potions Master said softly. "There is little I can do about it, and I would rather not have people _hovering._ It's nothing to do with my illness, or those horrible potions I have to drink for it. Please don't discuss it with your friend. It would only distress her." It was terrifying to know his life lay in the hands of a silly Muggle girl. After learning what Goyle's ghost had told Vincent Crabbe about his true loyalties, though, he probably ought to be used to this kind of thing. He stood. "It's time to finish the chocolate while there's still some left," he said, trying to keep from scowling. Yes, the girl needed to see Firenze or Trelawney. Neither one had been wrong about a student's potential yet, even if Sybil was merely a vessel for the lightning and could not control it.

"You aren't going to yell at me?" She stood up, too.

"Only if you speak of this. Other lives than mine may be involved. If you must confide in anyone, Professor Sprout is a good choice, as is Madam Pomfrey. I know it is a great responsibility, but I'm sure you've been told that Hufflepuff believes in it."

Miss Marcher nodded solemnly. Perhaps she covered up her fear of what she felt and saw with silliness, the way the Headmaster did. Her friend benefited from it, though—Miss Walsh was much less upset by her home situation than he'd expected.

"You know, it's really weird," she said, her hand on the door. "Most of people have both light and dark in them. But they usually hide the darkness and show the light. You do just the opposite."

"I suggest you not bandy that theory about, Miss Marcher," Snape said sardonically. "Trying to persuade anyone that I have light at all will find many to debate it."

She smiled, as if he'd just proven her assertion. They entered the room with the other children. Most of them were finished, but lingered anyway, till he clapped his hands. At that, they stood up, formed a line, and rinsed their cups out in the lab sink. Miss Marcher followed their example. _I must find a way to keep them safe,_ he thought.

As soon as the children were gone, he wrote a quick note to Albus about the girl. Dumbledore should speak with her, or arrange a meeting with Trelawney or Firenze for the Hufflepuff. The disciplines of her House should keep her safe for now, but once she became older, she could be overwhelmed by the magical aura of so many others using spells. No doubt her retreat into working with machines helped her in the crowded Muggle world, but she would not have that here.

The Potions Master walked the office and classroom area and tried to think of hiding places for the first year students that Voldemort wouldn't already know about. Mr. Potter might be persuaded to open the Chamber of Secrets for the younger students; but the Dark Lord's ability to use Parseltongue as well could easily turn the place into a trap. If any battle occurred on school grounds, the youngest must be protected. _I hope I live long enough to help fight, but there's no guarantee. Lupin must be careful with the Marauder's Map. Wormtail already knows how it works, and could use it as well._

He sat down and poured himself a cup of tea. Winky had left him the pot when she departed with the note to Albus. His personal quarters were unknown to Voldemort or to Lucius, since their encounters had taken place away from Hogwarts. Some secrets belonged only to the Head of Slytherin, as well. Bellwood was dead, and the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black would never betray the secrets of a fellow Head. Yet he wasn't satisfied.

Then Winky returned, and he knew the answer.

"Master looks so happy today!" she said.

"Seeing you helped me solve a problem," he said. "If something very bad happens to the school, I or the Headmaster will ask you and the other house elves to protect the youngest children, and if need be, help them get away."

She turned sober. "Dobby and other old ones talk already. Nothing bad happens to Master any more, please?"

"I wish I could promise you that," he said. Fortunately, before either one could descend to wallowing in sentiment, an unfamiliar owl appeared with a note in its claws.

He was pleased to read that the new massage place was open till 6 today, had a cancelled appointment, and he would be welcome, if he could fill it on such short notice. He smiled as he saw the scribbled-in words beneath the formal notification. "I am working hard to train new people, but I always have time for you. Bring extra Galleons if you like. Gerte."

He wasn't going to look this gift horse in the mouth. The memory of the woman's hands and the pleasure she'd brought him last summer erased his critical faculties regarding why she'd opened a place in Hogsmeade to begin with. "Winky, I will be out this afternoon, and possibly late for the evening meal," he said. The elf clouded up, and he explained. "The Headmaster gave me several certificates for massage therapy at a new place in the village, and I have an appointment today. Mine is the last one, and they may see fit to allow me extra time if it's worth their while. The woman is from Switzerland and helped me when I was there at the clinic last summer. I plan to take my broom to the village and back, since I don't want to walk too much today. Don't worry, I plan to use a Cushioning Charm and to dress warmly."

Winky smiled broadly. "Oh, Master, is good for you to have fun! I knows how to help with sore muscles, too."

"I want to try this place today," he said. There were occasional rumors about just how well trained some house elves were, and he would rather not think about that.

He wrote a quick note accepting the appointment, and gave it back to the owl. Unfortunately, as he opened a window that led to the outside, the Malfoy eagle owl flew in just as the other one departed. Snape scowled at the bird, which dropped the envelope and left, rather than waiting for a reply.

He gingerly picked it up, sealed with Lucius' personal sigil, with distaste. Any reply had to be sent in a letter to Narcissa, as this one had been sent through her from Azkaban. Malfoy made the most of his privileges, though normally any mail to or from his cell from anyone save his wife would be more closely scrutinized.

Winky tactfully found something to do in one of the other rooms. Severus slit the wax open with a tiny knife, normally used for ingredients nearly as poisonous, and sat down to read once he'd cast the usual charm to reveal its true contents.

_My dear Severus,_ it began.

_I hope you are better. I also hope you have seen the Healer at St. Mungo's who does such interesting things with snakes, at least for an examination. Narcissa has had a couple of appointments with him. When my innocence is finally recognized, I will be there to support her when she is ready to endure the treatment. Talk to those idiots at the Swiss clinic and make them find a way so the procedure is less painful for you._

Snape gripped the paper, overwhelmed by memories of last night. Oh, he was glad of the results; yet the mental echo of the pain was almost as bad, for a brief moment, as the reality had been. But of course a Malfoy would never be allowed to suffer as much as a poor brat from Knockturn Alley; that simply wasn't to be. He shook with fury. Oh, no. Malfoys were _special_. They always managed to avoid the consequences of their deeds somehow. Even in Azkaban, Lucius luxuriated in a room stocked with the finest wines and had the guards bowing and scraping. He remembered his cold cell, the lurking Dementors, and the exquisite agony of Moody's attentions…oh, he was grateful for being rescued by Dumbledore. He would have to be insane not to be. Yet Malfoy had walked free then as well, to enjoy his life with a beautiful wife and an adoring son. _And what do I have? _Snape asked himself. _Why is it always me who makes the sacrifice? Oh, yes. They finally recognize my contribution when it's almost too late. But it will still be me who dies, or worse, while Lucius, and those like him, still walk the earth surrounded by a loving family. Albus will mourn for a little while, but he'll move on and find another puppet to manipulate. After all, don't you know there's a war on?_

He put the letter down and let his anger burn. He'd learned that burying it did him no good, and made things worse when he had to deal with the people involved. Severus let himself wallow in self-pity some more, then sighed, and picked up the piece of paper again.

_It annoys me no end that you've been hurt so much in my absence,_ the letter continued. _If I didn't know better, I would say I was being warned and you were being used as my whipping boy. But even I'm not _that _self-centered._

The Potions Master snorted. _It's always about you, isn't it, Lucius?_ He bent his head again.

_I may sound flippant, but I'm really worried for you. I was told you were magnificent at the hearing, and that the Weasleys won mostly on a technicality. However well deserved your punishment afterwards, I am still anxious on your behalf._

_I must admit, I wasn't pleased to hear how my son had to demonstrate his loyalty to his aunt. I wish he had not become her apprentice in the first place. Once I heard the circumstances, though, I wasn't surprised. I know you'll continue to look out for him, though. You can count on his loyalty no matter what._

_As for my sister-in-law, I feel I must apologize for her. She always felt that you ought to be one of her many possessions, instead of mine. I fear I aggravated the situation by boasting of your prowess and skill in earlier days. However, I worry that this division among us will cause more trouble than it has already. It does not help our Lord to have his followers at each other's throats. Since it's clearly impossible for her to act maturely, I fear that once more you're going to have to be the adult here. Others in our association certainly will not expect it. If the two of you can come to an understanding, my enemies and yours will have less to rejoice about. If you cannot think of any reasonable way to approach her (I will admit the word 'reason' has little play in our Bella's life), then I suggest that condolences are always in order, even if they are a trifle late. Her loss was great, and she is unable to confront the individual truly responsible. I fear you are only a secondary target, though the injuries you took were quite real. You will be proud to know how Draco spoke of you. He did not break down once during our meeting, though he clearly wished to when discussing what happened last Saturday night._

_I've heard rumors of a temporary interest in the healing arts. Do you want me to encourage the boy, or to pretend to be upset? Obviously, he'll never pursue it as a trade, but in the times to come, the more with such knowledge, the better. Such tools as we have at St. Mungo's have been known to balk once they learn too much. Frankly, I hope Draco learns as much as possible during this latest enthusiasm. I will be more than happy to play whatever role necessary to encourage him to absorb as much as he can before his interest flags (as it has done with other hobbies). _

Snape was surprised. Normally, Lucius had extremely strict ideas about what was proper for a Malfoy. Prison must be forcing him into thinking—how very cruel! He smiled crookedly. If Draco felt as if he had to rebel in order to pursue this new interest, perhaps this might break his habit of always obeying his father's wishes—or at least bend it a little. Severus grew sober. Draco might also feel he had to pretend to be a good son to cover his own new allegiance to the Order. _I'll have to think about this. Lucius is right, though—both sides need healers. Poppy's overwhelmed now and needs a real assistant, never mind what the war will bring her. I'm not sure I want to be a practice dummy for the boy, but if I'm not badly injured, I could give him a chance to try out some of the minor spells._

He scanned the rest of the letter, which was on the same page. The Potions Master frowned. Lucius usually filled any empty space with curlicues or calligraphy to avoid tempting ambitious Ministry officials into putting words into his mouth, should any of his correspondence end up inspected anyway.

_Ah!_ He smiled and heated the paper next to the fire, though carefully. As he thought, light brown writing appeared. He knew several substances that behaved this way—lemon juice was one of them.

He read the miniscule letters. _Oh, Severus, I have missed you! How I dread what might happen to you, if you don't obtain treatment. It's not right for Bella to geld you like this. I love all of you. I would miss seeing the look in your eyes when passion overtakes you—and after. I think it's the only time when you're really at peace. I cannot guess what you'll pay for it in pain, but I swear I'll make it worth your while. _

_Am I the only one who knows how to touch you, how to rouse you? How sad it would be if that were true, for it would mean I have been selfish beyond belief._

_I know. I know I am, have been, and probably will be that way. The next time Narcissa proposes a bride, I'll tell her that I approve (well, only if you like her, too—you thanked me when I refused that dreadful Rookwood girl. I can't imagine what my wife was thinking when she proposed her). _

_I love you. I always will._

_Lucius_

Snape almost crumpled the paper. He almost tossed it into the fire. He did neither. Instead, he put the letter away in a drawer where such things went. If anyone else tried to pry into it, a spell would burn all its contents to ashes.

Then he opened another one, where he kept proper stationery for all occasions. Narcissa had insisted that he purchase an assortment for his personal use, though he rarely used any of it. Most of his business was best conducted on the sheets designed for Hogwarts. He passed over the unopened packets suitable for congratulations and wedding invitations, and fetched out a few sheets of black-bordered vellum. _I hate it when Lucius is right,_ he thought. _Then again, I should be grateful for _not _being matched with Maribella Rookwood. Granted, her dowry took up _two _vaults in Gringotts, but I'm not certain she could read, or cared much for me either. She didn't take long to find a husband much more suitable. _

He was running out of the consolatory paper. Some of it had been used last summer once he'd been well enough to issue the notes required of him, due to his tenuous family connections to most of the death notices on the front page of the Prophet. The short letter to Mrs. Goyle had been especially hard to write.

This would be harder still. _Dear Madam Lestrange,_ he began. _I apologize for the tardiness of this note, but as I am sure you understand, I have been rather busy of late. However, I regret the death of your husband Rodolphus. I did not know him well as a student, and had little opportunity to further our acquaintance in past years, but it is clear you miss him greatly. I am sure you will be rewarded for the many sacrifices you have made for the reformation of Wizarding Society over the years, this one most of all. In spite of the current state of things, we are still unified in our resolve to see our world restored to its former power and glory._

_I realize that this is cold comfort, given the circumstances. However, I fear that this is all I can offer at this present time. May you yet find joy once this current sorrow fades._

_Severus Septimus Snape_

_Master of Potions_

_Hogwarts_

_I need a jug of Firewhiskey to wash _this_ out of my mouth!_ he thought, as he made do with tea instead. The ink quickly dried, and he charmed it into looking like a letter for Narcissa before sending it on its way to Malfoy Manor. She would soon detect its real nature and send it to her sister without other interference. Kreacher could carry messages between any members of the Black family without interception, if nothing else.

Severus realized that Lucius' advice could apply to someone else. Now he was _really_ annoyed at the other Slytherin's counsel. _He'd call the healers who work with the Longbottoms for me if he knew how I was going to apply this,_ he thought.

Or perhaps not. Lucius might see this as simply a wise tactical move to regain Dumbledore's trust and to crack the walls of Potter's lack of it.

Snape took up the quill and began. Sometimes the only way past an unpleasant potion was to drink it fast.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_ he began. _I realize this note is _quite_ late. However, I wish to express my condolences at the loss of your godfather last spring. It is obvious you cared deeply for him, and may still feel bereft. I hope becoming part of the Weasley family in fact, as well as in their hearts, will go some way towards alleviating your sorrow. I cannot pretend that Black and I were friends. However, I understand why you felt alone and orphaned after his passing. Whatever his faults, it was clear he loved you and wanted what he believed was best for you._

_Severus Septimus Snape_

_Master of Potions_

_Hogwarts_

He folded it as soon as the ink was dry and thrust it into an envelope before he could change his mind. He'd already addressed the note for Bella by way of Narcissa—it certainly wouldn't do to mix them up! The Potions Master summoned two owls and gave one to each. No point in risking confusion, or tempting either Narcissa or the boy into snooping.

Dealing with Lucius, writing to Bella, and sending the note to Potter churned up his feelings. In the past, he would have simply repressed them and moved on. However, he had time to deal with them for a change, and he should. He'd had it hammered into him that they _did_ matter, if only by stealing his appetite when he ignored them.

Well, he had the ink and the quill out already. He pulled some of the foolscap—how aptly named!—from the compartment in his desk-chair, and decided a yard or so of whinging couldn't hurt. _It's sort of a mental expulsion phase,_ he thought. _If I'm going to recommend the practice to the Boy-Who-Lived, I should continue it myself._

Snape was surprised to find out how angry he was with the Headmaster about last night and this morning's meeting. He may as well pout here on the paper instead of in the old wizard's office. Then his right hand moved on to the never-exhausted topic of Lupin, and how confusing it was to have the wolf behave so considerately.

He stared down at one statement he'd scribbled. _Sirius Black is dead._ He'd written it a dozen times before, but it had never really hit home till now. _Apparently writing that note to the boy has finally made it real for me,_ he thought. Severus continued on that line. Here he could express his delight that Black could never hurt him again. Why not rejoice in the departure of such a thorn in his side? _Now I can face the wolf without being afraid Black will somehow use him against me. It wasn't all bad that year when he was teaching before, till that spring. I thought I was going to die in the Shack, and the Trio along with me. Poppy said I should have gone to St. Mungo's for the crack in my head, but I _couldn't_—not as long as I knew that wretched beast roamed the grounds. Other students besides those idiotic Gryffindors sometimes wander out of the castle, too. Lupin could have left the Forest and loped through the Quidditch pitch for all anybody cared. I had to notify the parents—if Dumbledore didn't care enough about his Golden Trio to keep them safe, how could he be trusted to protect the other students? Yes, yes, I promised to keep my mouth shut when he first arrived here, but how could I after this? As long as Lupin took his potion, I didn't like him here but kept it to myself, but when he failed, what was I supposed to do? Oh, Merlin, I'm still so afraid. I hate brewing that horrible Wolfsbane, it always makes me sick. And who is going to make it when I'm gone? Draco has been through the procedure only once, and this time it's Miss Granger's turn. I'm so afraid. At least Black isn't around to talk Lupin into skipping his doses. That's why I wouldn't go to the safe house during the full moon last year. I don't care how often Albus tells me Lupin went to his cage in the basement then. Black would think it was funny to let him loose if I'd been there. _

_But he can't any more. He can't. I know the others miss him, but I never will. I have to pretend around here, but on this paper I don't have to pretend anything. I'm so glad he's dead. I dreamed of him a little when I was dying last summer. He showed up and said I was doomed, but Lily made him go away. I'm sure it was only wishful thinking. She never saw anything wrong with James or his friends while she was alive, even when she witnessed what they did to me. I suppose I'm angry with her, too. I still promised to look after Harry, though. The boy is not his father or his mother, or he wouldn't have brought those memories to me. Lily never stopped to think she might be wrong about anything when she was his age. It was always me who had to change. _He was surprised to learn how upset he was over that, too. _But I have changed. I have. Of course, I'm still jealous of Lucius for having so much money and a family that loves him, but today I will ride out to Hogsmeade and have Gerte rub me with warmed oil. Even a Malfoy can't manage _that_ while in Azkaban, though if anyone could, it would be Lucius. I know I am going to die. That just means I have to find out ways to enjoy the time I have left. _

He maundered on for another page on the theme and tried to list as many ways as possible that he could add more pleasure to his life. _I will need to keep this part,_ he thought as he gazed down at the many things he could do; more, in fact, than he'd ever thought possible. _Music. Colors. Perfumes. So many things to make my life easier._ He wrote down another one. He could easily afford his own Wireless to play music while he graded. Anyone attempting to change it over to news could find their fingers starting to fall off, as far as he was concerned. Oh, and he should move that jar of cockroaches back to his office. The wretched things had gone off, and their only real use that of terrifying students. _Or perhaps when Mr. Potter comes for his next lesson, I will allow him the privilege of practicing hexes on it._

In fact, while he thought of it, he dashed off a couple of notes. One went to Mr. Longbottom, and asked him if he had a map made up for Wolfsbane ingredients. _If you wish to earn more points, you may come down with the map and Winky will help you gather and arrange them. If I like what you do, you'll receive 20 points, but you will receive 10 even if I don't. However, I think the experiment will be interesting in its own right. _

Severus almost laughed out loud. _I must be mad to trust the boy so much. Still, it will save some work if he wants to take the chance. _He wrote two other notices, one to Miss Granger, and the other to Draco, requesting their presence an hour before curfew tonight. It would be interesting to see how his godson dealt with any changes in the way the ingredients would be laid out, while Miss Granger asked her standard thousand-and-one questions.

He idly doodled near the bottom of the last sheet. He was much calmer now. And then, for the first time in years, he was granted the beginning of a poem. It was nothing like the artful jingle he'd written for the potion puzzle to protect the Philosopher's Stone. He had only the first couple of lines, but knew there ought to be more.

_On Hogwarts ground, the ash-clouds rise_

_In columned pillars to the skies—_

No, that was all he was going to hear of it just now. Snape hoped the rest would be less depressing, but poetry went where it wanted to, not necessarily where the author planned. At least, that had been the way with the few real poems he'd written.

He shuffled the papers together, and shoved them in a warded drawer. _I'll probably burn most of it later, after transcribing the list,_ he thought. He felt indecently pleased with himself, though. Sometime during the middle of the night, or in a meeting with the Dark Lord, the rest of the lines would show up and he'd have to remember them long enough to write them down later. _I hope they turn out well,_ Severus thought.

He saw the sunbeam coming down through his charmed window. It was time. He picked up his broom, comforted by its odd humming, and took the thick outdoor cloak with him as well. Sunshine could mean little warmth this late in the year. As he went outside, he put a Cushioning Charm on the Blood Broom. Snape whimsically remembered a short-lived advertising campaign by one of the major brands of butterbeer, about 'Quidditch Players Who Ride Side-Saddle and the Women Who Love Them." He could still drive Hooch into a fury by whistling the jingle that went with it.

As he left on his way to the Forest, he checked his watch, and spelled it to chime when it was time for him to leave for Hogsmeade. The Potions Master suddenly remembered a certain species of mushroom that grew this time of year, and any of them not used in potions could go onto his table. He deserved some time off. The next week would be difficult enough.

Albus Dumbledore

He read the scribblings on his duplicate sheets of paper. Once done, he wept. _They say eavesdroppers never learn any good of themselves,_ the ancient wizard thought. _I should be happy Severus can be honest with himself, since in his situation he dare not be honest with others. I suppose it could have been worse. Had he started on Molly Weasley, I imagine the paper would have gone up by itself from the heat. _

Then he took the written papers and the remaining blank sheets, and thrust them all into the flames. _He deserves his privacy. I have violated it too often. _

Albus looked out the window and saw his Potions Master's billowing cloak as the younger wizard rode away from Hogwarts on a broom. His heart turned over, and he glanced up at his clock. Naturally, he hoped that Snape had not been summoned, but could he really believe the hands when they pointed to TAKE A NAP, OLD FOOL, ALL'S WELL?

"I wish I could," he said out loud to himself. "I wish I could.

Chapter end. One more to go.

Author's note: As for the sidesaddle commercial, I am not making this up. Henry's, a beer popular in the Pacific Northwest, had the "Cowboys Who Ride Side-Saddle and the Women Who Love Them" talk show, in 19th century sepia tones.

As for the final book, I intend to ignore it. Gracefully. Permanently.


	85. Chapter 85: Expecto Patronum Slytherin

The Birthday Present

by Excessivelyperky

Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on. Once more, thank you to my betas Snape's Nightie, duj, zafaran, Technomad, and coalboy. Read their stories, too.

By now, many of us have read HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS. However, some of us have not. Please do not put spoilers in reviews. Some readers live in countries where the book has not been released yet or have been unable to purchase it. Thank you. I have my own opinion of the book, which is expressed on my LJ, under the name of excessiveperky (they didn't have room for the 'ly').

It's been over two years since I start posting this story. It feels really strange for this to be the last chapter—well, for now. I have been stunned and pleased by the reviews I've gotten. I need to go back to writing stuff I can send out to magazines and such for a while, but I won't abandon you; Widow's Walk is in the planning stages, and it will take a while to write the first draft. I hope you will not be disappointed.

Snape's Nightie, I'm glad you kept me on the straight and narrow with your knowledge of the English (as opposed to the American) tongue. May you find a flat you never have to move from! Duj, without you I would be bereft of commas and many times, accidentally dropped words. Your knowledge of canon is superb (and, at time, slightly irritating. But it was _good _for me, and for the story, and that's what counts). Zafaran, here's hoping your health improves. Technomad, you have the nastiest mind, and I think you understand I mean this in the nicest possible way. Coalboy, you pointed out things I missed. This story would have been much less fun for the rest of you to read without them. Applause!

The canon saga is over for Severus Snape. Ours is just beginning.

Chapter 85: Expecto Patronum Slytherin

Dedicated to the memory of Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae

Severus Snape

He stood just inside the Forest, a basket in his hand, while his broom lay against the trunk of a tree. Gathering mushrooms, especially the little green-caps that were so useful in a number of potions, was an excellent excuse to be out here. Fortunately the basket had compartments, which made it easier to keep different species separated. Snape remembered the taste of the ones fried in butter, along with the sliced cucumbers, that had graced the table at Molly's party last night. It would be easy to teach Winky how to prepare them, so she wouldn't be offended by the sight of her master _cooking_.

The air was cool, but warmer where the sun filtered down through the tattered limbs of the trees. Piles of leaves were limp on the ground where early morning rain had dampened them. He leaned against an aging oak, and ended up slowly sitting down and enjoying the sun on his face. His eyelids began to droop.

They sprang open again when he realized that he was surrounded by the Forest's herd of unicorns. They weren't all white; some had apricot markings, while others were a sandy color. It didn't matter. They symbolized innocence that he had long lost, if indeed he'd ever had it.

Severus forced his breathing to slow, despite several horns now being pointed at his chest and neck. He had never harmed one in his life, and he wasn't going to now. _I was much calmer than this in my dream of the garden last night,_ he thought. _If they want payment for their doomed comrade, it is only their right._

He slowly pushed himself up to his feet. The horns remained ready to gut him. "I did not murder any of you," he said softly, holding out his hands to show them empty of wand or weapon. "Yet I gained my life from your companion's blood. I allowed it to heal me, though I knew the price that one of you had paid."

The unicorns closed in. Snape felt the point of one horn push into his right side, though it didn't pierce the cloth or break the skin. "I will not fight," he said. "If you are perceptive as legend says, though, then you should search my heart first. I would rather you did not take my life, for I find it sweeter than I ever have before. Yet I have drunk of your blood, however unwillingly, and I know the penalty." The Potions Master prepared himself for death. He allowed himself to dream of Molly Weasley and her kisses, and last night's dream of her embraces. _If I must die, let me do so loving her. For every drop the unicorns take from me, let them feel me burn for her. Let them know her generous hearts and love her as I do._

_Innocence. _Suddenly, he found himself tossed back in time. He was small, and walked from their tenement by himself across the street to the gin shop. He stared down at the few coins in his hand, and knew they weren't enough. _Mum won't be happy if I don't bring her something,_ he remembered thinking. Soon after he gazed up at the shop-keeper and offered his money for the gin. Folben shook his head, then changed his mind and nodded. "Help me move a few things in this back room, lad, and we'll call it even. You can bend a lot better than I can." As Severus followed along, the older man turned and patted him. "Such pretty hair," he said.

_Innocence._ He was at Hogwarts now, as miserable here as at home. The only bright light in his world was Lucius Malfoy, the rich sixth-year student that everyone in Slytherin followed. For some reason, the older boy looked after him and told the others to leave him alone. Severus followed him around like a puppy, and tried to be useful. One night he'd stayed up in the Common Room, having been overlooked at evening rounds by the prefects. It was late, later than he stayed up in summer, even, and Prefect Malfoy had finished his rounds and was sitting before the fire. Snape crept out from behind one of the old chairs, wrapped his arms around the other Slytherin's shoulders, and said, "I love you, Lucius."

_Innocence. _Lily had married James, in a ceremony he'd been forced to attend. He had been happy to intervene when Black leaned over Petunia Evans and leered at the horse-faced Muggle girl. That night, he'd been taken to a Death Eater celebration. "If you want a Muggle slut, Severus," Lucius had said, "then you shall have one of your very own. Consider it an early birthday present." He'd accepted anything given him to drink, and had done terrible things to the red-haired girl, though his memories of that night were scattered. The next morning, though, he'd been so ashamed he'd puked up everything from the night before—no, the week before. Once done, he'd quietly Apparated away with the evidence of his crime and left the poor thing near a Muggle hospital after dumping some healing potions down her. _I hope she lived,_ he thought, though he'd never been able to find out. In fact, when he'd returned, the others had commended him for ridding the place of such rubbish.

_Innocence. _He stood on the plains of Bosnia and efficiently murdered a virgin, taking first and last blood. Snape relived the penance, knowing it was only beginning. The events of the weeks after tumbled through his mind in a blaze of pain. _Perhaps I ought to beg you to end this,_ he thought, not knowing if the unicorns could hear his thoughts.

_Innocence. _He sat at a warm kitchen table, being kissed by Molly Weasley. His arm ached, and he finally protested out loud against a summons. Snape remembered the horror of those little snakes…and the faces of those who urged him to drink the sticky unicorn blood.

He opened his eyes. One unicorn's point lay against his right wrist, but did not pierce it. Severus held still, and gazed into their eyes. So far, apparently, they were still undecided. He let the tree support him, and smiled as he remembered the card game last night. It had been a marvelous treat Molly had arranged for him. The punch had been smooth, and the food delicious. Her hands had sometimes touched his when passing cards. Such beautiful hands, so wonderfully plump and speckled, just like the bosom she'd shown in her low-cut dress. No wonder he'd dreamed of her last night without either one wearing anything silly in the way of clothes. In that dream, her breasts had been so soft, and her thighs even softer. _But I shall let Gerte attend me,_ he thought, _rather than cause Arthur any pain. _He remembered watching two unicorn stallions fight about a year ago, till one lay on the ground panting and bleeding. Even then he had not approached the beast, though he had been severely tempted by the availability of the rare potions ingredient.

He held up both wrists. "If you must strike, do so. If I am to live, then let me go." Snape was certain he was hallucinating now, though, as he saw the shade of his Inner Circle sacrifice materialize on the other side of the herd. Then again, a couple of the unicorns craned their necks in her direction, so perhaps he wasn't seeing things all by himself.

A silver one, the largest of the herd, shouldered its way forward. Snape knelt, then, and opened his coat and shirt. "Make it quick," he said.

The horn touched the skin of his chest, but did not pierce it. Instead, a surge of heat and power flowed up into him, as if all his hurts were to be healed, and last night's agony erased. In fact, he felt stronger than he had all day. _Maybe it's a good thing I brought a few Galleons for Gerte after all!_

He heard another mental voice, nearly as deep as his own. _It was I who was lost in mindless lust and fury,_ the pale beast said. _I left my rival in the dust as if I was no better than the Evil Snake himself. I let my own mating instincts overwhelm me. Perhaps it was his blood you drank last night, as I paid no attention to what happened to Eyebright's body._

Other members of the herd shifted restlessly as the stallion backed off, allowing Snape to stand more freely. He looked down at his chest. A small silver spot shone there, though mostly hidden by the narrow line of black hair that ran down his sternum. "Thank you," he said, and bowed to them formally, as one wizard to another. The stallion, who was pure white, nodded his head. They went around him after that, as if he were a rock in a flowing river, and allowed him to feel the softness of their coats with his hands as they passed by.

At last they were gone, with no sign of their presence save the peace in his heart and the spot on his chest.

He buttoned his shirt and cloak, and then sat down again. Severus wasn't sure how long he bathed in the late autumn sun, with his back against a tree, and not thinking of anything. It was restful to lay down his burdens, if only for a little while. Out here, now, he didn't have to plan, or think, or do anything but just _be_. He let himself become part of the sunlight, the trees, and the layer of leaves and earth beneath.

He gradually realized how much there was to the Forest; the slow wisdom of the trees, the angry bickering of the centaurs, and the chill logic of the Acromantulas who thought more clearly as their hot blood cooled with the season. The smaller plants were beginning to die, though many seeds remained to be reborn in spring; the unicorns still roamed like a wave of silver fire, though he suspected the mares of the herd were already picking out their winter sanctuary—and the unexpected touch of metal from that wretched auto, apparently more at home here than with the Weasleys. He was the only one of his kind here, he suspected, even if one counted the tiny strain of satyr blood, and the remaining influence of Molly's maenad sweat in the salve Winky had used on him last night. _Now, there's a job for me—luring unsuspecting maidens to a pool hung with vines laden with fruit by the light of a summer moon…even werewolves are wary of that kind. Unfortunately, we really are too far north for that to be remotely practical. I would surely freeze my balls off in the winter, no matter how much fur I ended up growing._

He smiled to himself. _I'd probably be the only satyr in existence with a house elf, though._ Snape knew he could count on Winky's loyalty.

At last he perceived the wholeness of the Forest. He was a part of it, too, as was Hagrid and Grawp. All living things were, if only they would let themselves realize it. Even the dead had their uses here, as fodder for those who came after them. _I could do worse than find my ending here,_ Snape thought. _Better that than to end wrapped in stone._

Severus 'woke up' when he heard the happy voices of some of his students, including Draco. He was glad to hear no acrimony or sniping. He'd expected a great deal more whining at the loss of a hundred points and the forfeiture of next week's game against Gryffindor. The Potions Master reluctantly stood and picked up the basket.

Four of them walked into the clearing, his godson in the lead. They also held baskets. Snape raised one eyebrow.

"Oh, sir, don't you remember? Part of our punishment for yesterday was a detention with you in the Forest, gathering horrible little plants that try to kill us in the process," Draco said.

Both Rosier twins and Mr. Zabini murmured agreement. "Sorry we're late," Zabini said.

"It's your fault, too, for making us stop so you could leave Edgecombe a note," Libby Rosier said. "Everyone knows she spends Sundays fagging for Binns. I can't believe she actually volunteered for it."

"Yes, she must be mad even for a Ravenclaw," her brother Charles added. "Especially if she tolerates this idiot over here."

Zabini flushed red, but otherwise held his composure. ""The reason we really came out here was to tell you that all of us have had a meeting, everyone but Goyle or Miss Edgecombe. We left first, because we have the best excuse. You should have heard Malfoy complain all the way across the grounds. Half the school must have heard him."

Draco smirked. "I can't behave too civilly or people will notice. My audience wouldn't appreciate it."

"The others will be out here soon," Charles Rosier said. "Miss Parkinson came up with a plan to bind us all more closely. For some reason she thinks at least one of us might follow some other master—or mistress."

His godson grimaced. "You'll notice how often she looked at Nott. And when she had us say something, she always kept him for last."

Zabini smiled. "I saw that myself. I thought only my grandmother knew that little trick."

Snape was impressed despite himself. "That…that agrees with my own observations," Snape said. "Avery is less dangerous unless he falls under his father's influence, while it appears to me that Mr. Macnair is not interested in his uncle's views."

"Won't it be a mistake to include the ones…I mean, those who have made up their minds the other way, in anything we do?" Draco asked.

"It is utterly necessary for them to be part of any ritual," the Potions Master said. He wanted to take a look at whatever amateur ceremony Miss Parkinson had found or pieced together before risking anything, though. "In fact, Mr. Malfoy, you are at more risk for any adverse reaction to this kind of rite because of your multiple loyalties. Some of them were forced upon you, but you could feel spread thin, to say the least." He still remembered how his godson had nearly strangled because of the Phoenix Breath's reaction to the apprenticeship change.

"Then I need it the most. I need an anchor. Between being a Malfoy, being your godson, being your apprentice for a while, and belonging to Madam Lestrange, I need one place where I can stand that doesn't shift around."

That made sense. "We must stand together," Snape said. "All of us. Or we will fall." He had understood this from the beginning, but it warmed his heart to learn that his apprentices had learned this, too.

"All of us but Goyle worked together that Friday night at Malfoy Manor," said Draco. "I think that's what gave Pansy the idea."

The Potions Master nodded. The others fidgeted. "As long as we're waiting," he said, "you may as well help me look for green-cap mushrooms. They are invaluable in Clearing Potions, which are not the same as Cleansing ones. Any of you recall the distinction?"

"Cleansing Potions are for physical messes, and Clearing ones are for magical ones," Zabini said. "For instance, if Mr. Longbottom melts a cauldron, it leaves a physical mess. We'd use a Cleansing Potion on the floor, the ceiling, the walls, and so on. Now, if some of the potion that Longbottom made lands on Malfoy and gives him a set of warts that won't quit, he'll need a Clearing Potion. Too bad none of them work on er, certain other problems."

"I do hope you haven't tried, Mr. Zabini…" Snape said.

"No, sir. Merely speculating. However, Miss Parkinson says her mother sent her a cream that would cover up some…things, and make it look like only skin is there. When the weather's really warm again, that could come in handy."

"A proper detection spell would still reveal the presence of such things, but fortunately most of the students here wouldn't know them," the Head of Slytherin said, wondering why he hadn't heard of it. No doubt old families had old family recipes, and he wouldn't mind learning this one. "I would like to see a sample," he said. "Now, about those mushrooms…"

The students hastily bent to work looking for them. Libby Rosier had actually found a couple, while Zabini had found a somewhat more poisonous kind, when they all heard Pansy Parkinson laughing. For a brief moment, naked longing flashed on Draco's face. _The boy will have to learn to be more careful,_ Severus thought.

Miss Parkinson and Vincent Crabbe walked into the clearing, also holding baskets. Snape quickly put them to work as well, and hoped Miss Bulstrode did nothing unfortunate about the apparent pairing off. _I should talk to the girl soon, as I did to my apprentices. Even without open brawling in class, I should not like to see Miss Bulstrode distracted in Potions, or Mr. Crabbe with a Beater Club wrapped around him. _Perhaps he was starting at shadows, but he had often stayed alive because of the tendency.

Soon Nott and Avery arrived, while Macnair came in last. Snape looked around. The number of apprentices here was nine. Though he felt the gaps, it was still a sacred number. He turned and made sure they were paying attention to him. "I understand that we are here for more than gathering mushrooms."

"Yes," Miss Parkinson said. "We need—we need something to hold us all together. We need something to hold on to, for all of us. We're afraid, Professor."

"I know." If the unicorns had not shown him more mercy than he deserved, they would have found his eviscerated corpse here this afternoon, instead of their Head of House. Why hadn't he considered that when the herd had surrounded him? He must learn to fight harder for his life for his students' sake, even when he considered it of little worth. He owed it to these children to protect himself better than he had, especially recently.

"I'm afraid, too," he said, stunning them with the truth. "I want to see this conflict over, and each one of you well and happy. I'm tired of being hurt. I don't want to die. I don't want any more of you to die, either. The stronger our bond, the more of us will survive the times to come. There is a war on, and worse to come. We must arm ourselves for any eventuality. You may repeat that to anyone you like." The Dark Lord had to know some of this already, especially after last night.

Pansy nodded. How had she become so dominant? He sensed the terror that lay beneath her apparent confidence. She'd seen for herself what had become of Miss Edgecombe with no one to protect the Ravenclaw girl. Like any good Slytherin, Draco's betrothed had found a way to ease her fear, while still promoting her interests.

She gave him a copy of the proposed rite. He scanned it quickly. "You used the first part when I was so…so ill?" he asked.

"Yes, Professor," she said. "Actually, Malfoy did, and we followed. I found all four bits together in a book Miss Edgecombe lent me. We need all four elements in this binding."

Snape agreed. Four Houses, four elements, and four sturdy legs to hold a weight of duty and fellowship. Like the 'ring' that he and Harry Potter had boxed in during that vision earlier today, a square was one of the most stable forms.

"You need to be in the center, sir, while we surround you," Zabini said. "We were in a circle the other time, but in a way you were in the middle, too, since we sent all the energy we raised through the Mark to you. We all ate just before we came out here, too."

"Good. You will need your strength," Snape said. He mourned the empty places, but didn't know what to do about them. Both the Ravenclaw girl and Mr. Weasley should be here, but he was uncertain at how to contact them.

They began. He stood in the middle while the children—_his_ children, the only ones he would ever have—began chanting.

"Earth is our beginning, earth is our final end,

There is it we spring forth, there we learn to bend—

Cradle us and hold us, we will ever be your friend."

Severus felt his Dark Mark grow warm, as well as the spot on his chest where the unicorn's horn had touched him. He could almost _see_ the golden lifeline reach out to him again.

Then he did. He felt their love and respect, even from Nott. The Potions Master chanted inwardly, _Fill the missing places, and fly home to me. I call you to my side, dear ones, come and follow me._ It wasn't too bad for spur of the moment, but he would have to come up with something better if this didn't work.

Percy Weasley

The young wizard felt his Mark tingle. He rubbed his shoulder peevishly, reluctant to leave the comfort of his little flat on a Sunday afternoon. Even if Pettigrew only wanted someone to whine to about how he was so little appreciated, Percy didn't like being called.

Moody coughed. Apparently he didn't have anywhere to go either. Percy enjoyed the compliment, most of the time, but right now he could have done without the old Auror's company. Most Sundays, he simply wanted to wallow in how much he missed Mum's dinners and the rest of the family.

"Something going on?" Mad-Eye asked.

"Well, yes," Percy said. "I think, anyway. I don't know if Pettigrew can use the Mark the way that er, _he_ does, but I think he's trying to. It doesn't feel quite like a summons, but I can't imagine what else it would be." He grimaced as he finally recognized the sensation. His Mark had felt the same way at Malfoy Manor when Snape had been dying. He told Moody that. "Perhaps I ought to go," he said. "I hadn't heard anything about the professor being summoned or hurt, but that doesn't always mean anything."

"But Dumbledore said he was better," the old wizard said. He looked ghastly, even though he'd slept at the flat for several hours after showing up early this morning.

"Well, if something's gone wrong, I'd better find out," Percy snapped. "Did something happen last night? How am I supposed to be helpful if I don't know what to look for?"

"You'd better leave, then. I'll fill you in later." The older wizard bowed his head, as if he thought someone was going to kick him.

Percy left the room and found a cloak, as it was a bit chilly for shirtsleeves outside. _I wonder if this will work the same way as a regular summons, or if I'll have to Apparate on my own and hope for the best. Well, why not? That bastard Malfoy obviously could find his way, or he never could have come back for the rest of his Snakes that horrible night. It doesn't seem like it was only a week ago. Well, no time like the present to find out if I can do it, too._

He closed his eyes—Apparating with them open usually made him sick to his stomach—and with his cloak tucked under his left arm, he reached over and touched his Mark on his shoulder.

He was stunned to find it worked, and found himself in the Forest. Many of the other apprentices stood around, along with Professor Snape. "Mr. Weasley," the Potions Master said. "I am glad you were able to join us."

The professor didn't look injured or ill, save for a slight pallor and his usual gauntness. "I'm happy I could," Percy said. "I didn't know anybody but um, well, you know, could use the Mark to summon anybody."

"I didn't know that either," Snape said. "Miss Parkinson, could you charm another copy of the ritual? Mr. Weasley, we are binding all the apprentices and myself closer together today. It would be appreciated if you could join us."

"Of course," he said. His family was forbidden to him now, save for rare visits from Dad. Moody, and now these others, would have to be it. _Only till the war is over, and then I can return. Oh, please, let it be soon._

The blonde Slytherin girl handed him a paper. "We're in the second part of the Earth ritual, the one we did last summer at the Manor."

"Thank you," Percy said, who had been taught to be polite to ladies, or else.

They began chanting again.

Severus Snape

The section for Earth was finished. If Snape hadn't known better, he would have been content with this. The golden lifeline still had empty strands reaching out, but that couldn't be helped. He felt warm, happy and strong as he had not for a long time. Even the dazzling light when Hogwarts had brought him back to life had not fully restored him the way this ceremony now did. Severus let the power surge out of him and back into the circle around him. This glory belonged to all of them.

He noticed, as the glowing light circulated, that some of his apprentices seemed more affected than others. Joshua Avery, Vincent Crabbe, and Percy Weasley seemed to shine brighter. Snape wondered what their birth signs were, and if that really mattered.

Then Miss Parkinson stepped forward. She led the chant in the next section in the ritual, the one for water, and by concatenation, the bond of their blood. The golden lifeline that bound them grew darker and more fluid. The girl's voice grew more vibrant and liquid with each syllable.

"We are born in water, brought forth in joy and pain.

Blood fills our hearts in hate and love, showers like crimson rain.

Then the tide grows still at last—we rest, to rise again."

Snape thought both girls would be strong in the element of water, only to realize that Miss Rosier's twin brother Charles would naturally share that heritage. Yet Draco's betrothed glowed the brightest of all the apprentices this time. Water seemed weak, but could be stronger than steel. Everyone knew how water poured down tiny cracks expanded in the cold and broke things over time that no spell could shatter.

Water was the living spirit of Slytherin, just as Earth was for Hufflepuff, Air for Ravenclaw, and Fire for Gryffindor. None could exist without the other, and sustain life. Water sought the lowest places, but only to cleanse them. Everyone contained varying amounts of all four, much of they tried to deny it. Perhaps that meant every student held a bit of each House, too, no matter where the Sorting Hat actually put them.

The circuit closed. A different kind of power held them now. All could feel each other's emotions, from Pansy Parkinson's love for Draco, to Theodore Nott's tremulous hope that there really was a place for him _somewhere_.

_Yes, there is,_ Snape thought, reaching out with invisible arms to hold the bitter young man. _I was the same way once. Don't take as long as I did to realize that some will hold you close no matter how hard you try to shove them away, especially when you can't believe anybody really cares._

He was so proud of the smile on Nott's face then, as…well, as Dumbledore probably was when he managed to cheer up a dour Potions Master. The hardest victories were the most cherished.

Marietta Edgecombe

_Why didn't I borrow a broom?_ Marietta Edgecombe hurried as fast as she could on foot. _Nobody would have noticed or cared, and I wouldn't have to go high or fast._ Madam Hooch had understood why she hadn't wanted to be in the same Remedial Broom class as Granger, and let her put it off till next year.

A few moments ago, her arm had felt warm and pleasant, the way it had at the Manor last summer. She'd palmed the unsigned note left for her without reading it, and knew now she probably shouldn't have. Once her forearm felt funny, though, she panicked. Was something wrong with Professor Snape? A couple of people had told her that he'd been carried into the infirmary last night, but Luna had blinked and said, "He was at the staff table for lunch and talking with Professor Flitwick. He looked all right to me."

Marietta had skipped the meal, having had a late breakfast, and had gone directly to Professor Binns for the afternoon. He'd let her go as soon as she'd asked him, though. _I wonder how much he knows,_ she thought.

She finally saw the other apprentices, just inside the Forbidden Forest, though not till she was really close. _I wonder if I would have seen them at all if I wasn't one of them._

She broke into a run and was glad to stop inside the clearing. Marietta panted for breath as she took her place, though she blinked a minute to see the red-haired man there. She remembered when Percy Weasley had been Head Boy—Penny Clearwater of her own house had been Head Girl that year, with no time for anyone but her counterpart. For all Cho's short temper now, she hadn't forgotten her friends. He looked older now, though, more than only two years would account for. No doubt she'd look older than her years once this was over, too.

But Professor Snape looked better than he had on Friday, no matter what people said about last night. Something had put more heart into him, and it felt like she was walking into the edges of it now. _If only I'd read the note!_

Pansy Parkinson gave her a piece of paper. "Here," the Slytherin girl whispered. "We're just starting on the bit for Air."

Marietta wished she hadn't been late, but was happy she was here anyway. She felt surrounded by warmth and closeness once she took the sheet. It frightened her. Any closeness did. Then Snape _smiled_ at her, a smile that made her feel safe for the first time since Walden Macnair had taken her.

Severus Snape

He was overjoyed when the tardy Ravenclaw began the chant for air. She shone brightly in the sky blue light falling through the trees, as did Jake Macnair and Blaise Zabini.

"We take our breath from our first day, and then we learn to give,

We walk upon this earth and speak, and somehow learn to live.

Our voices fuel the magic spark, and chanting forms the sieve."

Severus heard other voices, then, the many tongues spoken by those going to Hogwarts. The speech of boys and girls slowly turning into men and women through the years they had spent here resounded against the lectures and heartfelt speech of their teachers. He nearly drowned in the babel of words, whether used in spells or in simple conversation. Shouts of excited or despondent Quidditch fans mingled with cries of pain, whispers of answers in the middle of tests, the weeping of those deep in sorrow, the joyous calls of happy students, hidden sighs of passion, and the occasional murmurs of love.

The voices of Hogwarts filled his mind till he felt Draco's hand on his shoulder.

"Professor, are you all right?" His godson's voice was enough to distract him from the others.

"Can't you hear them?" Snape asked.

"We heard something, but they faded away," Nott said. "We're ready for the next part now, sir."

"They're so _loud_," he said. As he focused on the apprentices, including a puzzled-looking Percy Weasley, the noise dwindled away for him as well.

The others shuffled and tried not to stare at him. He revolved around slowly, still in the middle of their circle, till he was certain that order was restored. "I fear I was distracted. As you can see, our rite can have unexpected effects. Let us move forward."

Miss Parkinson allowed thought to wrinkle her normally serene face. "It does say that the Air one can be tricky," she said.

They began the final stage of the ritual.

"The spark inside my soul flares up, my body set to burn—

Then I reach out to others, my heart begins to yearn.

Not even death puts out the flame. This is what we learn."

Harry Potter

His forehead felt warm again, the way it had this morning. Harry played with his broom, thinking it was just the kind of day he would enjoy flying. He'd missed practice last night and this morning—well, so had Ron and Ginny—but felt drawn to go out into the Forest. _I know, I'll redo that run I gave to Snape! _he thought, grinning to himself.

He stood and walked down with his broom to the Common Room, only to meet his friends, when he really wanted to fly alone.

"There you are!" Ron said. "Team meeting in ten."

"But we don't need to practice," Harry said. "The Snakes forfeited their game with us next week, and we can catch up during the week."

"That's one of the things I want to talk about," his friend said. "And we still have homework. Nobody forfeited _that_ last I heard," he added glumly.

Harry knew what to do, then. His practice as Seeker involved going after a practice Snitch, with someone taking the place of a rival, or a couple of Beaters hitting Bludgers after him to give him practice dodging. He could slide off the to the Forest then, maybe. He nodded agreement, knowing he was going to do what he liked.

"Ron, he has that look in his eye again," Hermione said as she passed by. "Whatever he just promised, he doesn't mean it."

"Aw, mate, not again," Ron sighed. "Where were you planning to fly off to while our backs were turned?"

"Nowhere," Harry said, looking down at his boots. "Just the Forest. Buzz a few of the Acromantulas, that kind of thing." He knew he was missing something, and wished he knew what it was.

"Then we're coming with you," Hermione said. "No matter where it is. I thought we'd settled _that_ already."

Harry looked up at her. He wanted to tell her that even with her training, she couldn't keep up. Then again, when it counted, she always had.

"Did you see anything funny like you did last summer, you know, when You-Know-Who was making mincemeat out of Snape?" Ron asked.

"No. My scar feels warm, is all. It doesn't hurt or anything." Harry paused. "Funny you should mention Snape, though. I had a lesson this morning from him. I can't talk about that much, but he said he'd be seeing more of you two." He glanced around, and moved them off to a corner. It'd look more suspicious if they left. "Hermione, I hope you've had lots of rest. I heard you'll be helping with the Wolfsbane Potion this next week. Ron, the Headmaster had another brilliant idea. He wants to assign assistants to Heads of Houses, except from different ones. I can't remember who is going where, except you. Once Quidditch is over for the winter, you'll be running errands and such for Snape."

He watched his friends' reactions. Hermione was close to jumping up and down with joy, while you'd think someone had kicked Ron. "I knew life was too easy lately," Ron said with a groan of dismay.

"I'll think of you while I'm doing Remedial Potions," Harry said.

Hermione nodded. "I'll need to go over my notes."

"It won't be all fun and games for you either," Harry said. "Malfoy's going to be there, too. Try not to hex him too badly."

She grimaced. "He hasn't been too horrible this year. I'll live."

Ron sighed. "We still have a team meeting, mate, but somehow I don't think we'll have it outdoors. Let's grab our books and go down to the Great Hall. This way, if you still need to go off and do something stupid, we can _all_ sit on you."

Harry reluctantly agreed. He'd put his friends in danger too often already. Even as he did what Ron said, he still looked out a window and wished he could have gone to…to whatever waited for him out in the Forest. _Thinking like that is what ended up killing my godfather and seeing my friends hurt,_ he realized. _Hermione still isn't all the way over it. _

While in his dorm room with his books, he said, "We need to do more stuff with Hermione. Or she'll really think that all we ever wanted from her was help with homework."

Ron turned pale. "If we invite her down to the meeting, that's all she'll end up doing, though. Maybe afterwards we can run her through a few drills on the broom, if it's still light by the time we're done. But you're right. I should listen to you—you're captain of us."

_Not a very good one,_ Harry thought. _Maybe I can learn some things from Snape to help me be a better one._

He looked out to the Forest one last time. _It's probably just another trap. But I wish I'd gone out to see what it was anyway. _Oddly enough, he felt like he was still part of whatever it was that was going on. Or maybe it'd finally kicked in that he was part of the Weasley family now, and the adoption rite was just now finishing up.

Harry smiled. Between his friends, Quidditch, and the Weasleys, he never had to feel alone again. This morning he'd even felt connected to Snape. That should be enough to make anyone happy.

He had another brief vision while in the Great Hall, though. In it, he _was_ out in the Forest, and part of another group. Malfoy was there, along with Crabbe, and a few others whose faces he recognized. That sneak of a Ravenclaw girl was there, too, but for some reason he wasn't mad at her. Snape—Snape was like a dad to them all, even him, and that didn't make sense at all, but he felt so good about it he wasn't going to argue.

Ron elbowed him. "You all right, mate?"

"Yeah," Harry said. Better than that. Sure, it was all in his head, but it was _his_ head. Now that he was learning Occlumency, he could keep the stuff inside safe. _Maybe I'll ask _him_ what's going on. It's time I learned to trust him. _He wished that the Potions Master had thanked him for what he'd done a week ago, though. _Maybe he just wants to see how the shoe fits on the other foot, considering I never thanked him for anything before. _It still rankled, though.

Then one of the school owls flew by and dropped an envelope at his seat. Harry prodded it with his wand, and decided he might as well open it here, considering everyone was looking at him. He read the terse, terrifyingly honest note of condolence, and blinked back tears.

"Harry? You all right?" Ron looked concerned.

"Just a note from someone who's sorry about Sirius Black dying," he said.

"Bit late in the day, isn't it?" Ginny said.

"It's the only one anyone's sent me." Everyone else had been sympathetic, but this was something he could _keep_. _I'd better be careful with it, though, or maybe Snape will end up in trouble. Maybe the next time I'm down there for Remedial Potions I can teach Malfoy the spell for taking off the rebound hex. _He folded up the paper and put it away. He'd never seen any with black borders like that before. _Maybe he's just bad at saying things. It's more important what he does._

Severus Snape

_Fire_. They were surrounded by the illusion of it as they stood here in the Forest. Everything that lived burned with the spark. Inside the fiery light, both Draco and Theodore Nott blazed more brightly than the rest. Snape could almost make out the shape of Fawkes around his godson's head, though that was likely his imagination, while the other boy's fire was less focused, but just as intense. _What does he want? _Severus wondered. _What does he need so fiercely that it chars him? I have to find out before the Dark Lord does._ He knew the young man's family only slightly, through the agency of the Malfoys. The Notts appeared contented with their position as second only to Lucius and his kin.

But were they? Nott's real father had disappeared after Voldemort's dissolution, most said to the States. His mother had divorced him for abandonment, and then remarried her husband's cousin, no doubt the reason the other members of the Nott clan had supported her filing. The boy had grown up with younger brothers and sisters that were undoubtedly more favored than he was. As far as Snape knew, the Slytherin was more than competent in all his classes, though not excelling in any one subject—and just ripe to dedicate himself to a Cause. Oh, he knew _that_ one!

As far as he knew, the Nott family had no bizarre practices or unpleasant problems, aside from modest greed. Mr. Nott was quite good in Arithmancy, though mainly in its more mundane applications. _Perhaps I ought to encourage a friendship between the boy and Mr. Zabini—Blaise isn't terribly interested in commerce, but he would be useful introducing Nott to the members of his family who are. Besides, the old woman undoubtedly has a few spare daughters handy for unexpected alliances._ He knew better than to linger too longer under those old eyes himself, having met the ancient witch a few times before.

Ah. He had it now. _Jealousy._ Nott had been abandoned by his father, and perhaps by his mother when she chose security with her second marriage. _I chose Draco ahead of him as well,_ he thought. _Yes. Now this makes sense. I must find a way for him to be important to me, one that he will believe._ Luckily enough, Nott had no known vices that would make that impossible, merely a sneering attitude that Snape saw in his mirror. An attitude, perhaps, adopted to fit in with his relatives, and in emulation of his Head of House. _They listen even when I don't think they are. And I may have only a month or so at worst to have a chance with him._

The enchanted flames died down. Miss Parkinson looked unhappy.

"What is the rest of the ritual?" he asked.

"There is no rest of it," she said, holding her paper. "I thought…I thought this would be enough."

Snape remembered the memory of the ritual that had saved him last summer, the one that Sybil Trelawney had let him borrow. For a short time, the others had thought their rite was over as well, only to discover one element was missing.

"Let us wait," he said softly, catching everyone's eyes. "Let us wait. The spell might need something else, which may occur to us if we are patient. Or perhaps we need only wait."

In alchemy, four elements were required to create the One. _Quintessence_ literally meant 'fifth element' and stood for the primary substance, from which the Philosopher's Stone could be created. They had invoked all four. The sense of the vine that held them was far stronger than it had been before, though Snape could still feel parts of it reaching out to the rest of Hogwarts.

Would it outlast his death?

Ah. That was the key. He had to accept his mortality. Deep inside he really hadn't. It was _his_ turn now to manage something the Dark Lord refused to do.

The poem! The poem he'd started this morning came to him, in limping lines so short of what he wanted, but it came nevertheless. It would have to do.

"On Hogwarts ground," he started. Yes. Now he knew it.

"On Hogwarts ground, the ash-clouds rise

In columned pillars to the skies—

That hide the towers;

And in the grass, the centaurs and the unicorns mass,

Listening to the battle-cries."

He could see it as if he gazed into one of Sybil's scrying glasses. The battle raged, whether he would live to see it or not. Severus took a deep breath and gazed at his apprentices. He could not, _dare_ not shield them from the truth.

"We are the damned. Short days ago

We walked unMarked, saw sunrise glow—

Reached for the stars,

And here we stand, on Hogwarts ground."

All of them were deathly silent now. The power surged through him as if he'd drunk a jug of Pepper-Up. No wonder Trelawney courted the gods to give her this with every deck of Tarot cards she opened. He saw, now. He _saw_. He didn't know the time, though Sybil had told him as closely as she could. The darkness would come for him, in one form or another, but it didn't matter now. He had to warn his students, and offer the sacrifice willingly.

"Stand together when I go!

To you from failing hands I throw

The torch—now hold it high!

If you betray your friends close by,

I shall not sleep, though my bones rest

On Hogwarts grounds."

Then the glory of creation faded and his knees buckled. He would have fallen if Draco and Nott had not stepped forward to support him.

They stood like that for a few moments. The colors from each element swirled around and mixed together into a formless gray mass, but oddly enough, it was a gray full of hope and potential, not the despairing kind so familiar to anyone who had ever been to Azkaban.

_Quintessence._ He regained his strength, and the two students took their places in the circle around him. The substance coalesced into a dim figure in the last empty spot.

Draco looked to his left, blazing hope in his eyes, as the features became more distinct. "Greg!" he shouted. Crabbe smiled broadly.

"Mr. Goyle?" Snape asked tentatively.

"Professor," said the ghost, now clearly that of the former Beater. "I'm sorry I missed my appointment, sir. I lost the note when Peeves chased me out of Moaning Myrtle's, and I forgot when I was supposed to show up." He then began an entire litany of excuses, which Severus found all too familiar. Everyone but Miss Edgecombe and Percy Weasley had clearly heard them before, judging by their expressions.

"I suppose you think a little thing like death is going to keep you out of a detention," Snape said, trying to be stern and failing entirely.

"I know better than that, Professor. But I don't think even Filch could pick out a detention for me to do."

"Come to my office in a couple of days. I believe I'll be able to think of something," Snape said. Of all the effects the spell could have, he never would have picked this one.

"Of course, sir. But I have to tell you one thing now. It wasn't your fault. Even if you hadn't been sick, Mum wouldn't have listened to you."

For a moment, Severus couldn't speak. A burden he'd almost forgotten was suddenly lifted from his heart. "Thank you," he finally whispered. "Thank you."

Then Goyle rose up into the air. "You have to stick together, all of you!" the ghost shouted. "If the Professor doesn't come after you, I will! And so will the Baron, and every other ghost in this place." He disintegrated then, back into the formless fog he'd risen from. The gray cloud swirled, touched every apprentice, and then flowed into the middle and into Snape. From there he could feel it melt back down into the ground. No, back into the earth, for that element was both the beginning and the end.

He _felt_ each soul in his charge then. Percy Weasley trembled with fear, but held his ground. The Gryffindor rubbed his shoulder as his Mark turned golden and gave off warmth again. _Moody will never believe this,_ Snape heard him think. _But I'll tell him anyway. I owe the old man that much._ Severus envied the young man, still able to believe in the goodness of those around him. Any Weasley strong enough to give up his family for this struggle deserved an Order of Merlin right then.

Miss Edgecombe was still blank as stone. Yet instead of looking firmly ahead, she glanced from side to side as if finally realizing she could trust others once again. It would take time before she healed, but Severus believed she was on the right path. _I hope it doesn't take her as long as it has for me,_ he thought.

Pansy Parkinson wiped tears from her face, though fluttering wings of hope beat inside her heart. It had taken much courage to organize this. Snape knew she was still afraid of what might happen, but that showed intelligence, not cowardice. She had also tried her strength and not found it wanting. In years to come, she was likely to become a power to reckon with.

The Potions Master took up the strand of Jake Macnair. The young Arithmancer was overwhelmed by an experience no set of equations could possibly resolve. _It's all right, _Snape wanted to tell him. _There is more to life than numbers. _It was amazing, though, how Macnair still tried to assign estimated factors to things he didn't understand. That trait would serve him and the others well in times to come. _Keep thinking, young man. Perhaps your numbers will help save your life and the others, too._ The other Slytherin felt his presence and smiled wanly.

Blaise Zabini's mind was less orderly but more enthusiastic. _Together we can do anything! _Snape was not so sanguine, but wanted to encourage this feeling. Mr. Zabini would soon fall back on logic and do his best to make this bond with the others work, if only for Miss Edgecombe's sake. The Potions Master always trusted a personal motive in someone above a rational or idealistic one.

The Rosiers were two halves of the same whole, yet more separate than the Weasley twins. Elizabeth Rosier was the younger by twelve minutes, but was the stronger one most of the time. Snape briefly wondered what his life would have been like if his little sister had survived. Libby Rosier was nearly as fearful as Miss Parkinson, and for the same reason, while her brother Charles felt fiercely protective. Snape hoped he would not live to see them truly afraid of anything.

Vincent Crabbe was his usual stone wall, mentally speaking, but seemed happy enough. He was still a natural Occlumens, and thus the bane of all who would seek his thoughts. Fortunately for his own peace of mind, the tall young man would never betray either him or Draco, knowing what had happened to his friend Greg.

Draco still blazed like a phoenix inside. The ritual for fire had had a strong effect on him, but seeing his friend once again had done even more. Severus couldn't help but smile himself at the reflection of so much joy. _I will miss you so much,_ he thought. His godson had grown a great deal this last year, far more than he'd once hoped. He mourned knowing he'd never see Draco grown and with children of his own. Yet with even the most liberal interpretation of Sybil's prophecy, he had less than two years to go.

Snape turned to the others. Joshua Avery was a little frightened, but happy to be sure of friends he could trust outside of Hogwarts once he was older. Slytherin was the one house whose members honored those with parents in Azkaban, but it still left the boy lonely and worried at times. If his father became a werewolf, Mr. Avery could be tempted into following that path as well. _Who knows, the skills I'm teaching Draco with the cauldron now may yet come in useful. _

Then he faced Theodore Nott, and made his decision. The young man was solidly part of them now, despite his proud ways and prickly exterior. _Oh, I should have known from the beginning,_ Severus thought. _I can recite _this _story by heart._ Despite more money and a few relatives who appeared to wish him well, Nott hurt in much the same way that Snape remembered doing at that age. The dark-haired boy wanted to smile, but was afraid to sacrifice his hard-won dignity. The Potions Master stared deeply into eyes nearly as black as his, trying to convey to this last apprentice that he was safe here, as he never could be anywhere else.

Nott felt _something_, apparently, as he relaxed his mental barriers—good ones for an amateur—and let his eyes light up with hope.

Professor Snape enjoyed the quiet communion with all of them for a few moments more. Then he took a deep breath. "We are joined together. Though death will divide us, as it does all who live, we are together now. We will always be part of this group no matter what happens later. I was with you in your pain when you first received the Mark, and you were with me in mine when I lay dying. Today we are here, with the sky above and the earth below to witness our bond. Any of us can call upon the others at need, for we have shared more than blood. Even death cannot truly separate us, as we saw when the ghost of Gregory Goyle came here for a brief moment. It is rare for any such to cross the borders of Hogwarts.

"Here we stand. I will remember this day with joy till I die, and after, that you so trusted me to lead you this far. Remember the glory of today yourself when things are hard. Remember that you must hold faith. This rite has no prescribed penalty for betrayal, as some others do, but I doubt it will be pleasant. Yet vague threats mean little when one is frightened or in pain." He watched Miss Edgecombe out of the side of one eyes. She looked extremely unhappy, and well she might.

"It is not a matter of house points, but of life and death now. We need no coins or signed pledges. I know what pressures can be brought to bear on any of you from your parents and from…from others. So do some of you. You cannot swear to keep faith no matter what, because there are times it can't be done. When I was held by the Ministry…it may be that I failed as well. Yet here I am." He faced that old shame square in the face, and ignored how his hands echoed with half-remembered pain.

He took a deep breath. "We must understand the difference between breaking under pressure and true betrayal. If one of you is driven to speak, say as little as possible. Then return to us and tell us what happened, so any damage might be repaired. The rest of you must not abandon this person, because it could be any of you. This bond must hold.

"If a time comes when one of you becomes a traitor, you will know, for the bond will disappear. You must gather together again and rebuild it. There was once a group of Gryffindors who ruled this school, only to quarrel among themselves. Only two of them live today. In a few years, only one, or none, will survive." He could see in Draco's eyes that his godson knew who they were.

"I may not see the end of this war. Some of you may not either. Yet more of you will live and prosper if you hold together than if you seek your own advantage without care for anyone else. When one of us falls, remember them as you remember Gregory Goyle. Hold them dearly in your heart." How he loved them now! It was as if all the locks and bars he'd raised to protect himself had fallen away, because he no longer had need of them. Oh, he'd bring them back at need; only a fool walked unprotected near the Dark Lord. It was such a relief to let go of them just now. It was almost the way he'd felt when he'd hidden away so many harsh memories, except so much better. This wasn't just removing the pain; this was _living_ the way he'd seen other people do. He'd thought he could never belong to that happy number till now.

_I'd better finish soon,_ he thought. Some of the apprentices were shuffling their feet. "It will be easy to forget what happened here today," he said gently. "When you're sitting at a desk and wondering what to write for an essay, you may find it hard to believe it. But there will be times when only this bond will save you."

Severus left his place in the middle of the circle, though reluctantly. He had never felt such closeness to anyone before. It didn't matter so much that he was risking his life trusting them not to betray _him_. It was forfeit anyway. Strange. The resentment that usually welled up whenever he thought of that was gone, if only temporarily.

The apprentices left their places as well, obviously conscious that the rite was over. Zabini and Macnair left talking together, both of them escorting Miss Edgecombe, though she walked at a short distance.

Percy Weasley came up to him. "Professor," he said. "What do I tell my, er, master?"

"Anything you like." Snape felt a brief flash of anger at Mad-Eye. _I'll haunt his magical eye and see how he likes it,_ he thought with grim humor. "He won't believe it anyway." That was true for both Moody and Pettigrew.

"He might, from me," Molly's third son said with a slight smile. "I'm glad to see you're looking well, sir, though Mum would say you want feeding up."

_She did her best last night. It wasn't her fault it didn't work._ He knew better than to say so, though. "I hope your master appreciates the sacrifice you're making."

"It doesn't matter," Percy said. "You…you were talking about the Marauders, weren't you? Bill brought home stories about them, till Dad threatened to wallop him."

"Yes. We must do better than that."

"It felt strange being at Malfoy Manor last summer, and it feels strange to be here now. This whole business is nothing like I imagined it would be."

Snape inclined his head. "It never is. Send my greetings to Mr. Pettigrew. The two of us should talk sometime." If he could stand to send condolences to Bellatrix Lestrange, then he could speak to Wormtail, who had betrayed the Potters. Let them think him soft.

"Of course, sir. My master will be glad to hear it." The Gryffindor left. Though he resembled his father Arthur much more than he did his mother, Percy Weasley was still refreshing to speak to.

Pansy Parkinson talked to Draco, while Vincent Crabbe looked on. His godson reached out to touch her hand, but she spun on her heel to walk off with the Rosier twins. It would be some time before she truly forgave her betrothed, but the fact that she had engineered this meeting, and made sure Draco was included, spoke louder than words.

The blond Slytherin looked back at him, nodded, and followed Miss Parkinson, with Crabbe trailing along. Snape knew that Draco and Pansy would talk later, without anyone else to listen.

Avery was already gone. _I will have to have a word with him. I don't want anyone feeling left out._ Nott was the last one left. "Mr. Nott," Snape said. "I hope that you noticed certain…affinities, while performing the ritual."

The seventh year student nodded. "Why were there only two of us for the fire part?" he asked. "There were three for the other sections, though you looked stronger during the Earth bit than in any of the others, well, till you said that poem, anyway. You were like a torch then."

"Because Gregory Goyle is dead," the Potions master said gently. "It is likely he would have been strong in the element of fire as well, despite his apparent slowness when alive." He idly wondered how Mr. Potter would have shown, or if he had felt anything at all through his scar.

"I hadn't thought of that," Nott said. "Why is that important? It's not like there's anything special about me."

"I disagree. As much as I would like to favor Mr. Malfoy, as I have in the past, I cannot do so with this burden. He is apprenticed to Madam Lestrange, and not to me. The only reason the ritual worked with his presence was because of his bond to me personally as my godson, and because he was part of the other rite at the Manor."

He took a deep breath. "If something happens to me, someone must take responsibility for the others. Miss Parkinson is quite strong for a witch. To our lack, our circle has trouble recognizing it. In later years, I suspect many will learn to be sorry they didn't, but the crisis will likely come before that."

"Why not Avery? He's a seventh year, too, and his father's much higher in rank than mine. Either of mine."

"That's the problem. Mr. Avery is more likely to align himself with his father than with the rest of you if I am no longer here. If Avery Senior becomes a werewolf, he will have trouble retaining his standing, as some of our rites are carried out during the full moon. Professor Lupin is expert at managing his furry little problem, but your friend's father is not. He will require at least a year to adjust properly." If he did. Some people truly became the monsters all werewolves were reputed to be, as they let the wolf rule their minds all the time. "Mr. Avery will be more concerned with his father's health than with anything else, as he should be. However, Mr. Nott, your faith in our Lord is the strongest. You _should_ be the one to speak for the rest if I no longer can."

"I'll have to be a full Death Eater, and not just an apprentice, if I'm going to be able to help them," Nott said.

"You are quite right. Arrangements can be made. However, even as a full member you will still be obligated to me, as I am to a degree to Lucius Malfoy. Some of us are more equal than others even in the Inner Circle, as I am sure you have noticed. If you rise to those heights, you would be free of my control over your Mark. However, if I'm dead that's rather academic."

The student looked doubtful. "There are stories…I mean, I heard our Lord say you were a member of the Inner circle even after death, the night you were initiated."

Snape nodded. "However, that bond is to the Master alone. I don't know if an apprenticeship binding lasts that way, though after this rite we may all be surprised. It is possible I may serve the Dark Lord after death, though I'm not certain how. I must admit I would rather do so alive." _Too bad he's not asking the right questions yet. However, I still have a little time to help him think about what he is involved in, rather than merely jockeying for position. Look how long before Draco ever had doubts._

"But still…why me?"

"Remember to whom the Muggle Alexander left his empire."

Theodore Nott looked sober. "To the strongest."

Snape could almost see the flare of pride that rose in the young man then. "Remember what I said about betrayal. Remember what our lost friend said. You and the others must be able to speak freely among each other without fear, since that will not be possible anywhere else. Do not mistake idle comments for treachery. Perhaps Mr. Goyle deserved to die for disloyalty, but if I had been able to talk to him instead, his errors could have been corrected. Also, don't undercut Mr. Malfoy out of jealousy. His lot is not the happiest one. Even when his father finally gains his much-deserved freedom, Draco will still be apprenticed to Madam Lestrange. You will draw unnecessary attention to yourself and the others by playing Pit games in this arena."

The young man grimaced. "I'd rather—I'd rather you didn't die, sr."

"I may not have that choice." _In fact, Voldemort may discover what a mistake it was to link some of his followers to him after death._ He almost looked forward to showing Riddle what he _truly_ felt. If he could find some way to detach others who had died, and be the last one left, regrets might be the last thing the snake ever felt.

"Which side do you think will be the one to do you in?"

Snape laughed harshly. "It could be either one at this rate." Good. The more doubts the boy had about what he was told, the better. "If you would honor me, avenge my death. Only, take a care for the others first. You are young and have many years ahead of you. I will not haunt you for thinking first and then acting, believe me!" He must be insane to trust Theodore Nott. Then again, no doubt the rest of the Order still thought Dumbledore was mad for depending on _him_. He wanted to laugh again. _Albus, whatever you say about this decision, remember that I'm making it because of what you taught me._ He couldn't wait to see the old wizard's face when he heard about this development!

Nott nodded. "I'll do it. You'd really come for any of us who betrays the others?"

"What do you think?" the Potions Master said, with a grin that showed too many teeth.

The Slytherin snorted. "I'd be afraid to eat, drink, _or_ visit the loo! Well, I'm no Pettigrew to turn my own house-mates over to anyone else. I don't care that much for that dry stick of a Ravenclaw or for any Weasley, even if he's ours, but I'd be saddled with them anyway. No wonder you look so tired. You must feel the same way about us sometimes."

Snape smiled, this time more gently. "Sometimes. Having students like you helps make up for it, though." Yes. Nott needed to feel special. He needed to feel he was really wanted, not just being used. He was amazed at how much easier it was to show how much he cared for his little dunderheads.

"It's a deal. I hope I don't have to, I mean, I hope you survive after all."

"I agree. And remember, this land hears your words as well as I do." Snape shook his head. Funny how his voice had a strange echo to it.

Nott blinked, as if he'd heard it, too. "I know," he said, and swallowed. "You…you can trust me, sir. Even if every single one swears out loud that he's going to the Headmaster, I won't tell anyone else, at least till I have a chance to talk to him, and to you. You have to figure out some way to let me do that even if you die, sir."

Snape knew the young man meant it for an exaggeration. How close it was to the possible truth, he could not say. "Well, since I threatened to come back anyway, I suppose it's only fair," he said. He didn't want to become a ghost; but if that was the only way to fulfill his own promises, he'd have to try. He held out his hand. "Shake on it?"

"What, no extra oaths?" the student said nervously.

"We have enough of those already. Your word as a pureblood is good enough for me."

Nott and he shook hands. In this society, that was as binding as a contract written in the blood of the goblin who would administer it, even though they were the only witnesses. "I can't believe you're trusting me like this."

"Neither can I." It was still the right thing to do. "I know this is unlikely, Mr. Nott, but if for some reason, _you_ have questions about the circles we now move in, you must come to me. The Dark Lord's orders are, of course, sacrosanct. However, as we have seen, some of his followers _appear_ to take advantage of his good nature. If you see flaws in any plans, I want you to speak to me immediately. It is possible that you don't understand what is really going on, but it's also possible that you have spotted the Acromantula dung before it goes into the cauldron. It is extremely risky to speak up on your own behalf, but I will be more than happy to listen to any ideas you may have. It does not seem so now, but our Lord has been willing to listen to me in the past. Our obedience to him includes offering our own insight into matters. We should be more than fingers on his hand. However, _do_ speak to me first." If only the boy would realize what a hellhole of idiots he'd fallen into before it was too late.

The young man turned pale, undoubtedly at the thought of so much responsibility. "Well, sir, if you don't mind, I have an essay for Potions class tomorrow that I'm not quite done with…"

_Not quite begun yet is probably the truth,_ Snape thought, and gave Nott permission to leave. "Remember that all you learn here may yet save your life and those of the others. It's not a game for house points any more, if indeed it ever was."

"I'll remember." The Slytherin took a few steps, looked back, and said, "I won't ever forget this. None of it. I'll make you proud of me, sir."

"I already am." He was gratified by the rare smile that appeared on the young man's face. Nott walked away towards the castle with new pride in the set of his shoulders. Oh, he'd sit up nights wondering what his Head of House's angle was; he wouldn't be a Slytherin if he didn't.

Snape believed the gamble would pay off. _I should make arrangements to have Nott receive some sort of formal rank among the apprentices and be recognized by the other Death Eaters. I can designate him Chief Apprentice now, or at least as soon as I return to Hogwarts._

He pulled out a notebook and pencil, which he used to make notes on unusual plants or other ingredients found on harvesting trips, and briefly jotted down his decision. He dated and signed it, then charmed it with his wand to make it nearly impossible to erase, change, or destroy. Miss Parkinson would be disappointed, and so would a few others, but they would learn to deal with it. Draco's betrothed would have to manage as all strong witches had before her. A pity he would not live long enough to watch the Gryffindor know-it-all start tilting at the Ministry windmill in regards to the status of women in the Wizarding World—though the actual statutes were reasonable enough, tradition spoke otherwise at times. If Miss Granger played her cards right, she would find support for her theories in the most unlikely places. _Narcissa's salon and Molly's kitchen,_ he thought. _If the two of them combined together behind any crusade Miss Granger might start in this arena, the result would be inevitable._

Well, as long as he was out here—there were still mushrooms to be gathered.

Theodore Nott

He went back to the common room, his head still reeling. Ted knew what a real family felt like; for a few brief years as a young child, he'd had one. It had taken till '83 before all the Death Eaters had either been rounded up, disposed of, or bought their way out, after the Dark Lord's first defeat. He'd been old enough by then to remember his father, his _real_ father, and his mother's grief when he'd disappeared. For a few years it had just been his mother and him, living on charity from her family, and their not-so-silent disapproval. Then the divorce had been granted, and Mother married to Uncle Wellington. There were times when Ted wondered if Dad had really taken off for the States, or had ended up at the bottom of a ditch somewhere—he'd read a Muggle play once about that kind of thing. But the old man treated him well enough. Even after Jules and Jim had been born, he'd still been part of the family, sort of.

Nott sat in a chair and glowered at his Potions book. Snape had always thought the sun rose out of Malfoy's arse, ever since the blond brat had shown up in his own second year. Even he could see that wouldn't change. However, he was glad not to belong to that nutcase Bella himself. The Ferret Who Walked was welcome to _that_ privilege! And Snape had chosen him to look after the others, rather than anyone else. Parkinson would always worship her betrothed, even if she was angry with him now. The Rosier twins came as a set, and putting one above the other just wouldn't work. Avery wasn't the brightest wand in the world, Zabini was mad for the Ravenclaw girl, and Macnair's head was full of numbers, not people.

He leaned forward in thought, Potions and his old resentments forgotten for once. That had been a good idea that Parkinson had, though, about latching onto another teacher and making them a fake confidant. Ted pulled out a piece of scrap paper and began making notes. He memorized them as he went, since he planned to toss anything he wrote once he was done.

_Macnair—Vector._ That only made sense, and Professor Vector would have no trouble believing it. _Zabini—Flitwick_ Again, that was one of the easy ones. _Edgecombe—Binns_. That was already in place, so even if Pansy never told the girl what was up, she already had an advocate among the staff. _Parkinson—Trelawney_, he wrote with malicious glee. _Let's see if she can take the consequences of her own idea!_ _Libby Rosier—Sprout_. She was one of the squeamish ones, having thrown up on that horrible Saturday night. It'd be natural for her to look to an older woman for help. _Charles Rosier—Hooch._ Rosier was coming along nicely as a Chaser, and the coach was a sucker for a tale of woe as long as it wasn't too fake. _Malfoy—Pomfrey._ He'd done an awful lot of detentions in the infirmary lately. Couldn't hurt to have Lockhart, Jr. learn something helpful for once. Crabbe…now who would be good for Vincent to whinge at? Ah! _Crabbe—Hagrid._ The two could happily grunt at each other. After all, Vince had gone out there to help look after a first year while mucking out, and it hadn't even been a real detention.

Nott quickly counted everyone off on his fingers, just to make sure he hadn't missed anyone. The Unweasel was assisting Madam Umbridge this year, the poor swot. Okay. Malfoy. Parkinson. The Rosiers. Crabbe. Macnair. Zabini. Edgecombe. Avery. He'd almost forgotten Joshua, and that wasn't fair. _Oh, I know! Avery—Lupin._ Josh wanted to find out all he could about werewolves anyway, what with his dad and all.

_Now who for me? _He counted over the teachers that were left. No way was he going to try to make it through the little mob of True Believers around Firenze. Besides, the centaur looked at him funny sometimes. If he was the real thing, he'd soon find out too much. _That wouldn't be much help, to be dragged off to Azkaban. If _Snape_ still shook about what was done to him years ago, I know better than to think I can stand up to it._ For a moment he considered Filch. The ugly Squib knew everything about the castle by now, and could be useful. Then Ted shook his head. He'd heard his relatives talk about Squibs, and what might need to be done after the Dark Lord's ultimate victory. It'd be too rotten to make up to the old man, and then watch him go off to an ugly death. All right. Who was left? McGonagall, of course, and the Headmaster. For a moment he considered Dumbledore. A _short_ moment. _That stupid phoenix of his would probably rat me out the moment I stepped into his office,_ he thought.

However…he was in NEWT level Transfiguration this year. He remembered when he'd become ambitious in it. The moment he'd heard Moody had turned Malfoy into a ferret, Nott had known the subject was for him. Of course, Mac had spouted the House line that Transfiguration shouldn't be used to punishment, but everyone had said that she'd smiled along with it. _What she really meant is that it wasn't to be used against Gryffindors,_ he'd thought at the time, along with everyone else in Slytherin. He grinned himself, wishing he'd been there to see Malfoy bouncing along the wall. From that moment on, he'd worked like a house elf at the subject, and had gained the Deputy Headmistress's grudging respect.

_Well, grudging respect is the best I'm going to end up with from anyone in this school, except maybe Snape. _During the rite, he'd felt the Potions Master truly reach out to him as no one had for years. Ted savored that moment yet again, along with the talk they'd had. _He really does care about us, even if Malfoy will always come first. Well, he was a Malfoy client, so I shouldn't grudge him that. Of course there are going to be stupid rumors about him and the Glorious Lucius. Wouldn't be surprised if they were true, not that it matters. Last year, Monty said things were different when Bellwood was Head of House, and the firsties were fair game for everyone. Damn, I miss him. He should be at camp with the highest-bidding Quidditch team, not rotting at home. At least he's writing again, even if crappy little notes are all he can manage these days. I hope the Weasley twins fry in Hell for what they did. _Funny about Montague—he hadn't been all there right after the accident, but he'd been talking and everything all right. His parents had taken the Quidditch Captain to St. Mungo's, and word was a blood clot had torn loose and done more damage then.

_Why didn't Malfoy call for help on the train when he found out Potter wasn't by himself? The rest of us would have come running like anything._ Of course, it was still good for a laugh to know Malfoy and his friends had been turned into slugs for their trouble. _Wait—that reminds me. I heard becoming an Animagus is good for an automatic pass on the Tranfiguration NEWT. Suppose I go to McGonagall and ask if I could train with her. Let's see any of her gruesome Gryffs beat that!_ The professor would have to outline some course of study, and he could run it by the Potions Master to see if it sounded reasonable to him. Even if she only meant to run him around in circles, he would still have an opportunity to drop little confidences in her ears and show how much he respected her. _If I'm going to sic Parkinson on Trelawney, it's only fair I take a hard one, too. Besides, McGonagall is old enough that it'll be clear I don't have a crush or anything. Even if I wanted to manage the late hours with Sinistra, there would be talk because she's even younger than Snape. The whole idea is to look sympathetic, as far as I can tell. _He firmly wrote down _Nott—McGonagall_

He crumpled up the paper and tossed it into the fire as if it was an essay turning out bad. He had another idea, based on Parkinson's. _There are enough prefects this year to adopt each one of the first year students, since there aren't that many of them. We should also make sure to make the hot chocolate on Sundays if the professor can't. Girl to girl and boy to boy, too, and no nonsense. Snape _would_ come back and fetch any of us who broke _that_ rule._

Nott swept up his books and paper and went up to his bedroom, a single this year. He was too old to cry for a man who'd barely noticed him over the years. _He only chose me because he couldn't choose Malfoy,_ he reminded himself once he was alone. But even trying to drum up old resentment at being overlooked didn't work. Now that Snape had asked him to look after his fellow students, it was hard for him not to think of them and what would happen when the Potions Master died, or was driven mad by one of that horrible bitch's spells.

_It was easier when I could sneer at everyone and stand aside,_ he thought with black humor. _Why did Snape have to ruin it all by showing he really cared for me?_

Severus Snape

Snape stood at the edge of the Forest, and wondered if he had time to duck back inside the castle and take a quick shower before going to Hogsmeade. He didn't want to show up there stinking like a goat from rambling around most of the afternoon.

Part of him still soared in ecstasy from where the poem had taken him. Perhaps…perhaps this was the day to try something he hadn't dared to in years. Severus deliberately began totting up all the joys of the last few days. Friday's night party, of course. He'd received many reminders of how people in Hogwarts really cared for him. Madam Hooch was risking Ministry attention by acquiring a Blood Broom, and Arvid Rosier a great deal more if he became of interest to anyone at all. 'Vincent' had taken him out here in safety and comfort, and would come when he called it. The corners of Snape's mouth twitched upwards as he remembered the idiotic commercial about the Quidditch players.

He had other things to show for that night as well. The certificate Albus had purchased was in his cloak pocket, as was the candy box Lupin had given him. He hadn't opened the book of love poems from Catullus yet, but he planned to do so tonight. _Minerva does have a sentimental streak, though one has to look for it. Who would have thought that I had one, too?_ The Potions Master remembered the odd plant both Professor Sprout and Mr. Longbottom had endeavored to grow, whose properties could help break Dark bindings. He still had little hope for himself, but the cactus could offer the road to freedom to those of his apprentices intelligent enough to take it. Sybil's reading, of course, had been ridiculously optimistic. Yet it still gave him comfort, which was why, no doubt, many charlatans died rich.

He had been stunned by Harry Potter's gift. He'd never expected anything from the boy, and to realize his efforts had not been wasted pleased him more than words could say. Perhaps the Boy-Who-Lived _could_ learn to direct his undoubted power well enough to become the savior too many wished him to be. _I still think it's a ridiculous task to set a child,_ he fumed. _Albus knows that he only need tell me the time and place, and the Dark Lord will at least be weakened enough for him to be destroyed. If I must die to keep Riddle from nourishing himself on the energy of those of the Inner Circle who have already gone before, then it will be worth the sacrifice. Perhaps the bonds of those still living can be released by other means, but those of the dead must be severed from the other side._

But the memories he'd seen—that gift had been totally unexpected. He'd thought for certain that he was going to lose his breakfast, and possibly the next two meals after, on Potter's mad broom flight. Yet, the boy could be right. This could be a way to become used to greater heights and better technique without actually risking his neck.

Snape took a deep breath when thinking about the memory of the adoption dinner. That was _not_ a gift, but merely a loan, no matter what Harry said. He knew from last year how few good memories the Gryffindor had, and to sacrifice one like that for _him_ was something he never expected. Moisture filled his eyes as he 'remembered' the joy and wonder of the ritual, combined with the comfort of any kitchen Molly Weasley ruled. _I can make such memories, too,_ he reminded himself. This Christmas would be the best one ever for him, even if he had to do it early. Talking to Flitwick today about it had been good fun as well, while Hagrid would cheerfully move the castle, stone by stone, to a different place if he thought it would cheer others up. Snape planned to use both of them ruthlessly to provide the sort of holiday he wanted for himself.

Thinking of the memory Potter had given him, though, brought him back to Molly. How wonderful her name sounded in his mind! Oh, how he'd loved seeing so many favorites on the table last night. He had gorged himself on the familiar smells and tastes.

Severus touched his cheek, where Molly had kissed him several times during the course of the game last night. It would never happen again, naturally, but he could live on memory for a long time. He smiled broadly at the thought of the dream. Albus had been right to remind him to remove _that_ before giving lessons to Mr. Potter, but it had been joy beyond speech when he'd replaced the recollections of last night's dinner. It didn't matter what other memories had come back with it. He was whole beyond all hope, and that was what truly mattered.

He pulled out his wand and took a deep breath, still thinking of Molly. "_Expecto Patronum!"_ Snape shouted.

A pale white light flowed out of his wand. Instead of fading into nothingness as in all his other previous attempts, it coalesced into the shape of a large matryoshka doll, whose colors glowed with crimson light. It circled around him, the painted face fixed in a gentle smile, then flew off entirely.

He gaped in wonder. He'd never heard of a Patronus doing _that_ before! He spotted the rosy doll up in the trees. He took a deep breath, snatched up his broom, and tried to follow it. _I must be out of my mind!_ Yet flying this time didn't bother him so much. _No doubt Potter's wild ride burned out my ability to feel fear, _he thought mordantly.

The doll soared off into the distance as he landed on the novice broom practice field just inside Hogwarts' boundaries. Fortunately nobody had spotted him, or didn't know who he was. On the ground he was screened by the trees, now almost bare of leaves.

_Well, that was different._ He was surprised again when the large doll flew back to him from nowhere, and allowed itself to be absorbed back into the tip of his wand. Snape knew that his Patronus would always come when he called it now. If Molly's kisses couldn't make him happy, he deserved to be alone.

He wanted to jump up and down with glee at finally mastering the spell. All right, it had taken him till he was nearly forty to do so, but he'd still _done_ it!

Did he dare try for more? There was one duty of a Head of House that he had never performed. Despite all his years and all the good that he had done, anyone who couldn't perform a simple Patronus had to be out of his mind to try the other.

But now… Severus concentrated on the binding ritual this afternoon. No, he needed to go further back. He remembered how he'd given himself to the Serpent to help all those who had been Marked last summer. He saw the pillar in the common room in his mind's eye, the pillar that led to the foundations of Hogwarts. He remembered the golden lifeline that had saved him from death only a few months ago, when he had seen the other pale shapes on their way to fetch him from that dreadful beach.

He remembered the grace of the unicorns, as if in a dream. Snape would hold that moment in his heart like a shining treasure. He knew he'd wear the mark of the herd stallion's horn for the rest of his life.

Then Severus reveled in the joy the ritual this afternoon had brought him, from the first tendrils of the golden lifeline of Earth to the smiling face of Gregory Goyle, summoned from beyond death to the circle they had formed. His own death to come bothered him only a little now, though he was certain he'd whinge about it some more later.

He had long pledged his life and his honor to Slytherin. Soon it would be quarter day and payment due to be rendered. Now he had to find the courage to attempt what every Head of House ought to be able to do on his first day.

"_Expecto Patronum Slytherin!"_ he screamed, and flexed his wand with the same power he'd used to put Gilderoy Lockhart into low earth orbit.

At first nothing happened. Snape waited. Then his own Patronus emerged, as dimpled and red as the woman he'd named the doll for. _I will not be disappointed,_ he told himself. _I have already done more today than I have ever managed before._ He continued to wait, though. Being content with what one had was never a Slytherin motto and never would be.

"_Expecto Patronum Slytherin!" _he shouted again. He remembered the Great Hall hung with green and silver, as it had been for years before Potter's Sorting. _A pity the boy went to Gryffindor,_ he thought. _Given his ability to go around the rules, when he wasn't breaking them outright, he would have made a sterling addition to my House._

He watched in awe as a ghostly winged adder emerged from his wand, the emblem of his own family. Now he was its last representative. Severus regretted knowing his line would end with him. The agony he'd suffered last night ought to be for some purpose. Yet he still took pride on seeing the crest of his clan on the silver he ate with now. He owed Fletcher much for that. He'd manage to repay it somehow before it was too late.

Well, it was said the third time was the charm. "_Expecto Patronum Slytherin!" _he cried once more. He remembered having chocolate with the first year students, not only this year, but in years past. Every file with every name meant something, both to him and the student it belonged to. Why, he had anchors to the other Houses, too—Percy Weasley, Gryffindor; Marietta Edgecombe, Ravenclaw; and little Miss Marcher, Hufflepuff. He had links to all the Towers, not just to his dungeons. _Hogwarts needs me, _he thought.

He remembered how Potter had chanted with tears running down the boy's face just a little over a week ago. _I could have died without his help,_ he acknowledged. _I should have thanked him for it this morning. I accuse him of ingratitude, but now it's my turn._

Then he let his thoughts go to the ritual the others had performed while he was on his death-bed. He remembered the white light as all of Hogwarts gathered together to bring him back to life. Sybil had given him her recollections, too, so he knew how well he was loved by them. He would always hold the memory of Molly in the middle of the light close to his heart. _I don't care if nobody believes me about that,_ he thought. _It was her there._

Green light mixed with silver flowed from his wand. Snape stood fast, his heart beating like a drum, as a gigantic serpent twice the size of Nagini appeared.

THOUGH SALAZAR SLYTHERIN LEFT THIS PLACE, I STAYED BEHIND,proclaimed the huge snake. MY COUNTERPART IN THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS WAS FOR THE FINAL DEFENSE OF THE SCHOOL, NOT FOR ATTACKING THOSE WHO SOUGHT SHELTER HERE. I SEEK REVENGE FOR THAT MISUSE. WILL YOU GIVE IT TO ME?

"Yes," Snape said, as he knelt. "Yes."

THERE WILL BE A PRICE PAID. ARE YOU WILLING TO GIVE IT?

"Yes. Anything I have. Anything I am."

YOU ARE THE HEAD OF MY HOUSE. YOU ARE OF HOGWARTS. NEVER DOUBT THAT WHEN THE TIME COMES. YOU HAVE EARNED THE RIGHT TO WEAR _MY_ MARK. ONLY THOSE WHO BELONG TO HOGWARTS AS YOU DO MAY SEE IT. YET I WILL KNOW YOU AS ONE OF MINE TILL THE END OF TIME.

The ghostly adder, which had been at his feet, sprang up and wrapped itself around his neck. He felt it _melt _into his skin. The large, wispy doll flew up and was eaten by the huge snake. Snape knew it hadn't been truly devoured, but only absorbed, if that made any sense. If he ever needed to summon his Patronus again, it would come—only with the power of the Serpent of Slytherin behind it.

He continued to kneel before the symbol of his House. He felt part of Hogwarts the way he had when Flitwick, and everyone else, including Moody, had summoned the great Light.

Then he became aware of the others.

The Head of Ravenclaw sat behind a book nearly as thick as he was tall in his office. The small wizard looked up, then hopped down from his stool and went to the window. Flitwick performed his famous flick-and-swish, and a giant Raven appeared inside the room. Dark feathers brushed against the piles of books, knocking several of them over.

Sprout was in the greenhouse repotting a small flowering plant trying to overflow the boundaries of its starter. She smiled broadly, moved several benches out of the way with her wand, and then summoned the Badger of Hufflepuff, who took up all the spare room and began nibbling on a vine. "Oh, Severus," she said. "I'm so glad."

Minerva sat before a pile of papers in her parlor, scowling almost as much as he did when he graded papers. For a moment, she held perfectly still, her red-tipped quill poised above a defenseless essay. She took a deep breath, laid down the quill as it drooled ink over the sheet, and stood. With a blinding look of joy, she waved her wand as well. A Lion appeared in her fireplace, blazing with red and gold flames.

Then he saw the Headmaster, lying in bed with eyes open, as if he desperately courted sleep that refused to come. A white light appeared around Albus, then, as Severus remembered it had for him only a few months ago. Snape could almost make out the shape of a beautiful woman inside the light. She bowed and put her hand gently on Dumbledore's forehead. Then Albus was alone again, only looking years younger and much stronger.

_Yes. It is time we all gave to the Headmaster, instead of always taking._ Snape took a deep breath as the scene faded and he found himself on the practice pitch again. The Serpent of Slytherin still stood high before him, supported on huge coils.

Despite everything said and done between them, Albus was his friend. Humans were imperfect, including himself—and so was Dumbledore. Friends were friends despite that. Some things—some things were still hard to forgive, yet he had too little time to waste it haring after old grudges. There were times when he would simply have to follow his own path, but their relationship was strong enough for him to do so. _He_ was strong enough to do that now. If a wand-oath from the Headmaster of Hogwarts never to threaten him with Azkaban wasn't enough, there was no point worrying about it anyway. _I will love Molly Weasley till I die, and for as long as I am allowed to after,_ he vowed. _I am only substituting one impossible object for another, after all! My memories of Lily aren't strong enough any more, especially since I gave so many to her son. You have said over and over that only love can defeat the Dark Lord. That includes mine for my sweet Molly, too. Trust me when I say I know I can never have her, and we'll both be much happier. Trust me when I say that I love you, too._ It would be wrong to take advantage of Poppy's temporary infatuation, though he did care for the mediwitch.

Severus felt as if a warm hand rested on his shoulder. Oh, he knew Albus would still fuss, but he didn't have to listen or be hurt by it, either. _I know—every time he does so, I'll tell him he just needs another nap or some more lemon drops. If he's going to behave like a cranky child, I shall treat him like one._ It was only fair, after all, given the way the Headmaster sometimes fussed over him for the same reasons.

He looked up at the Serpent, and could almost hear it laughing. His mind soared up into the sky, as if he were flying over the castle on his broom. All of the towers were glowing now in their respective colors. Far above, and far below, the different lights melded into one.

_I wish it had not taken me so long,_ he thought. _Yet in this race, making it to the goal is all that matters. At least I have not failed altogether._

The light faded. The Serpent slowly sank into the ground. Snape sat on the ground, suddenly exhausted. It had been worth it. How far he'd come since walking into the wreckage of Dumbledore's office late last spring, when he'd been forced to confront the monster he'd become.

He sat and rested. It felt as if part of him was drawing strength from the earth below, or perhaps from the water currents beneath. Severus Snape took a few deep breaths, and thought of Gerte's warm hands to add the fire. Four was the number, then, despite some cultures' aversion to it. Four Towers, four elements, and four basic substances formed the foundation of life. He idly amused himself by identifying which House each substance belonged to—basilisk venom for Slytherin, of course, and phoenix tears for Gryffindor. That left the purity of unicorn blood for Ravenclaw, and the passion of maenad sweat for Hufflepuff. Perhaps the last should not be a surprise; if earth was indeed that House's element, then those students and teachers who belonged to it would be closest to its influence. _Hufflepuff _does_ have the highest pregnancy rate, _he thought with a laugh.

Winky appeared holding a tray with some food and the inevitable potion vials. Snape ate most of the apple and drank the potions, then cleansed his palate with a glass of juice. "Thank you," he said to the little elf. He allowed her to hug him while he sat.

"Is Master all right?" she asked timidly. "Bright lights scary, but feel nice."

"Master is better than he has been for a long time." He looked at the slanting rays, as the sun began to go down.

Just then his watch chimed. He opened the cover and heard it announce, "Time to go to Hogsmeade." He didn't remember that choice being on his watch before.

"Master should stay and talk with other House Heads," Winky said. "Never saw towers look so pretty before."

"I will talk with them when I return," he said, as he finally stood up and reached for his broom. "An appointment is like a promise in its own way. It's not fair to Gerte or the others to make them wait or cancel, when they took the trouble to find time for me so fast. Besides, I know the woman who will be helping me with sore muscles today, and she is nice. You would like her, I think."

"Not Mistress Red-Hair," the elf grumbled.

"No. Mistress Red-Hair has a husband already and doesn't want to leave him. He is also a friend of mine." How had Winky learned about Molly? "This other woman will help me remember that." As pleasant as it would be to revel in this new power, he looked forward to finding comfort for his body's needs. "I'll be late for the evening meal, I expect," he added. "I may want you to bring me a tray when I return."

"Of course, Master," Winky said. She looked happier now.

Snape flew just above the level of the trees on his way to the village, and Gerte's warm hands. The enchantment he'd just been a part of was marvelous. He was glad he'd finally reached a goal he had thought long out of reach.

Yet he had to make room for mundane things, as well. Magic wasn't everything.

Sometimes learning to be human was more important.

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Devoted readers, I am so glad you came. I ask only one thing; many of you are steady reviewers, and for those I am glad. Yet if you have not yet reviewed or only do so every once in a while, please leave a note this time, if only to say hi. I am utterly delighted at how many of you have placed me on their favorite list or on story alert, and I thank you for it. (I have recently updated my profile, too, and you are more than welcome to check it.) Don't be a stranger, eh?


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